Home (1/3)
Title: Home (1/3)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ron/Pansy
Word count: 5309
Rating: R++ For Pansy's mouth, her bad decisions and some naughtiness. :D
Warnings: Oh, my, so many warnings, where do I begin? Well, this was written over a span of MONTHS. It has two different authors, and the POV is wonky sometimes, in my opinion.
Author's Notes: On pages 14-26 of the word document, some of you might be interested to know that Seegrim provided Ron's dialogue/characterization. I'm never as good without her. And a big smushy hug of thanks to raspberry_rave, who read it, edited it and still said nice things.
Pansy Parkinson was not a woman who suffered fools.
After chucking out the latest in the series of disposable men in her life (the last after she'd found that he'd sold scantily clad pictures of her to the Daily Prophet), she'd called her dearest friend in the world to sit and comfort her while she ranted and raved and generally called the men of the world every foul name that she could think of.
It would've been much more satisfying for Pansy if that friend hadn't been Draco Malfoy, a man who had all the mercy of a tin of sardines.
"You knew it would end this way, Pans," he said unsympathetically. "It always does. It's as if you choose men you're certain will disappoint you."
"I chose you once, you know," she replied petulantly.
He raised his arms in reply, as if she'd made his point. "Exactly. And look how well that worked out for you! You didn't even speak to me, your dearest friend in the world, for nearly two years, after." He moved casually over to the bar, pouring himself a tumbler of scotch and topping off the wine glass that she held out to him. "If it were me, I'd stay celibate for a bit. See how that works out for me."
Pansy scoffed. "You would not. You're the only person in England with looser morals than me," she replied indignantly.
He chuckled. "Yeah, well I might have thought'd be funny to watch you try, anyway."
"God, I adore it when you mock my pain," she said, leaning her head against the back of her chair and closing her eyes. "It makes me feel so loved."
"Oh, shut it," he returned impatiently. "If you want to feel loved, you can go get your nanny elf from the third floor or curl up with a stuffed bear. But you invited me here. You invite Draco Malfoy, you get what you pay for."
"Enough. You know I can't stand it when you talk about yourself in the third person."
"I like it," he drawled, moving over to the window to look out at the expansive grounds of Beaumaris, Pansy's ancestral home. His gaze traveled over the gardens until they lit on a figure who was hauling hay out to one of the stables, ostensibly to feed the horses Pansy had stabled there. "Did you get new help, finally?" he asked, looking at the man taking long strides and carrying his load easily.
"Oh," Pansy answered distractedly. "Yes. I did it as a bit of a lark, actually, more to amuse you than anything else, but it turns out he's dead useful. A real work ethic on that one."
"Why would your new gardener amuse me?" Draco inquired, quirking a brow.
Pansy gave a serene smile. "Oh, he's more than a gardener. He helps with the horses and manages the household and the grounds. Toddy's getting so old, and even though she's a dear old elf, I needed more help around this moldering ruin than the little aged thing could give me," she said, joining Draco at the window. "Especially with my new fall line coming out next month. So I kept him on."
Draco stared at the man's back, crossing an arm over his chest as he drank deeply from his glass. "Still don't see why you think that might amuse me."
"Because it's Ronald Weasley," Pansy said, her serenity giving way to a gleefully evil grin. "Sometimes I go out and lounge by the pool just to watch him work without a shirt on. He developed quite nicely after we left Hogwarts. He's taller than you, and I'd bet he has about two stone more of muscle."
"So he's every bit the oaf I always knew he would be," Draco returned, unimpressed. "And he couldn't get anything better than manual labor. Figures."
"Yes, well, he's done an alright job so far, so don't run him off," Pansy directed, turning back to go re-seat herself.
"Parkinson," he said threateningly, reverting to their childhood habit of calling each other by their surnames. "You're not actually thinking of making the Weasel your next conquest. Tell me you have your sights set on something better than that."
"Please," Pansy said, her lips pursed. "I just don't want to have to go through the torture of interviewing and hiring another groundskeeper. It's maddening, the amount of dreck that comes out when you place an advert. Bloody awful," she lamented.
"If you'd sell this place and move to London like a sane person, you wouldn't have to have inferior persons in your employ, Pans," he said archly. "It just stubbornness, you holding on to this place."
"Perhaps," she returned, looking around her favorite sitting room in her childhood home. "But it's what I have left of the Parkinson line. I'm its, it's mine and I'm keeping it." She fixed her eyes on her oldest and dearest friend. "And there really isn't a whole lot you can say to change my mind."
"You have a weasel working for you. In your home," Draco said disgustedly. "I think that's foul, and only shows you're lacking in good judgment."
