George and…?
By Bubbles
It was midnight. A solid wall of darkness encaged him from all sides, as he felt his way carefully across the once familiar terrain of his bedroom, attempting to find the door, desperately feeling along the walls, the bed, the floor -
WHACK.
And he just head-butted his wardrobe door.
Arthur staggered backwards, groaning vaguely to himself, the muffled sounds of party music vibrating up through his feet. The dim bedroom spun hazily in front of his eyes, and he put out a hand, groping blindly along the dresser beside his bed until – thank God – he found his wand.
"Lumush."
Nothing.
"Lumush!"
Nothing. Arthur raised his wand to eye level and glared angrily at it.
"Light up, you fucking twig!"
A ray of dazzling light burst from the wand's tip, so bright that Arthur screamed loudly and once again found himself staggering backwards. Luckily, he hit the bed. After taking a moment to compose himself, Arthur mopped his brow with one hand, then sat up and gazed over at the mirror.
A red haired, balding man blinked blearily back at him, forehead wet with perspiration. Pleased with what he saw, Arthur grinned sleazily at himself.
"Art, you red hot beast, you," he slurred, hitching his best 'sexy time' smile onto his face. "Tonight, you're gonna get lucky, y'are." He sniggered knowingly to himself. Normally, Arthur was quiet, reserved man, but get one drop of alcohol inside him and he became a red-haired version of Casanova.
Or at least, that was what he told himself.
"I'm gonna – hick – give Molly a night to remember, tonigh', I am!" His reflection winked broadly, and Arthur briefly raised his (invisible) glass of wine and toasted himself.
"To the WeasleyMobile!"
Arthur's 'WeasleyMobile' consisted of the house banister which coiled from the top of the house all the way down to the bottom and ended in a brass knob. Unfortunately for Arthur, after sliding merrily all the way down said WeasleyMobile, he wasn't quite quick enough to avoid slamming groin-first into the aforementioned brass knob.
Arthur's scream of pain was so high, it was silent.
After hitting the ground with a sickening thud and writhing around with his jaw clenched and eyes popping rather spectacularly for around ten minutes, he tentatively climbed to his feet. Then he strutted (albeit, it was a slightly wonky strut) into the kitchen like nothing had ever happened.
The thumping party music smashed into his ear drums like a freight train. People were all around him, jostling him, laughing drunkenly, celebrating like guests of a good Weasley New Year's party should. Waving smoke aside and plucking a shot of firewhisky from a nearby table, Arthur swaggered into the heart of the chaos, where Molly and Harry sat at the table, having a hard-core game of strip poker.
Or rather, having a game of Strip, as there didn't actually appear to be any cards. Arthur stopped, puzzled. Why would Molly be sitting, naked from the waist upwards, before Harry, if they weren't actually playing a game…?
And cupping her breasts…?
And…and licking Harry's ear?
Arthur was drunk. This he knew. And when he was drunk, he knew it was all too easy to misread the signals. Why, once he had thought Hermione was seducing him, but no, all she had been doing was passing him a bowl of mixed salad. So he really mustn't assume anything.
Arthur glanced over at Molly again.
She was now gyrating against Harry's leg.
Misreading the signals, his ANUS.
Arthur gave a roar of rage, and smashed his shot glass on someone's head. Incidentally, it was Hermione, who stared at him with a glazed expression on her face before dropping her mixed salad and collapsing to the floor in a dead faint.
He looked down, mildly surprised to see her lying there in a pool of lettuce, and that was when the lights went out.
Instantly, people started screaming, and the darkness became full of hysterically running bodies barging into each other. Arthur didn't run, and nor did he scream. His rage combined with his drunken state had equipped him with Night Vision, and he could still see Harry and Molly, who were, to his mounting anger, now experimenting with a pepper pot.
He started toward them with a scream of fury, and ran straight into a wall.
Arthur curled on the floor, massaging his skull, and cursed the person who invented Night Vision.
Whimpering, he raised his head off the ground, then yelled aloud as someone trod on him. With a snarl, he leapt to his feet. That was it.
That…was…it.
He'd had enough.
Arthur Weasley had had enough.
Gone were the days when he retired meekly to his bedroom and sobbed into his pillow after watching Molly flirt outrageously with his son's best friend. Gone were the days when he accepted the single slice of bacon for breakfast without complaint while Harry sat opposite him with a whole bloody STACK on his plate. He was SICK and TIRED of being used and abused by his temptress of a wife – no, it wasn't going to happen anymore!
As the rage slowly began to blind him, Arthur felt someone run past him, screaming a high pitched, feminine scream. Without thinking twice, he reached out and grabbed a fistful of the person's hair, pulling the body close to him and planting his lips on theirs – who's meek and retiring now, eh, Molly?
The person screamed and thrashed against him, finally getting away with a jaw breaking punch to Arthur's chops.
Arthur was upset. He crumpled once again to the floor, watching the stars whirl about his head, and hoped sincerely that Molly didn't have Night Vision.
That was when the lights flickered back on.
The noise died down at once.
Hermione stood in the centre of the room, proudly holding a screw driver aloft. "Fuse was blown," she said knowledgably, wiping grease from her hands matter-of-factly.
Everyone stared at her in silence.
Arthur, however, wasn't staring at Hermione. His eyes were fixed to a pair of feet standing before him. Looking slowly up, he took in the jeans with holes in them, the over-sized party shirt, the flaming-red hair, the fist still raised from where he had just delivered a bloody painful punch…
George Weasley and Arthur stared at each other.
"Hi, Son!" Arthur slurred, the dawning horror gradually filtering into his alcohol-soaked brain. "That's a damn strong right arm you've got there." He paused reflectively. "I'd say you get from me, but judging from the strength with which your mother over there is ravaging the Boy Who Lived, I'd clearly be telling a lie."
George simply stared at him in silence, his fist still frozen in the air. There was even a slight love bite on his upper lip.
Arthur cringed to himself. Brilliant, Arthur, he told himself bitterly. Excellent revenge, Arthur, fantastic revenge. You see your wife making sweet, tender love to a seventeen year old, so you run head-first into a wall then snog your son for good measure. Well Done Arthur.
The entire room was silent, and all eyes were on the pair of them. Arthur lifted his head and tentatively made eye contact with his son, the boy he'd raised from birth, and the boy he'd kissed passionately less than two minutes ago.
"Um," he said quietly. "I'm…shorry…"
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This chapter is dedicated to Sweet-Sunshyne, for making my day with that review, and thus making me get off my lazy arse to finish this chapter and post it at long last. I'm also dedicating this to Folk, who rather incredibly reviewed every single chapter, on top of offering literary analysis of each one! Muffins to you both!
So yes, to celebrate the Tenth Chapter of this twisted collection of stories, we have a double pairing of Molly/Harry, George/Arthur!
You know what to do…if you read, enjoyed, laughed, puked, press on that little button and tell us all about it. :D
- Bubbles xxx
PS: If you're wondering how Hermione managed to recover from being smacked over the head with a shot glass so quickly, then you need to stop thinking so hard ;)