Good Boy

Ron didn't see why he'd gotten sent to Diagon Alley in the first place. There wasn't really any point anymore in fixing up Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, now was there?

Sirius was gone and never coming back. He was-

Dead.

Yes, dead.

Ron never dared speak the word around Harry. It was too soon and the wounds were still raw for Harry, almost as raw as the very real wounds on Ron's own arms. Thoughts scarred deep, Madam Pomfrey had said. It had only been a month since he'd gotten them; Ron hoped it was a long time before he found out just how deep. He was taking a foul-smelling, burnt orange potion once a day to stave off any traumatic episodes that might come on account of what he had endured in the Department of Mysteries. Just a precaution, Madam Pomfrey had also said. Ron noticed that none of the others - Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Luna - had been prescribed the potion. Madam Pomfrey, Ron had decided, said a lot of shite.

Sirius had gone through that veil, Kreacher had tattled to the Malfoys, and it seemed like a dead barmy idea to Ron to keep the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters at the rickety house on Grimmauld Place. Besides, any day now the house could be seized. Why, just over lunch not an hour ago he'd heard his mum telling Professor Lupin and Harry that, because Sirius had left no will, the house could be given to one of Sirius' relatives. And as Narcissa Malfoy was the oldest Black sister, the daughter of Sirius' aunt and uncle, Ron had a pretty good idea of just whose possession in which the house would end up.

His lip curled just thinking about it.

Sure, the house technically belonged to the Blacks but Sirius had been Harry's godfather. That should have counted for something, Ron reckoned. Even if the house was crap, it was way better than being with those Muggles out in Surrey. Ron didn't tend to hate very many things as his mum had drilled it in his brain that 'hate' was a very strong and ugly word that oughtn't to be used lightly. But he definitely classified the sentiment he had towards the Dursleys as hate. Last week when he'd gone to retrieve Harry from Privet Drive with Tonks and Hestia Jones, he had been hard pressed to keep his gob shut and his wand in his pocket. Deserved a good hexing, they did, for treating Harry like a cur.

Ron felt pretty much like a cur at the moment. A cur or a messenger or some combination thereof.

His mum had tossed him out on his ear shortly after lunch, telling him to high tail it to the end of the street and summon the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley. She planned on tackling Mrs Black's old bedroom tomorrow and needed some secretion of bundium to dilute into a cleaning potion. Buckbeak, whom they had freed into the Forbidden Forrest at Hogwarts a few days before Harry arrived at Headquarters, had lived in that room for months on end and there was plenty of blood (from rats and ferrets) and grime imbedded in the floor and on the walls. He didn't see why he had to go to Diagon Alley on his own but, then again, it wasn't as if he'd had time to question his mum or ask if he could take Ginny or maybe even Harry (although he knew that would never be allowed) along.

One very nausea-inducing ride on the Knight Bus later, Ron found himself in the back of the Leaky Cauldron tapping the brick three up and two across from the rubbish bin with his wand three times. In no time at all, the bricks shifted to form a large archway that revealed the familiar cobbled street lined with looming, oddly-shaped shops.

The Apothecary's Shop was one of the first on the Alley and the place where Ron was sure to find this secretion of bundium that his mum apparently so desperately needed.

A very old and wrinkled warlock greeted him at the door and it was all Ron could do not to look away from the man. Obviously being in the presence of potions fumes all day for God only knew how many years had not been kind on the clerk, for his skin had a leathery appearance and one eyebrow was so long that the ends of it brushed his lips. Dead disgusting, that.

"Potion?" the warlock asked in a raspy voice.

Ron blinked and tried not to stare at the way the brow hairs swayed back and forth as the man moved his head. "Er, it's not a potion. I need secretion of- oh hell, give me a minute" - he rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a slip of parchment bearing his mother's handwriting - "secretion of bundium."

"Ohhhhh." The warlock put a pockmarked hand to his leathery cheek as he thought.

Ron stared at him expectantly, silently willing him to hurry the sod up. It smelled awful in there and all Ron wanted was to get back to Grimmauld Place.

"Well?" said Ron impatiently.

"No, I'm sorry, son," he said finally, now twirling his brow hair in around a bony digit. "Ran out of that yesterday. Won't be getting more in until tomorrow."

A shiver ran right through Ron. The brow-hair-twirling was seriously giving him the...what was it Dean called them? The 'jeebies'.

"Tomorrow?" he repeated, scowling. "That's no good I need it today If I go back without that secretion of bundtsiwhatsit, my mum's going to--"

"Hex your bollocks off?" the warlock interjected helpfully.

"No, " Ron said quickly. A beat. "Well," he conceded, "maybe. If she's hacked off enough."

The clerk chuckled and folded his hands in front.

Ron noticed that his brow now had a rather neat and bouncy curl to it.

