A Reluctant Husband (3/8)
Title: A Reluctant Husband
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ron/Pansy
Word count: 3621
Rating: R just to be sure.
Warnings: Erm, I'm not the biggest fan of the character Hermione. So there's that...
Author's Notes: This plot was inspired by a book I read last year; A Reliable Wife. I recommend it. Special thanks goes to dream_mancer, for saving me from drag queens with chainsaws, and to filia_umbrae, for dotting the i's and crossing the t's. You guys are awesome!
A Reluctant Husband (1/8)
A Reluctant Husband (2/8)
They sat companionably for what seemed hours, making a serious dent in Ron’s supply of scotch. Each knew that the next drink was probably a bad idea, and yet both of them still took turns pouring. They were well into their cups by late evening when Ron snapped his fingers and said, “I forgot all about dinner. You hungry?”
“My standard answer is no, but I’m really starved, so yes,” Pansy said with a giggle. She startled at the sound and covered her mouth immediately. “I must’ve had too much if I’m twittering like a schoolgirl. That hasn’t happened in a while.”
It was the alcohol, Ron was sure of it, but he still couldn’t stop what came out of his mouth next.
“Is there anything else that hasn’t happened in a while I can help you with?” he said with a half grin.
Pansy paused and looked at him, and then knocked back the rest of her drink in one. “Not for another seven days, Weasley,” she replied easily, nodding towards their rolled up contracts in the corner of the room.
He nodded. It was a ridiculous thought anyway, that she would want him in his current state. He was aging, fairly drunk, and probably more than a little silly at this point. Turning, he started toward the kitchen. “I have some cold cuts. We can make sandwiches-”
Pansy caught him by the elbow and turned him around. “You honestly think I care about the contracts, Weasley?” she asked. “I’ve already breached the rules by looking you up. And I think it’s absolutely necessary that we take some of this for a test run before the ceremony.”
“Some of what?” he asked, cautiously optimistic. Pansy Parkinson, or Nott, or whatever her name was now, really was lovely, and she was very near, and she hadn’t yet removed her hand from his arm.
She smiled as she lifted her chin. “This.”
He’d been kissed thousands of times. Lavender, Hermione, a few others in between, but he couldn’t ever remember being kissed quite like this.
Pansy’s lips were soft, but insistent. Her taste and scent intermingled, causing an immediate reaction in Ron. He gathered her in his arms and returned her kiss as if she were a drug he simply couldn’t get enough of. Her hands were at his face and neck as if she were reassuring him, and his were at her back, urging her on. He dipped down to taste the skin at her neck, and she grazed his earlobe with her teeth, and both looked a bit stunned when they pulled back and met the other’s gaze.
“Well, that works,” she stated, satisfied.
“Like a charm,” Ron agreed. He smiled and took her hand in his, intent on the kitchen. “As I was saying,” he said, more relaxed now than he had been before, “all I have is cold meats. We could try flooing somewhere, though, if you like.”
Pansy stopped him and frowned, a look of concern on her face. “You aren’t going to try to go a bit farther?”
Stilling, Ron turned to face her. He was absolute rubbish at this. “N-no. I thought perhaps we could have supper and then later, if you like, we can erm-” He ducked his head and cursed his blush. “Do that again.”
“So you’re going to let me stay?” she asked, a touch of surprise in her voice.
“Well, yes,” Ron answered. “Don’t you want to stay?”
Several expressions passed over Pansy’s face in the span of several seconds, and about the time Ron had made the decision that she was going to leave, she surprised him by saying, “You know, I find that I do.” She slipped her hand in his again and gave him a sultry sort of smile. “-I really, really do.”
Ron let out a sigh of relief. “Good.”
“Because I think the sex is going to be great, for one,” she said slyly, “but also because I’ve had a lovely time tonight.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, blushing at her first thought. “Me, too. About the lovely time,” he amended quickly. “Though I’m mostly drunk. Not that it matters. I’ve still had a nice time.”
*~~*~~*
They ate dinner and continued to chat throughout. Ron found Pansy to be an easy conversationalist; she actually asked him questions rather than spouting facts, and the best part was that she listened when he answered her. She even seemed to think his jokes were funny. He was starting to feel that warm glow that happened in the first days of love. He’d felt it once before, and he knew what it was, but it still made him uncomfortable. This particular situation was too ridiculous for love.
