*sneaks in*
Title: A Series of Blind Dates and Other Misfortunate Events: Part Two, Ron’s Date
Author: suntzu_s
Word Count: 1100
Rating: G (This part)
Pairing: Neville/Slew of People
Summary: I’m thirty-two and still single and my so-called friends have decided to fix that, or try to at least.
Warnings: Humour and the (mis)use of the stereotypical image of a Gay man.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them.
Introduction Part One
I was worried about Ron’s date and was rather hoping he’d just forget all about it and not bother arranging anything but living with Hermione for a decade had taken effect and he’d actually sorted something out.
Or rather he said it was all sorted, I wasn’t too sure, because when I asked him about it all, his face went extremely red and his voice pitched up an octave and I was reminded of all those times in school when he’d lied about all those so-called finished potions essays that Scabbers, Crockshanks, Trevor, insert animal of choice had eaten moments before.
Plus, Ron was a heterosexual man, a very heterosexual man and heterosexual men tend to only have two categories of gay men. The first being leather-clad men, either with or without moustaches and the second type are Gilderoy Lockhart’s biggest fans.
I’ve never forgiven Lockhart for the incident in my second year and I’ve never been able to wear leather without squeaking, so I was dreading what he might dig up, if he bothered to dig up anything in the first place.
A week later, when I’d just settled down to listen to Herbology weekly on the wizarding wireless, Ron stuck his head through the fire and asked me ‘If I could be ready in fifteen minutes time and if it were at all possible to bring a bunch of flowers with me,’ he then tossed me a coaster and said it would activate in twenty minutes time.
He’d made me a Portkey so I could land on my arse in front of a Gilderoy Lockhart fan.
In actual fact, I ended up on my arse in front of the whole Weasley clan, narrowly missing Arthur Weasley’s lap by a foot or an arse, depending upon how you like to measure things.
Ron’s idea of a blind date was his mother 60th birthday party and the only leather upon display was that of Harry’s belt and Arthur Weasley’s watch strap and after seven children, I was fairly certain that Molly Weasley was neither a man nor gay.
I glared at Ron and then presented Mrs Weasley with the bouquet of flowers I was holding, she ushered me towards the kitchen table and sandwiched me between Charlie and Percy.
I tried very hard not to think of which of those two the leather-wearer was and which one was the Gilderoy Lockhart fan in case I mixed them up somehow or other and spoiled any future fantasies that I might have about them both. It was also rather difficult not knowing just whom I was supposed to be doing the dating with, I can tell you. Neither of the brothers gave much indication of which would give a rat’s arse about a Year with A Yeti or Voyaging with Vampires or who was cheating and wearing suede shoes.
I sat throughout the main course silently eating and the most I offered to the conversation was ‘nice mashed potatoes’.
By the time the sherry trifle rolled around, I was feeling rather desperate and somewhat cloddish and asked the most ridiculous question next to was Voldemort evil and did Snape have greasy hair?
I asked who everyone’s favourite DADA professor was.
I was met with stony silence till Bill Weasley piped up with, “I rather wished I’d had Lockhart, Magical Me was such a good read.”
I blinked and blinked again, then scanned the magically over-extended table for Fleur, who was now noticeable absent from the celebrations and wondered when Bill had come out as a gay man.
“If you are looking for Fleur, she’s at home with Vicky, she’s not well.”
Oh. Well. What could I say to that? Sorry to hear about that but you’ve just ruined my fantasy of our eyes meeting over the sherry trifle and of us doing stuff that might involve popping the cherries on top of the said mentioned trifle, licking custard out of arseholes and using the multi-coloured hundreds and thousands as some kind of freckle indicator tool.
“Nothing serious, I hope?”
“Nah, woman’s problems, be right as rain come next week.”
“Oh.”
I nodded my sympathies and decided to forgo the trifle and sample the cheese board instead.
Later that evening when Harry’s gift of sixty year old cognac had been consumed and Mrs Weasley had gotten all teary eyed and started singing Celestina Warbeck songs off-key and at the top of her voice I volunteered Ron for the washing-up and cornered him over the sink. “What the bloody hell was this all about?”
“What about what?”
“Ron, stop with the whating, you’re not thick! This! Tonight.”
“You’re date!”
“With?” I prompted.
“Bloody hell, Neville, do you have to ask?”
I crossed my arms and got soap bubbles all over my elbows, “Clearly.”
Ron made a weird gurgling sound that indicated he was thinking then cleared his throat. “Well, you know, Charlie and Percy have never married and-”
“And you think they are gay?”
“You’ve never been married and your gay and they are pushing forty.”
“So being forty makes you gay? Ron, you’re an idiot!”
“Hey! I’m only trying to help, anyway it wasn’t just Charlie and Percy I had in mind…Bill’s become a Mormon.”
“What?” I could feel a headache coming on and wasn’t too sure what a person’s religious beliefs had to do with where they liked to shove their cocks on an evening.
“He can have more than one wife!”
“And?”
“Well, you know!”
“I’m fairly certain that I don’t and I’m even more certain that I don’t want to think about your twisted logic. Wives tend to have breasts and vaginas, Ron.”
I stomped back to the front room then, leaving Ron with the remainder of the washing-up, desperately trying to forget about breasts and vaginas least I start thinking about Hermione’s genitals and where they all figured in their marriage to Ron.
I felt a headache coming on and wondered when I’d become such a girl that I’d get headaches in situations such as this. I discretely patted my chest to make sure nothing bouncy had sprouted up when I wasn’t looking and gently rolled my hips to make sure that there was something bouncy still there and made my excuses to leave.
Luna patted my arm and asked me if I’d been bitten by an Umgubular Slashkilter then calmly escorted me to the Floo, telling me not to worry and that she’d be over on Friday to ‘cleanse ‘ and ‘prepare’ me for her date.
That night I dreamt of Gilderoy Lockhart doing the can-can whilst wearing a black leather cat-suit and whistling something remarkably similar to Weasley is my King.
I awoke the next morning with an even bigger headache and a dreadful fear of Friday.
Part3: Luna’s Date