"There is another shop that might have it." The old man shook his head and moved behind the counter, beginning to organise jiggers and phials by sizes.

"Yeah?" said Ron eagerly.

"Yes."

"Can you tell me where? Is it near Gringott's?"

The warlock set down a rather small phial on the counter and gave Ron an apprehensive look. "It's on Knockturn Alley, not a very good place for a young man such as yourself to be."

Ron didn't hear much after "Knockturn Alley" for he hastily nodded to the leathery old man and opened the shop's door rather enthusiastically, the hinges rattling in protest.

Fred called out to him as he dashed past Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes but Ron kept on going, raising a hand in greeting as he went by.

He had barely set foot in Knockturn Alley when a buck-toothed witch thrust a pan of what appeared to be human fingernails under his nose.

"Ugh. " Ron recoiled, coming back to reality and dodging the witch as bed he could.

"Only three sickles," he heard her call to him as he hurried away from her.

Keeping his hands jammed in the pockets of his denim trousers, he did the best he could not to jostle people or brush up against anyone. The wrinkled warlock had probably been right; this didn't look like the sort of place someone like him should be. No wonder his mum and dad had never let him or any of his siblings come down this way; it was right scary.

He tried not to look into too many windows; there were things in there that were so disturbing Ron was sure he'd be having nightmares later on that night. Hands of Glory, monkey's paws, shrunken heads, giant spiders-

SPIDERS.

His mouth opened in a wide, soundless scream as someone bumped him from behind, sending him reeling into the display window of extremely large and nasty looking spiders.

"Sp- sp- sp-" He gibbered, placing his hands on the glass and pushing himself back. Someone behind him grumbled; obviously Ron had stepped on his foot but he didn't give a flying shrivelfig at the moment. There were GIANT SPIDERS in the window and WHAT IF THEY COULD EAT THROUGH GLASS?

He wasted no time spinning on his heel and tearing off down the Alley. He'd seen a map of Knockturn Alley on a number of ocassions; he knew that the Potions Shop was a few buildings down, just past the poisonous candle shop if he remembered correctly.

Heart pounding madly, the need to get as far away from the display case of spiders was overwhelming. He picked up speed, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, thanking God that-

"Mind yourself," a cool voice informed him suddenly.

Ron blinked again and rubbed at his arm; he'd run smack dab into some witch. He hadn't watched where he was going and he ran right into a-

His eyes dropped to the ground and slowly worked their way up the witch's frame. He could just see the tips of her black dragonhide shoes peeking out from the hem of her blue robes, robes which looked quite good and rather expensive to him. They complimented her frame well and her hair, which was long, blonde, and very stylish. There was a serpent-like brooch at her neck and something pulled at Ron; it seemed familiar.

"Sor- sorry," he stammered, the weight of her keen blue eyes getting to him.

"You're a Weasley" she said suddenly, edging closer to him. Her nose wrinkled as she said this.

"Er--" Serpents brooch. Serpents brooch. Serpents brooch. Where had he seen one like that before? Serpents brooch. Serpents brooch. Serpents-

"You're Malfoy's Mum," he blurted suddenly. It was all clear. Serpent's brooch, just like the one Malfoy had on his school bag. And the wrinkle of the nose He'd seen her do that at the World Quidditch Cup two years ago. He and Harry had agreed that it looked as if someone had shoved dung under her nose then. Well, there wasn't any dung in their immediate area, but the alley did have a peculiar sort of stench to it.

One delicate brow arched and Ron was reminded of strongly of Malfoy.

"I am," she replied evenly, reaching one well-manicured, aristocratic hand out toward him.

Ron's chin dropped and he stared at her hand with round eyes.

"Don't touch me," he bellowed. He wanted to jerk away from her but for some reason he was absolutely rooted to the spot.

Pink lips curled slightly and two nails clacked together as she flicked something off of his shoulder.

"There was a doxie," she said with disdain. "Horrid creatures."

"Oh," Ron said stupidly, feigning an itchy chin and rubbing the spot on his shoulder she'd just de-doxied. "Yeah," he agreed, now rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand awkwardly, "they're right horrid."

"I think," Mrs Malfoy said suddenly, eyeing Ron with interest, "that you are to be my parcel carrier for the remainder of the day."

Ron's brows shot up so high they nearly leapt off of his forehead. "Wh-what?"

"You heard me."

And with a sweep of her robe, she started off for the shop that, according to the sign on the window, sold jewellery made out of very rare (and sometimes poisonous) gems.

His jaw dropped; how the sod did he get himself roped into this? Well, he wasn't going to stand for it No way was he going to be at the beck and call of Draco Malfoy's mum. He had secretion of bundlewarts or something to get and he had to return to Grimmauld Place. The last thing he had time for was being some sort of house elf. Bugger this; he was going straight for that potions shop and then-

"Come here, boy."