She was beautiful. That was obvious. For nearing forty, the woman sitting in his kitchen with him was stunning. She was curvy where a woman should be, with legs women would kill for and her face was still unlined and lovely. As they talked over coffee, she kept touching him - just the back of his hand or his arm - but it still sent a thrill through him.
Ron was a trained professional - was being the key word, he dropped out of the Aurors long ago, but he still was wary. This entire situation was nearing perfect, and if Ron Weasley knew anything, he knew that if it seemed too good to be true, it probably was.
Still, he had hope.
*~~*~~*
When dinner was over and it was time to progress to other things, they stood outside the door to what was obviously a guest room in Ron’s home. Pansy peeked in, saw the lack of personal belongings and looked up at Ron inquisitively. “This isn’t your room, then.”
“No,” Ron answered. “But the loo’s just through here, and there’s plenty of blankets if you get cold. Merlin, it’s still snowing,” he remarked, stepping into the room and pulling back the drapes a bit to see the darkened, snowy landscape. “At the rate it’s going we’ll be completely snowed in by morning.”
Pansy moved to stand beside him, a bit stunned that he wasn’t taking her to his bed. She was completely at a loss. There had been attraction, she was sure of it. She’d caught him looking at her - staring, actually - more than once during the evening, and of course there was that kiss.
If Pansy was on the fence about what sort of lover Ron would be, she wasn’t anymore; she’d only meant to ensnare the redheaded man with the kiss, keep him interested enough so that he wouldn’t turn her out in the snow tonight. Having been intrigued by his response earlier, she found herself to be a bit disappointed that he wasn’t interested in pursuing more that evening. And if that made her a slag, well, so be it. She was too old to be ashamed of going after something she wanted.
“Are you expecting someone?”
Ron looked down at her, seemingly surprised by her proximity. “Erm, no. No. Just you.”
“Then it won’t be so bad to be snowed in, will it?” she asked, giving him another of her patented smiles.
He blushed and then chuckled, shaking his head. “No, not at all.” Pansy couldn’t quite read his expression, but he seemed to be thinking about something rather hard. When it was apparent that he’d made up his mind, he bent slowly and kissed her lightly on the lips, turning to go before she even had a chance to respond.
“Goodnight, Parkinson.”
“You know,” Pansy replied, trying to stall just a bit more, “my name’s not Parkinson, anymore. If it’s anything, it’d be Nott, but I’d rather you not call me that, either.”
“No,” he agreed. “Best not.”
“How about Pansy, then?” she suggested. “It’s not so awful.”
“You’re going to stop calling me ‘Weasley,’ then, like we’re still in school?”
Pansy nodded. “Of course. I can’t go around calling my husband by his last name. That’d be ridiculous, wouldn’t it?”
A faint smile graced Ron’s lips. “I think you can call me whatever you like,” he said.
“Oh, don’t say things like that,” Pansy said with a throaty laugh. “Giving me the freedom of whatever I like has never ended well for anyone but me.”
“Whatever you like, within reason?” Ron asked.
“Whose reason?” Pansy countered.
Ron laughed. “Maybe you could make a list and we’ll talk,” he said, still chuckling. “But in the meantime, you could try Ron.”
“Ron,” she said slowly, testing it out. “Ron.” She glanced up at him. “It’s short for Ronald, I suppose?”
He nodded.
“But you don’t really like that?” she surmised.
“No, not really. Mum calls me Ronald when she’s angry or I’ve upset her. Everyone else calls me Ron. Or Dad,” he added thoughtfully.
“Don’t worry. I won’t call you that,” she said with a smirk.
“That’s for the best, probably,” he agreed. There was silence for a moment, and then he cleared his throat and said, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Ron,” she replied.
Before she could even say another syllable, he was gone. Pansy sat heavily on the edge of the bed and frowned. Dozens of men could be felled in hours’ time, but Ron Weasley had resisted. She rose and looked at herself in the guest room’s vanity mirror, turning from side to side, but everything seemed to be in order. She wasn’t young anymore, but she spent a great deal of time, effort and money to keep everything up to par. No, it likely didn’t have anything to do with her, but more that Ron Weasley had a certain amount of propriety that he was bound to adhere to. She sighed deeply.