"No, the center page spread of me in my knickers in the daily fish wrapper shows my poor judgment," she argued evenly. "Hiring Weasley, as it turns out, was less of an amusement for you and more one for me." She gave him a smile and an arched brow. "I do so adore when you get all worked up, Draco. It's always hours and hours of entertainment."
"So glad I could help," he said dryly.
"Yes, well, what better place from which to derive entertainment than your friends?" Pansy asked impishly.
"I wasn't entertained so much as aroused by your little jaunt in the paper," Draco admitted. He let his gaze linger on her long legs, crossed demurely, and then followed up to her shapely torso as she relaxed, taking a sip from her wine glass. "You still look amazing, Pansy. I don't know why you didn't want to model."
"I don't like to be objectified," she said flatly.
"You love to be objectified," Draco argued. "You adore being the center of attention, and you like nothing better than when all the male eyes in the room are on you."
"When you put it that way," Pansy mused, "I don't know why I didn't try harder for it. Though I enjoy designing very much. Dressing people is fun."
"You still could be a model. Thirty isn't that old. You still have a few years before gravity takes its toll on your body."
"Sod off, Draco, darling," she said lazily, turning her attention to where he was still looking out the window. "Are you still watching Weasley?" she asked sweetly. "You haven't switched sides on me, have you?"
"No," Draco said firmly. "And I'd go so far as to take you up to that den of iniquity you call a bedroom just to prove it to you, if I must."
Pansy chuckled softly. "That won't be necessary. Though I might call you if my baser urges get the best of me. We all of us need a little release now and then, don't you agree?"
He winked at her, their easy banter back and forth comforting to them both. She wouldn't call him and they both knew it, but they both still spoke as if their joining together might be a possibility, and probably always would.
"But not tonight," Pansy said brightly. "I have a date."
"Now that your requisite half hour of mourning your last relationship is over, it's good to see you've moved on, Pans," he said shaking his head.
"I met him last night at the pub. He's tall and sort of has a brooding personality. And he's deliciously yummy. All broad shoulders and bulging biceps."
Draco cast a last disdainful look out the window. "Yes. It seems you're surrounding yourself with that lately."
"Don't be jealous, Draco. You're still the only man I've ever loved."
He snorted derisively. "Please."
"Well, if there weren't a little shriveled up black hole where my heart should be, I'd have loved you," she said fondly, rising and giving him a peck on the cheek.
"Right," Draco said, enfolding her in an embrace and resting his chin atop her head. "Floo if you need anything, Pans."
"Mmm," she replied in assent, shooing him out of the room, and waving as he strode down the corridor to the front door. "Don't forget there's a tea at the Goyle's on Sunday noon," she reminded him as she started up the stairs to her bedroom, eager to get ready for the man that would be there in a few hours.
Draco began to open the door as he said, "As if you and my mother would ever let me forget one of those blasted social teas. Did you want me to escort you?"
Pansy's reply was cut off as her groundskeeper chose that moment to enter the house, and both of the former Slytherins swiveled their heads to look at him. Ron's face turned an impressive shade of red, and Draco asked Pansy, "Don't you have a servants' entrance, Pans? It looks bad for the help to be entering the same doors that we use."
Ron glanced at Pansy and blushed even darker before he muttered, "Sorry."
"I see your powers of elocution are still much the same," Draco said, giving Ron a once over. "I think it might be worth the trouble of another round of interviews, Pansy. I wouldn't be able to live with this hanging about."
With that parting jibe, Draco gave Ron one last sneer and let the door slam behind him.
"Nice friend you have there," Ron said, nodding toward the door.
"Yes, Pansy said, stepping back down the few steps she'd climbed to remain on the ground floor. "He's one of my closest, actually."
Ron stayed quiet, deciding that Pansy probably already knew how he felt about her 'closest friend.' "I only stepped in because I thought you'd want to know the menu for tonight."
"Yes," she said, pleased that he'd thought of telling her. "I'm having someone new to the house, so make certain that you have the elves set the table with the very best china and silver."
Ron gave an impassive nod, quite certain himself that whatever scum that Parkinson brought home would not give a whit about what the food was served on.
"And keep a civil tongue in your mouth about Draco."
She turned on her heel and didn't even look back at him as she ascended the stairs.
Not that he expected her to look at him. She hadn't so far. Not really.
He'd worked for Pansy Parkinson a total of two months, and for the most part found her to be cold, disdainful and distant, and the maker of some spectacularly bad mistakes. That didn't change the fact that she was incredibly beautiful, with the kind of legs men would die to have wrapped around them, a mane of thick, dark curls, eyes that were liquid chocolate, and soft pink lips that more often than not he got caught up watching rather than listening to what was coming out of them like a good employee.
But that's what he was. An employee.