His head snapped up at her voice - her sweet, lulling voice - and something in his chest hitched at the way she crooked her finger in beckon to him.

"I--"

"Come. Here."

Vaguely he wondered if she was part Veela; he suddenly felt very compelled to do her bidding.

"The name's Ron," he mumbled as he eased up to her, suddenly very conscious of the threadbare robes he was wearing.

"You may call me Narcissa," she said, her mouth forming a small smile.

Ron had an overwhelming desire to touch that mouth, to see if it was as soft and supple as it looked.

"Okay, Narcissa," he stammered, following closely behind her as she walked up to her intended place of business.

She stopped a few feet in front of the door and looked at him expectantly.

It took him a moment to notice as he was quite caught up in the pinky fullness of her lips and the smooth column of her throat. It was as though he could feel something actually radiating off of her; it was very intoxicating and he didn't even care right then and there that she'd committed one of the most heinous crimes in the wizarding world - giving birth to Malfoy. There was something about her that just overtook him; he couldn't explain it and he wasn't sure he wanted to waste time doing that. Nothing in his entire world mattered anymore except what she wanted.

Giving her a grin that was both nervous and adoring, he pulled open the door and made a grand sweeping gesture, indicating that she was to enter before him. She took her time walking past him, rewarding him with a smile that confused and excited him.

That smile just made him want to work that much harder to see it again, to see what else she might do if he pleased her.

She only spent but a few minutes at the jewellers before announcing that she needed to visit the very exclusive robe shop across the way. More than happy to carry the handful of parcels she'd bought from the jewellers, Ron opened the door for her again and cleared a path across Knockturn Alley so that no one uncouth would be in her way or try to shove a tray of unsightly bits and baubles under her perfect, pert nose.

While she met with the shop's proprietor, he placed her parcels on the counter and roamed around, eyes nearly bugging out of his head when he saw a price tag on an ordinary-looking under-robe.

Something pulled at his thoughts; he was on Knockturn Alley for some reason-

It almost came back to him when he heard that voice again, lyrical and alluring.

"Ron, come. I need assistance."

"Yes, Narcissa," he called back to her, completely entranced with the way she said his name. The only thing that would have made it better would have been if he had been there to watch her lips and tongue form the sounds themselves.

The middle-aged witch in emerald robes who ran the shop pointed Ron toward the back where the changing area was. Ducking under a low-hanging candelabra, he stopped just outside of the only door to be seen.

"I'm here," he said to the door, feeling a little foolish.

"Good."

The door opened and one of those well-manicured hands appeared in the crack, fingers curling around the front of his robe.

"Did I--"

He never got to finish his question as he found himself being yanked unceremoniously into the changing room.

"That's a good boy," Narcissa purred, closing the door behind them and tossing her hair over one shoulder as she regarded Ron.

He grinned; she had said he was good. He didn't even mind that she'd tossed him about a bit, knocking his head off of the stone wall behind him.

"Now," Narcissa said, producing her wand and pointing it at him, "do stand still."

The grin turned a bit dopey. "All right."

Standing as still as could be, he chuckled as she swished and flicked her wand at him, his clothing practically melting off of his wiry frame onto the floor.

He didn't complain that he was naked. The thought didn't even occur to him. All he cared about was that those fascinating lips were smiling and he could see the faint pink of her tongue behind her very white teeth.

And then she touched him.

"Nice," Ron mumbled, reaching a hand out to touch her himself.

"Do not touch me," Narcissa said, rapping his knuckles with her wand.

"Sorry," was the sheepish reply.

"Better," she said approvingly, casually dropping her wand on the floor. Turning around, she held her hair up and presented her back to him. "Unfasten these buttons and remove my robe."

Clumsily (but quickly, as he wanted to please her), he flicked open the row of tiny buttons and fumbled a bit to get her robe to slide over her shoulders and down her arms. It wasn't long before she was as naked as he.

Malfoy's mum, Ron noted dimly as she turned around to face him, had spectacular breasts.

"I want you to do something for me, Ron," she said, angling her hip out in just the right manner to put herself in a most flattering pose.

"Anything," he breathed, transfixed by the lines of her lithe form.

"I would like for you to deliver a message for me."

"Okay." Ron licked his lips.

"Pay close attention," she whispered, leaning in and pressing her lips to his.

Synapses fired in his brain and he felt as though his head would implode.

Those brilliant lips, the ones that had smiled at him so sweetly, were the most incredible things he had ever tasted. She tasted like raspberries and wine and other divine things he couldn't name but he knew were so Narcissa. He opened up to her, welcoming her skilled tongue into his mouth, vaguely noting somewhere in his mind that the one kiss he had shared with Victoria Frobisher had been nothing like this one. The kiss with Victoria had been chaste and a bit dull. This, on the other hand, was exciting and fantastic and oh God she was doing this thing to the roof of his mouth-

And then she pulled back, cupping his face with her hands.