Pansy loathed propriety.
She’d been distracted from what she’d come to do, during the course of the evening. It had been nice, to sit and chat and flirt with a man, and have him respond. But she was here for a purpose, and decided she’d better get to work, however unpleasant it might be. Sighing heavily, she opened her suitcase that he’d thoughtfully dropped in the room earlier, and shuffled through it until she found what she was looking for, a small, antique mirror about the size of her palm. “I’m here,” she said resigned.
“Bloody well took you long enough, didn’t it?” the male voice on the other side.
“When you want a job done, you do it yourself. When you want a job done right, you call me.”
“Right. Does he suspect anything?”
Pansy sighed again. “I don’t know, do I?” she snapped. “He’s a former Auror. He isn’t going to let on if he thinks I’m here to make his life hell.”
“Don’t give me that,” the voice said irritably. “Let’s not forget my leverage, darling.”
A muscle in Pansy’s jaw twitched and after a moment of silence, she relented. “No. He doesn’t suspect anything. I’m in. He might even be on his way to being in love, if I’m lucky.”
“Love isn’t necessary. Getting in his home, earning his trust, that’s what’s necessary.”
“Yes,” she said wearily. “You might have mentioned that once or twice.”
“Don’t be a smart arse with me, love,” the voice said. “You do what we’ve discussed. You do your job. And if you do it to my satisfaction, I won’t hurt your precious little Violet.”
“Yes,” Pansy said quickly. “Of course. I’ll do anything. Just, please, don’t hurt her.”
“Can’t promise anything, you know. One does get so bored waiting.”
Furious tears leaked from the corners of Pansy’s eyes as her jaw clenched tightly. “Bastard,” she whispered.
“Absolutely,” the voice sneered. “Sleep well.”
Pansy’s grip on the mirror tightened, and though she thought about flinging it against the wall and smashing it to bits, she didn’t. The horrid thing was her only link to Violet, now, and her daughter’s safety was paramount.
Pansy had lost focus. She knew that now. She had a job to do here in Lancashire, in this house, with this particular man, and she had to stop caring about her feelings and get the bloody hell on with what she came here to do.
*~~*~~*
Pansy huddled beneath the blankets in Ron’s guest room. The snow and wind hadn’t let up; the drifts covering the windows in her room had nearly blocked out all the moonlight, and the temperature had dropped significantly. Away from the fireplaces in the sitting room and kitchen, the house was bloody cold.
Ridiculous, she thought to herself, shivering as she threw back the covers. There was a man, whose body was certain to be putting off a generous amount of heat, just down the hallway. She had work to do. Not only did she need to be there, she found she wanted to be there, as well. The curiosity, quite frankly, was killing her.
The floorboards creaked and the hinges whined as she pushed open the door she’d assumed was his. The sight that met her made her raise an eyebrow and smile at the same time. Some Auror he is, she thought briefly as she watched him, stretched out on his back. arms splayed and snoring softly.
Silently, she climbed into bed beside him, sighing as she found relief from the chilled house beneath the warm blankets. In no more time than it took Pansy to blink, she was on her back with something hard shoved under the flesh of her jaw.
“I do hope that’s your wand,” she said breathily. “It’s only me. It’s Pansy,” she added quickly, deciding that joking with a sleepy ex-Auror wasn’t the smartest route. Her heart rate increased, not only because he could have cursed her at any moment, but because his solidly built body was pressed against the length of her own. It made Pansy very aware of the fact that she hadn’t been touched, let alone been trapped beneath a man in quite some time.
Ron’s blue eyes blinked down at her and he rasped, “Pansy,” in a sleepy voice.
“None other,” she murmured.
Ron relaxed somewhat, and then moved to lie beside Pansy, still blinking sleepily. “What’re you doing here?”
“I was cold,” Pansy explained. “Even with all the spare blankets.”
“Can’t do a warming charm?” he asked, yawning.
“They dry my skin terribly.” She laid her head on his shoulder and smiled when he reflexively put an arm around her. “Do you mind? I can go freeze in the other room, if you prefer. It’ll be a bit of a mess to explain to the Ministry, why your affianced houseguest turned into an icicle and died.” She inhaled deeply and reveled in the warmth coming off him in waves. “It’s your choice.”
