Chapter Text
If Romeo and Juliet were a modern tale, it would be nothing like the story you are about to read, except that they both die in the end.
When Hermione Granger, only daughter of the top member of Britain's highest religious cult, was granted the right to marry into the ruthless Weasley family, the world had waited with bated breath to see which of the sons would be the one to win the prize.
They say when the man standing at the end of the aisle turned out to be the long-divorced Don Arthur, there was a public outcry. The public demanded to know why this was acceptable. Over half his age, beautiful and clever to boot, why should she more forced to marry this wretched man? And Don Arthur’s response…
“Mind your fucking business.”
It was noted most clearly that you do not mess with the Weasleys the following day. The three media outlets that had run stories found every member of the journalistic teams involved brutally hacked to pieces, their body parts arranged in near piles outside their headquarters; it became wildly obvious that Weasley's privacy and business matters were not up for debate.
Don Arthur had risen from nothing, marrying into the Prewitt family mob, and he had made his own name the one that was spoken in hushed, terrified tones. He had six sons and one daughter.
Billy the butcher, the family psycho. The oldest and most unhinged of the Weasley siblings, laugh at him wrong and you will lose an eye.
Charles the pyro. The less said about him, the better, but let's just say you are gonna get your fingers burnt if you mess around with him.
Percivais l the brains of the crew, the one who knows the law inside out and keeps the others out of trouble.
Then we have the twins, Fred and George, known to the world as Jekyll and Hyde. Which one is Jekyll and which one is Hyde… well, that my friend is up for debate on the day of the crime.
The final boy is our Ronnie, the strategist rumoured to have the biggest dick this side of Christmas. The true smartest of the clan. But the one who is criminally underappreciated just the way he liked it. No one suspects the quiet ones.
And then there's Ginerva, call her Ginerva, and you are likely to have Billy set on you… she likes to go by Ginge. Being the only girl in a mob family is hard, but having six older brothers at your beck and call has its uses.
Our story begins on a dreary September day, and Ron sat in his father's grand office, his feet on the desk and the chair slightly off its feet. Ron loved the solitude of the office.
No one actually worked from here; occasionally, Don Arthur brought people who were stupid enough not to pay their debts, but they generally left in a body bag.
He heard heels clicking on the marble floor and returned his feet to the floor.
A small curly brown head popped around the corner.
“Oh, it's just you.” Hermione Granger… Well, Weasley, now Ron supposed, appeared like the succubus from Ron's dreams.
She entered slowly, surveying the room as though waiting for an ambush.
“Why do most people have that response to me being alive?” Ron chortled. “I'm not that fucking bad, am I?”
“What I meant to say is, what are you doing here?” Hermione countered, walking over to him slowly.
“Just taking a load off my feet,” Ron smirked. “It's hard work being a family disappointment.”
She chuckled gently, “I wouldn't be so disappointed in yourself if you were the cleverest person in our school.”
“Second to you.” Ron husked. She stood chest level to his face now. Deliberately.
“Everyone is second to me… but if you had been top of the class I don't think your dad would have married you.”
“I hate to break it to you but my Dad doesn't want you for your brains, toots.” He let his eyes linger on the magnificent tits in front of him. With a huff Ron stood and moved behind the chair, only just covering the shame of his stiffness. “ It's a sin that he got to you first, you know. You should be fucking someone your own age.” Ron smirked.
“I don't know, sweetheart, Daddy knows how to hit the spot, they say that you get better with age.” Hermione pushed herself against the desk, forcing the image into Ron's mind of bending her over and …
“Well gorgeous, my father might know how to make you cum but I can send you to heaven to shake hands with Jesus himself.” Ron countered moving from behind the chair, not hiding his attraction.
Her brows raised, “Oh really” she whispered as Ron allowed his hand to wander upwards between her thighs. “You're gonna be a good boy and rescue me from the mean old mob boss huh?”
“I would burn this fucking family to the ground for you.” Ron husked his fingers now inside her silk black knickers.
“Prove it. Help me.” Her voice turned desperate. He could see it in her eyes.
“Mi…”
“Oi, useless, what are you doing here?” The sudden, roaring voice made Ron jump out of his skin. Hermione readjusted her dress and Ron put his hands in his pockets. His father appeared from nowhere, looking Ron up and down with an accusing gaze.
“Just talking to Hermione.”
A slap echoed in the room as pain seared Ron's cheek. “You know something, you little cunt. I spunked in your whore mother, hundreds of thousands of times… my jizz practically came out of her pores when she was sweating. How does it feel to know that, the only time I regret not pulling out is the one time I fucking made you? You useless sack of shit.”
He looked at Ron as though he was something he had trodden on.
“Hello, beautiful.” Arthur turned to Hermione. “Is this prick annoying you?”
“Not at all, dearest, the conversation has been…” She appeared to think for a moment about her next words, “most enlightening.” She placed a hand on the curve of his face. “You should be kinder to him sweetheart, his mind is incredibly useful to our empire.”
Arthur picked up his wife as though she were weightless and positioned her on the desk. “You are fucking perfect you know that, so fucking clever. Even when dealing with this waste of spunk”
Ron looked away as he heard the zipper pull. He was no stranger to randomly finding his Dad balls deep in some skank, but Hermione should have been different.
“You've said that before, Dad. You are getting senile in your old age … you ok, Hermione, your neck looks a little bent there… ”
She blushed as he noticed her craning her neck to see him.
“Don't get fucking cheeky, and she's Mum to you.”
Ron looked into Hermione's eyes as his father slammed into her. They rolled back, and he dragged a whore-like moan from her lips. Only with the twinkle in her eyes, Ron knew that wasn't for his father. If nothing else, it was a cry for help.
“Sorry, Mum,” Ron said pointedly. The sight of her full lips open and pouting, her chest almost spilling free, was too much; he twitched in his trousers. Mentally making a note to fuck her in front of a mirror so as not to miss an inch of her.
“Good boy. Now fuck off.”
Ron closed the door before the noises and moans ramped up.
He opened his phone and dialled a number. “Now, Haz don't start…” “What, I'm not planning anything?” Ron huffed. “What do you mean you don't believe me?” With a chuckle, he added. “Ok, ok … I just got a little gold, I need to redistribute. You aren't gonna deny me what’s mine, are you, specks?” “Good lad. Leaky, twenty minutes. Say hi to Ginge for me…”
A loud, gruff moan came from behind the door, signalling the end. “Four minutes, eh? You aren't gonna know what's hit you, Mi …” and with a self-indulgent laugh, Ron strolled away with a swagger in his step.