"Very good, Ron. Continue to pay attention and you will learn. Attentiveness is very important. Do not ever forget that."

All he could do was nod, for she had lowered her head to his chest, laving at his chest. He moaned, his head falling back and hitting the stone wall again.

"I want..." Narcissa breathed against his skin, her breath warm on his skin.

What? Ron wanted to ask, but he couldn't form the words. All he could do was open and close his mouth soundlessly as she suckled him, teasing him alternately with her tongue and teeth. She did this over and over again as a tension began to mount in his groin.

She pulled back from him suddenly and he sighed, arching his hips off of the wall.

"Responsive," she murmured, tweaking a sensitive spot on his chest for good measure with those long, aristocratic fingers. "I like that." She lay a finger in the middle of his chest and stroked slowly downward. "...you to tell..." Her tongue then followed her finger and Ron gritted his teeth, hissing. His hands clenched into fists and he screwed his eyes shut. It was unbelieveable, the way she was making him feel. And here he'd wanted to be the one pleasing her, yet she was the one pleasing him. He felt warm and heady and special and-

I want you to tell.... Who? What?

"I'll do it," he breathed, gasping at the end as he felt a hand him.

"Of course you will." Now on her knees before him, she looked up at him slyly for a moment before lowering her mouth to him, paying him attention as one does an iced lolly.

"Push, boy," she commanded, eyes burning into his.

How could he refuse her? With a low groan (hoping like hell he was doing it right), he propelled himself forward, joining their bodies as smoothly as he could manage.

Her breathing barely changed at all. "...death is...."

Death? What?

There wasn't any time to ask questions, however, because she pushed down on him firmly and he could feel her body stretching to welcome him. He jerked up awkwardly, palming her breasts and pushing her against the wall as some sort of leverage. Long, lean legs wrapped tighter around him and he kneaded her breasts, crying out as their hips rocked against one another.

She made no noise whatsoever besides the sounds of her breathing, eyes locked with his. Noticing this caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand and he felt that niggling, pulling sensation in his mind again.

Is this right? Am I...

Rolling her hips in a figure eight, he took that to mean he was to speed up and he complied as best he could, although he was certain that he was not going to last much longer. The tension in his groin returned full-force, a heat coiling low in his belly that was nearly unbearable.

Those perfectly manicured nails raked across his back and he cried out, trembling against her.

"...is coming for him." She gasped, then clenched her teeth as he thrust once more, hands leaving her breasts and pressing against what her.

I want you to tell Potter that death is coming for him.

I want you to tell Potter that death is coming for him.

I want you to tell Potter that-

"You, " Ron gasped, grabbing blindly at the orange and shiny gray-black jewels adorning her wrists.

"Yes, Ron?" Narcissa returned calmly, loosening her hold on his waist and grabbing at the curve of said waist with her feet, pushing him back forcefully from her.

"YOU, " he roared, lunging at her. She dodged him and backed into the corner, nearly tripping over the bracelets that had fallen to the floor when his hands had pulled at her wrists.

"Me," she said matter-of-factly, looking like the cat who ate the canary.

"What the- WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?"

"Carnelians and hematite are very influential stones, Ron," she said conversationally, stooping down to pick up her bracelets and robe rather gracefully. "Did you know," she continued," that those who are weaker-willed can actually be influenced by stones just in their general vicinity? They don't even have to be wearing them." Her teeth flashed white and he felt sick to his stomach. "You're weak, Weasley. As if there was any doubt of that. Poor bloodline, a blood traitor if I ever saw one."

"WHY?" he managed to get out, shoving his own clothing back on. His eyes never left her face and he swallowed hard against the bile that rose in his throat.

"Because I could," she said simply. "I could have bade you tell him so in the street but that wouldn't have been as fun. I like fun, Ron. I have to entertain myself in some way, now don't I? And what better way than to bend your feeble mind to my will with narry an effort? What better way to tell you, that your precious Potter had best be aware that Lord Voldemort will be seeing him soon, than this? I had an itch, you scratched it. You kill two birds with one stone for me, Ron. That's ever so thoughtful of you."

He was definitely going to be ill.

Brandishing his wand in his hand, he pushed past her roughly and opened the changing room door, tearing out of there as fast as he could.

"Such a nice boy." Her mocking voice called to him as the door to the shop slammed.

Ron ran and ran and ran until he reached the Leaky Cauldron, vomiting in the trash can just beyond the archway.

It wasn't until he was on the Knight Bus halfway back to Grimmauld Place that he realised he had not pick up the secretion of bundium.

He didn't much care by then. He'd be glad if his mum hexed his bollocks off.