“‘s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“You never noticed that I was a bit prone to hyperbole?”
“Er- no.”
“I’ll wait until daylight to be dramatic in the future.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough.” There was silence for a moment and he ventured, “Sorry you were cold. I’ll have to see about getting a fireplace put in that room.”
Pansy frowned into the darkness. “Is it really that bad, me being here? No funny business, I promise. I’m not trying to break the contract rules. I was only cold.”
“No,” he protested. “You being here is... nice.”
“Nice,” she repeated, shaking her head at his description. “Well, I’ve had worse.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” Ron began, “I only meant-”
“I know. I was teasing. Sort of.”
“Okay.” He was silent for a few more moments, and then said, “So, um, no funny business, then?”
Pansy laughed, despite herself. “Men,” she said indulgently. “All alike, the lot of you.”
“Sorry. I was only joking.”
Pansy snorted. “Perhaps fifty percent joking, I’d warrant.”
“A half naked girl gets into your bed, what would you think?”
“Are you asking me my sexual preferences?”
“... I, er-”
Pansy laughed again. “Sorry. I knew what you meant. Yes. If the roles were reversed, I’d definitely think I was being hit on.”
“Yeah.” He was quiet again, and then said, “So are you?”
“Am I what?” she asked. “A lesbian?”
“No!”
“Oh. Hitting on you?”
“Yeah.”
She draped a leg over his. “Maybe a little.”
“A little?” he repeated, propping himself up on an elbow, displacing her to a pillow so that he could look down at her. “That’s rather a small nightdress for someone who’s caught in a house in the middle of a snowstorm.”
“I had no idea it would be cold, here.”
“Liar.”
“Fine,” she relented. “I knew.” She gave him a coy smile. “You don’t like it?”
“A man would have to be dead not to see you look amazing, even in the dark, middle of the night.”
Pansy smiled and lifted a finger to move an errant lock of hair from his forehead. “See? That’s ever so much better than ‘nice.’”
He kissed her then, his soft lips insistent on hers. Gone was the timidity of the day. In the darkness he was bolder, his kisses more languid, his hands exploring, touching and caressing, until Pansy’s thinking was quite muddled and she didn’t care one whit about honoring the purity clause in the sodding marriage contract.
The contract. The Mirror. Violet. Damn. Pansy sighed.
Ron lifted his lips from where they were doing very nice things to her neck. “That wasn’t a happy sigh.”
“It isn’t you,” she said quickly.
“Yeah. I’ve heard that before. But here we are, the two of us in this room, with the kissing, and the bare skin and throwing caution to the wind...”
“Are we throwing caution to the wind?” she asked, distracted by this new train of thought.
“I dunno,” he answered. “Is it even possible?”
“Anything is possible,” she said with a smile, tugging on his bottom lip gently with her teeth.
“Anything?” he echoed faintly.
“It’s what keeps me going,” she replied.
“I think you’re trying to kill me,” Ron said, trying not to whimper as her bare leg slid against his. He mentally cursed pajama pants.
“If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already,” she assured him. Smiling, she pushed him down gently into the mattress, swinging a leg on the other side of his hips. “I was thinking,” she said.
“That usually only gets me in trouble,” he replied.
“The ceremony, should you decide you want to go through with it, will be in seven days.” She glanced at the clock at his bedside. “Well, six, now.”
Ron nodded. It was all he could manage with the witch astride him looking as she did.
“And I wondered when, or if, you wanted our children to meet.” She waved a hand and bent to kiss his shoulder. “Not that they don’t already know each other,” she said, “but they should probably hear this from us, rather than the Ministry’s leaky sources. Don’t you think?”
“That’s a good point,” he managed, stifling a groan as she shifted her weight. “Shall I send for them tomorrow morning?”
“Are you sure about this? About me?” she asked.
“No,” he answered honestly. “Not even a little.”
“Well, then, let’s begin with baby steps.” Pansy bent her head and trailed a line of kisses down his torso, mapping the planes of his chest and abdomen with her hands and letting her long, dark curls tickle the tops of his thighs. “Tell me when I come across something you can be sure of.”
“I think that’s-” he said, hissing with pleasure as her mouth closed around him. “Y-Yes,” he stuttered. “Sure. That, I’m sure of.”
