Ron looked back at the letter. Could it be a trap?
He was in a muggle hotel room in London. So, he left the hotel quickly after and bought a map from a shop. He looked at it to find the address Narcissa had given him, at least the general area.
It's in London too? He exclaimed. Limehouse?
He quickly hailed a taxi and just pointed on the map where he wanted to go. It was indeed a good ride away, finding himself in awe of the city's size. He had only recently started to explore it, and he knew he was nowhere close to seeing half of it.
Eventually, Ron arrived in the neighborhood and started walking around to find the address. He made sure to keep an eye on anything suspicious as well, careful in case it was a trap. The area looked decently upscale, with rows of houses, and shops around every corner.
Is that the one? Ron finally stopped in front of a two-story house in one of the rows. It looked very modest, with a small, grassy patch in front of the building, and a small porch. There was no car at the curb, and all the windows of the house were curtained as if nobody lived inside.
Ron, wearing regular cotton pants and a loose checkered red shirt, tucked his wand in the sleeve of his shirt, keeping it ready to be pulled out at any moment. Then, he approached the door carefully, pressing the button to ring the bell.
Click!
The wooden door silently opened all the way. There she stood, Narcissa Malfoy, her expressions proud and confident.
"Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy. I received your letter," Ron greeted, unable to help himself from glancing at her from top to bottom, noticing her in an attire that showed something other than black for the first time. Her hair was loose, combed and parted in the middle, bunched around her back while a few locks were tucked behind her ears.
A white, buttonless blouse with its sleeves billowing gracefully, enveloped her arms. While a tight collar encircled her neck, drawing Ron's attention to her red lipstick. The cuffs of the sleeves hugged her wrists snugly, while below a long black skirt, tight around her hips, revealing her mature curves.
She sure knows how to maintain herself well. Ron thought, unable to think of any moment in his life when he saw the Malfoy matriarch looking lazily dressed. Gorgeous…
"Mr. Weasley," Narcissa greeted him back warmly, stepped forward, and embraced him in a short hug as if they knew each other intimately.
Soft. The first thing Ron felt was her softer-than-feather bosom. It was sizable, appetizing, and warm.
Narcissa broke away and stepped back to let him in. "Please come in."
Ron heard the door shut behind him, but he looked around at the house to make sure there was no ambush planned.
It was a moderately sized house, bigger than the Dursleys', and very warm inside.
"When did you move here?"
"Just yesterday," Narcissa replied, her voice holding a hint of worry. "I have decided to change homes every three days until a… manageable solution appears. I'm waiting for Draco to return to the school."
"Where is he?"
"He went out to see a friend," Narcissa answered and led Ron to the large open space between the living room and the kitchen. There was a large table in the middle, adorned with a crisp, clean, pure white cloth that draped at all sides, almost touching the floor. Perhaps Narcissa's attempt to replicate the grandeur of Malfoy Manor. "Have a seat."
The table had six seats, two on each of the longer sides, and one each on the shorter. He sat to the right of one of the single chairs at the shorter edge. His eyes never stopped moving, mostly following Narcissa's figure, moving to the kitchen and grabbing a water pitcher.
Living like average wizards must be new to her. Ron thought, wondering how she took care of cooking. Did she get a new elf?
"What credible information were you talking about, Mrs. Malfoy?" Ron asked, getting to the point immediately.
Narcissa came over and sat down at the single seat on the shorter edge. But first, she poured him a glass of water and waited for him to drink it.
Yet, Ron didn't do anything like that. He didn't trust her enough to drink anything in that house. Heck, he even felt too wary to breathe in there. "Thank you, but I'm not thirsty."
Narcissa saw Ron's uneasiness easily and dragged her chair forward until her bosom almost rested on the table. She extended both her hands and grabbed one of Ron's, clutching his palm between hers. "There will be an attack on the Ministry."
"What?!" That felt akin to someone scratching his reverse scale. "When?"
"After the rest of the Death Eaters have made their daring escape from Azkaban," Narcissa replied with a calm demeanor. "They will strike the Department of Mysteries. You-Know-Who desires the full prophecy concerning the Chosen One."
"Harry?!" Ron exclaimed.
Narcissa nodded strongly and leaned further on the table, towards Ron. Her hands clasped his tightly, as if scared he'd leave. "He believes that knowing the complete prophecy will help him avoid his fate and kill his enemy."
I can't let Amelia stay in the Ministry! Ron felt worried for the woman.
"Are you sure he can help them break out of Azkaban?"
"If Sirius Black could escape, why couldn't they all, with some assistance from... him?" Narcissa pressed her point, her tone smooth and persuasive. With a subtle movement, she reached out and placed her hand on Ron's shoulder, delicately sliding it up towards his neck, her fingers gently cupping the side of his face, his ear caught between her thumb and forefinger. "I strongly advise you to flee the country, to go as far away as possible."
Has she gone senile?
"Run? Come on, I'm a Gryffindor! Can't just leave Harry," Ron declared, gently pulling off Narcissa's hand from his face, feeling awkward. But he kept holding it, feeling its warmth. "And as for you. Well, I think I've got a safe spot in mind."
Narcissa's eyes sharpened, and her shoulders relaxed a little. "Where?"
"My family's been moved by the Ministry, so the Burrow is now empty. I reckon everyone's already caught wind that the Weasleys have cleared out, so you ought to be alright there. Unless, of course, they decide to go all symbolic and torch the place."
Narcissa looked down for a moment at Ron's hand, still holding her hand. Then she suddenly made a decision. "I'll move there once Draco returns to Hogwarts."
Run nodded with a casual shrug. "That's great for you and all, but just so we're clear, I've got about as much belief in you as believing a Blibbering Humdinger is real. One wrong move, and you'll find yourself neighboring a cell with your husband in Azkaban. Got it?"
Narcissa tensed and abruptly gripped back Ron's hand with both of her palms. Her brows creased together, her breath slightly heaving with her bosom pacing. "I… I wish to… prove myself to you."
Ron's brows rose up, having no darn clue what she was talking about. "What do you mean?"
"Y-You said back then… that you have stamina and…" Narcissa looked straight into Ron's blue eyes, her determination firm. "T-Top, bottom, front and—"
Clack!
"Mother, I'm back!"
Fuck! Ron cursed and jumped off his feet, standing up. He looked towards the direction of the voice, the footsteps becoming audible. It was Draco, he knew that voice. But when he looked back at Narcissa, she appeared even more frozen than him. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
"Shh!" Ron gestured for Narcissa to stay silent. Then he quickly pushed the single glass of water towards Narcissa, made the chair he was sitting on normal, and quickly got under the dining table, heavily draped with cloth, giving him enough hiding space.
Ron kept his breath calm, seeing the shadow of two legs appearing outside. Perfect timing, Malfoy. And what was Narcissa saying? Top? Botto—ah!
The realization hit him. He abruptly looked towards Narcissa, and right away, her entire lower body appeared in his view, her black skirt tight around her hips and loose around her ankles. She wasn't serious, right?
"Mother, it's just a matter of time before we're rid of those Weasleys and Potter once and for all. Pansy filled me in on what's been happening. The Weasleys have scurried off into hiding like the insignificant pests they are," Draco growled, his mouth as nastily as Ron knew.
Pests? We're pests? Then what are you? Ron felt enraged, wanting to jump out and call the Ministry on him and his mother.
I put your father in Azkaban. I can put you and your mum—wait, his mum.
Ron looked back at Narcissa's legs, and had a devious little idea. Perhaps I can test how serious she was.
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