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ron/Pansy
Word count: 3621
Rating: R just to be sure.
Warnings: Erm, I'm not the biggest fan of the character Hermione. So there's that...
Author's Notes: This plot was inspired by a book I read last year; A Reliable Wife. I recommend it. Special thanks goes to dream_mancer, for saving me from drag queens with chainsaws, and to filia_umbrae, for dotting the i's and crossing the t's. You guys are awesome!
A Reluctant Husband (1/8)
A Reluctant Husband (2/8)
They sat companionably for what seemed hours, making a serious dent in Ron’s supply of scotch. Each knew that the next drink was probably a bad idea, and yet both of them still took turns pouring. They were well into their cups by late evening when Ron snapped his fingers and said, “I forgot all about dinner. You hungry?”
“My standard answer is no, but I’m really starved, so yes,” Pansy said with a giggle. She startled at the sound and covered her mouth immediately. “I must’ve had too much if I’m twittering like a schoolgirl. That hasn’t happened in a while.”
It was the alcohol, Ron was sure of it, but he still couldn’t stop what came out of his mouth next.
“Is there anything else that hasn’t happened in a while I can help you with?” he said with a half grin.
Pansy paused and looked at him, and then knocked back the rest of her drink in one. “Not for another seven days, Weasley,” she replied easily, nodding towards their rolled up contracts in the corner of the room.
He nodded. It was a ridiculous thought anyway, that she would want him in his current state. He was aging, fairly drunk, and probably more than a little silly at this point. Turning, he started toward the kitchen. “I have some cold cuts. We can make sandwiches-”
Pansy caught him by the elbow and turned him around. “You honestly think I care about the contracts, Weasley?” she asked. “I’ve already breached the rules by looking you up. And I think it’s absolutely necessary that we take some of this for a test run before the ceremony.”
“Some of what?” he asked, cautiously optimistic. Pansy Parkinson, or Nott, or whatever her name was now, really was lovely, and she was very near, and she hadn’t yet removed her hand from his arm.
She smiled as she lifted her chin. “This.”
He’d been kissed thousands of times. Lavender, Hermione, a few others in between, but he couldn’t ever remember being kissed quite like this.
Pansy’s lips were soft, but insistent. Her taste and scent intermingled, causing an immediate reaction in Ron. He gathered her in his arms and returned her kiss as if she were a drug he simply couldn’t get enough of. Her hands were at his face and neck as if she were reassuring him, and his were at her back, urging her on. He dipped down to taste the skin at her neck, and she grazed his earlobe with her teeth, and both looked a bit stunned when they pulled back and met the other’s gaze.
“Well, that works,” she stated, satisfied.
“Like a charm,” Ron agreed. He smiled and took her hand in his, intent on the kitchen. “As I was saying,” he said, more relaxed now than he had been before, “all I have is cold meats. We could try flooing somewhere, though, if you like.”
Pansy stopped him and frowned, a look of concern on her face. “You aren’t going to try to go a bit farther?”
Stilling, Ron turned to face her. He was absolute rubbish at this. “N-no. I thought perhaps we could have supper and then later, if you like, we can erm-” He ducked his head and cursed his blush. “Do that again.”
“So you’re going to let me stay?” she asked, a touch of surprise in her voice.
“Well, yes,” Ron answered. “Don’t you want to stay?”
Several expressions passed over Pansy’s face in the span of several seconds, and about the time Ron had made the decision that she was going to leave, she surprised him by saying, “You know, I find that I do.” She slipped her hand in his again and gave him a sultry sort of smile. “-I really, really do.”
Ron let out a sigh of relief. “Good.”
“Because I think the sex is going to be great, for one,” she said slyly, “but also because I’ve had a lovely time tonight.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, blushing at her first thought. “Me, too. About the lovely time,” he amended quickly. “Though I’m mostly drunk. Not that it matters. I’ve still had a nice time.”
*~~*~~*
They ate dinner and continued to chat throughout. Ron found Pansy to be an easy conversationalist; she actually asked him questions rather than spouting facts, and the best part was that she listened when he answered her. She even seemed to think his jokes were funny. He was starting to feel that warm glow that happened in the first days of love. He’d felt it once before, and he knew what it was, but it still made him uncomfortable. This particular situation was too ridiculous for love.
She was beautiful. That was obvious. For nearing forty, the woman sitting in his kitchen with him was stunning. She was curvy where a woman should be, with legs women would kill for and her face was still unlined and lovely. As they talked over coffee, she kept touching him - just the back of his hand or his arm - but it still sent a thrill through him.
Ron was a trained professional - was being the key word, he dropped out of the Aurors long ago, but he still was wary. This entire situation was nearing perfect, and if Ron Weasley knew anything, he knew that if it seemed too good to be true, it probably was.
Still, he had hope.
*~~*~~*
When dinner was over and it was time to progress to other things, they stood outside the door to what was obviously a guest room in Ron’s home. Pansy peeked in, saw the lack of personal belongings and looked up at Ron inquisitively. “This isn’t your room, then.”
“No,” Ron answered. “But the loo’s just through here, and there’s plenty of blankets if you get cold. Merlin, it’s still snowing,” he remarked, stepping into the room and pulling back the drapes a bit to see the darkened, snowy landscape. “At the rate it’s going we’ll be completely snowed in by morning.”
Pansy moved to stand beside him, a bit stunned that he wasn’t taking her to his bed. She was completely at a loss. There had been attraction, she was sure of it. She’d caught him looking at her - staring, actually - more than once during the evening, and of course there was that kiss.
If Pansy was on the fence about what sort of lover Ron would be, she wasn’t anymore; she’d only meant to ensnare the redheaded man with the kiss, keep him interested enough so that he wouldn’t turn her out in the snow tonight. Having been intrigued by his response earlier, she found herself to be a bit disappointed that he wasn’t interested in pursuing more that evening. And if that made her a slag, well, so be it. She was too old to be ashamed of going after something she wanted.
“Are you expecting someone?”
Ron looked down at her, seemingly surprised by her proximity. “Erm, no. No. Just you.”
“Then it won’t be so bad to be snowed in, will it?” she asked, giving him another of her patented smiles.
He blushed and then chuckled, shaking his head. “No, not at all.” Pansy couldn’t quite read his expression, but he seemed to be thinking about something rather hard. When it was apparent that he’d made up his mind, he bent slowly and kissed her lightly on the lips, turning to go before she even had a chance to respond.
“Goodnight, Parkinson.”
“You know,” Pansy replied, trying to stall just a bit more, “my name’s not Parkinson, anymore. If it’s anything, it’d be Nott, but I’d rather you not call me that, either.”
“No,” he agreed. “Best not.”
“How about Pansy, then?” she suggested. “It’s not so awful.”
“You’re going to stop calling me ‘Weasley,’ then, like we’re still in school?”
Pansy nodded. “Of course. I can’t go around calling my husband by his last name. That’d be ridiculous, wouldn’t it?”
A faint smile graced Ron’s lips. “I think you can call me whatever you like,” he said.
“Oh, don’t say things like that,” Pansy said with a throaty laugh. “Giving me the freedom of whatever I like has never ended well for anyone but me.”
“Whatever you like, within reason?” Ron asked.
“Whose reason?” Pansy countered.
Ron laughed. “Maybe you could make a list and we’ll talk,” he said, still chuckling. “But in the meantime, you could try Ron.”
“Ron,” she said slowly, testing it out. “Ron.” She glanced up at him. “It’s short for Ronald, I suppose?”
He nodded.
“But you don’t really like that?” she surmised.
“No, not really. Mum calls me Ronald when she’s angry or I’ve upset her. Everyone else calls me Ron. Or Dad,” he added thoughtfully.
“Don’t worry. I won’t call you that,” she said with a smirk.
“That’s for the best, probably,” he agreed. There was silence for a moment, and then he cleared his throat and said, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Ron,” she replied.
Before she could even say another syllable, he was gone. Pansy sat heavily on the edge of the bed and frowned. Dozens of men could be felled in hours’ time, but Ron Weasley had resisted. She rose and looked at herself in the guest room’s vanity mirror, turning from side to side, but everything seemed to be in order. She wasn’t young anymore, but she spent a great deal of time, effort and money to keep everything up to par. No, it likely didn’t have anything to do with her, but more that Ron Weasley had a certain amount of propriety that he was bound to adhere to. She sighed deeply.
Pansy loathed propriety.
She’d been distracted from what she’d come to do, during the course of the evening. It had been nice, to sit and chat and flirt with a man, and have him respond. But she was here for a purpose, and decided she’d better get to work, however unpleasant it might be. Sighing heavily, she opened her suitcase that he’d thoughtfully dropped in the room earlier, and shuffled through it until she found what she was looking for, a small, antique mirror about the size of her palm. “I’m here,” she said resigned.
“Bloody well took you long enough, didn’t it?” the male voice on the other side.
“When you want a job done, you do it yourself. When you want a job done right, you call me.”
“Right. Does he suspect anything?”
Pansy sighed again. “I don’t know, do I?” she snapped. “He’s a former Auror. He isn’t going to let on if he thinks I’m here to make his life hell.”
“Don’t give me that,” the voice said irritably. “Let’s not forget my leverage, darling.”
A muscle in Pansy’s jaw twitched and after a moment of silence, she relented. “No. He doesn’t suspect anything. I’m in. He might even be on his way to being in love, if I’m lucky.”
“Love isn’t necessary. Getting in his home, earning his trust, that’s what’s necessary.”
“Yes,” she said wearily. “You might have mentioned that once or twice.”
“Don’t be a smart arse with me, love,” the voice said. “You do what we’ve discussed. You do your job. And if you do it to my satisfaction, I won’t hurt your precious little Violet.”
“Yes,” Pansy said quickly. “Of course. I’ll do anything. Just, please, don’t hurt her.”
“Can’t promise anything, you know. One does get so bored waiting.”
Furious tears leaked from the corners of Pansy’s eyes as her jaw clenched tightly. “Bastard,” she whispered.
“Absolutely,” the voice sneered. “Sleep well.”
Pansy’s grip on the mirror tightened, and though she thought about flinging it against the wall and smashing it to bits, she didn’t. The horrid thing was her only link to Violet, now, and her daughter’s safety was paramount.
Pansy had lost focus. She knew that now. She had a job to do here in Lancashire, in this house, with this particular man, and she had to stop caring about her feelings and get the bloody hell on with what she came here to do.
*~~*~~*
Pansy huddled beneath the blankets in Ron’s guest room. The snow and wind hadn’t let up; the drifts covering the windows in her room had nearly blocked out all the moonlight, and the temperature had dropped significantly. Away from the fireplaces in the sitting room and kitchen, the house was bloody cold.
Ridiculous, she thought to herself, shivering as she threw back the covers. There was a man, whose body was certain to be putting off a generous amount of heat, just down the hallway. She had work to do. Not only did she need to be there, she found she wanted to be there, as well. The curiosity, quite frankly, was killing her.
The floorboards creaked and the hinges whined as she pushed open the door she’d assumed was his. The sight that met her made her raise an eyebrow and smile at the same time. Some Auror he is, she thought briefly as she watched him, stretched out on his back. arms splayed and snoring softly.
Silently, she climbed into bed beside him, sighing as she found relief from the chilled house beneath the warm blankets. In no more time than it took Pansy to blink, she was on her back with something hard shoved under the flesh of her jaw.
“I do hope that’s your wand,” she said breathily. “It’s only me. It’s Pansy,” she added quickly, deciding that joking with a sleepy ex-Auror wasn’t the smartest route. Her heart rate increased, not only because he could have cursed her at any moment, but because his solidly built body was pressed against the length of her own. It made Pansy very aware of the fact that she hadn’t been touched, let alone been trapped beneath a man in quite some time.
Ron’s blue eyes blinked down at her and he rasped, “Pansy,” in a sleepy voice.
“None other,” she murmured.
Ron relaxed somewhat, and then moved to lie beside Pansy, still blinking sleepily. “What’re you doing here?”
“I was cold,” Pansy explained. “Even with all the spare blankets.”
“Can’t do a warming charm?” he asked, yawning.
“They dry my skin terribly.” She laid her head on his shoulder and smiled when he reflexively put an arm around her. “Do you mind? I can go freeze in the other room, if you prefer. It’ll be a bit of a mess to explain to the Ministry, why your affianced houseguest turned into an icicle and died.” She inhaled deeply and reveled in the warmth coming off him in waves. “It’s your choice.”
“‘s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“You never noticed that I was a bit prone to hyperbole?”
“Er- no.”
“I’ll wait until daylight to be dramatic in the future.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough.” There was silence for a moment and he ventured, “Sorry you were cold. I’ll have to see about getting a fireplace put in that room.”
Pansy frowned into the darkness. “Is it really that bad, me being here? No funny business, I promise. I’m not trying to break the contract rules. I was only cold.”
“No,” he protested. “You being here is... nice.”
“Nice,” she repeated, shaking her head at his description. “Well, I’ve had worse.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” Ron began, “I only meant-”
“I know. I was teasing. Sort of.”
“Okay.” He was silent for a few more moments, and then said, “So, um, no funny business, then?”
Pansy laughed, despite herself. “Men,” she said indulgently. “All alike, the lot of you.”
“Sorry. I was only joking.”
Pansy snorted. “Perhaps fifty percent joking, I’d warrant.”
“A half naked girl gets into your bed, what would you think?”
“Are you asking me my sexual preferences?”
“... I, er-”
Pansy laughed again. “Sorry. I knew what you meant. Yes. If the roles were reversed, I’d definitely think I was being hit on.”
“Yeah.” He was quiet again, and then said, “So are you?”
“Am I what?” she asked. “A lesbian?”
“No!”
“Oh. Hitting on you?”
“Yeah.”
She draped a leg over his. “Maybe a little.”
“A little?” he repeated, propping himself up on an elbow, displacing her to a pillow so that he could look down at her. “That’s rather a small nightdress for someone who’s caught in a house in the middle of a snowstorm.”
“I had no idea it would be cold, here.”
“Liar.”
“Fine,” she relented. “I knew.” She gave him a coy smile. “You don’t like it?”
“A man would have to be dead not to see you look amazing, even in the dark, middle of the night.”
Pansy smiled and lifted a finger to move an errant lock of hair from his forehead. “See? That’s ever so much better than ‘nice.’”
He kissed her then, his soft lips insistent on hers. Gone was the timidity of the day. In the darkness he was bolder, his kisses more languid, his hands exploring, touching and caressing, until Pansy’s thinking was quite muddled and she didn’t care one whit about honoring the purity clause in the sodding marriage contract.
The contract. The Mirror. Violet. Damn. Pansy sighed.
Ron lifted his lips from where they were doing very nice things to her neck. “That wasn’t a happy sigh.”
“It isn’t you,” she said quickly.
“Yeah. I’ve heard that before. But here we are, the two of us in this room, with the kissing, and the bare skin and throwing caution to the wind...”
“Are we throwing caution to the wind?” she asked, distracted by this new train of thought.
“I dunno,” he answered. “Is it even possible?”
“Anything is possible,” she said with a smile, tugging on his bottom lip gently with her teeth.
“Anything?” he echoed faintly.
“It’s what keeps me going,” she replied.
“I think you’re trying to kill me,” Ron said, trying not to whimper as her bare leg slid against his. He mentally cursed pajama pants.
“If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already,” she assured him. Smiling, she pushed him down gently into the mattress, swinging a leg on the other side of his hips. “I was thinking,” she said.
“That usually only gets me in trouble,” he replied.
“The ceremony, should you decide you want to go through with it, will be in seven days.” She glanced at the clock at his bedside. “Well, six, now.”
Ron nodded. It was all he could manage with the witch astride him looking as she did.
“And I wondered when, or if, you wanted our children to meet.” She waved a hand and bent to kiss his shoulder. “Not that they don’t already know each other,” she said, “but they should probably hear this from us, rather than the Ministry’s leaky sources. Don’t you think?”
“That’s a good point,” he managed, stifling a groan as she shifted her weight. “Shall I send for them tomorrow morning?”
“Are you sure about this? About me?” she asked.
“No,” he answered honestly. “Not even a little.”
“Well, then, let’s begin with baby steps.” Pansy bent her head and trailed a line of kisses down his torso, mapping the planes of his chest and abdomen with her hands and letting her long, dark curls tickle the tops of his thighs. “Tell me when I come across something you can be sure of.”
“I think that’s-” he said, hissing with pleasure as her mouth closed around him. “Y-Yes,” he stuttered. “Sure. That, I’m sure of.”