He'd had a couple of false starts, career-wise, and it turned out that as much as he was suited to be an Auror, the politics of the Ministry of Magic didn't suit him. He'd done some construction, and some curse breaking, but none of that appealed as much as simply working with his hands. He liked the isolation. And he longed to get out of the city, so when he saw the advert in the Prophet, he'd answered it, surprised after a brief interview, to find himself working for Pansy Parkinson.
Except for a half dozen elves, he was her only employee.
She wouldn't ever think of him as anything else, even if he suddenly became the crown prince of England, there was no way that Pansy Parkinson would deign to notice someone from such humble roots.
Even if he knew that he'd be better for her than all the barflies that she could ever bring home.
He sighed and watched her climb the stairs, hypnotized by the swaying of her shapely hips until she rounded the landing and was out of sight. Deciding that he'd better do his job if he wanted to keep it, he made his way down to the kitchens to make sure that the elves carried out his employer's orders to the letter. There would be days of sullen silence if even the smallest thing was wrong. And like the pathetic sod he was, he liked it when she spoke to him, even when she was barking orders.
*************
She brought different men back to the house periodically. None of them were worthy of her, and certainly none of them respected her. Hell, he wasn't sure that any of them even liked her. Ron kept his silence, though. It wasn't as if she were going to start asking him for his opinion on her personal matters.
She should, though, he thought bitterly as he strode out to the barn. She didn't even like the men she brought home. He could see it in her eyes, they were dead when she looked at them; even when she laughed at something one of them whispered in her ear, Ron could see that there was no spark, no life behind them. She was going through the motions of love, or what he presumed she thought love to be.
He approached her horse with the curry comb and the animal nuzzled him gently. It was odd for all her coldness and love of command that she'd chosen the most docile horse in the lot. It was a mottled white and tan spotted animal with lovely eyes, and Ron could tell at first sight that the horse just wanted to be loved. She thrived from any attention paid to her at all.
It wasn't too far off from being like the girl, herself. Ron smiled to himself as he ran the comb down the mare's flanks.
"What do you think you're doing?" Pansy called, her silhouette framed in the doorway by the setting sun. Ron's heart caught in his chest, the woman was so beautiful. Scary, but really, really, pretty.
"That's my horse," Pansy snapped. "I always take care of her. Always."
"I was only brushing her, is all," he replied.
"Don't." Pansy approached him angrily and Ron handed the curry comb over to her as a peace offering. She snatched the brush from his hand and he eased back away from her and leaned on one of the stalls. She looked at him for a moment, and then sighed, obviously exasperated with him. "Don't you have something to do?"
"Well," he said, nodding toward her horse. "I was doing it."
"I'm here now," she said.
Something welled up in Ron. He didn't know if it was years of being bullied about by Hermione that had done it, or if it was his frustration towards the woman in front of him, but he'd found he couldn't stay silent.
"In addition to my outlined duties, perhaps you need to give me a list of things that aren't my responsibility, as well," he bit out, growling the last words a bit more forcefully than he'd meant to.
Her eyes widened, and Ron could tell that by the surprise she tried carefully to hide that she hadn't expected him to say anything about her rude arrival and usurpation of his task. Her wide brown eyes, fringed almost artistically with dark lashes, blinked once before she schooled her features and frowned at him.
"I- sorry," he said, shaking his head. "She's yours. Got it."
"Her name's Ivory," Pansy offered, turning back to comb the animal's mane.
"I won't touch her again," he said, and moved out of the stall and towards the barn door.
She didn't say anything more, but he turned back as he reached the exit and watched as the mistress of the manor, a woman who had never shown him even a hint of kindness, smiled and stroked her favorite pet lovingly, murmuring affectionate words and feeding her an apple from her pocket.
She was a paradoxical one, that Pansy Parkinson.
*************
It was later that same night that Ron heard a commotion near the family wing. He was in the servant's quarters, tending to Toddy; the old elf was beyond old and not at all in her right mind. To make matters worse she was too weak to work and yet she still tried, breaking tea sets, forgetting ingredients, forgetting about Pansy altogether and leaving the other elves to clean up her messes. Ron seemed to be the only one that could convince the old elf to stay in bed and have a bit of soup. He liked her well enough and, in her more lucid moments, he could tell that she was really very concerned with Pansy's well being.
So when the noise came and startled them both, Ron stood from his seat at the elf's bed side.
"Go," the little creature croaked, concern etching itself into her features. "See to it that the Mistress is alright, boy."
"Right, Toddy," he replied easily, smoothing her covers. He shook his head at his actions as he left the servant's wing and headed toward the main part of the house. Hermione, could she see him now would be ridiculously pleased that he was taking care of one of the magical creatures that she'd championed. Only now he wasn't doing it for her. He was doing it because it was the right thing to do.
There was an increased bit of banging coming from the dining room, what sounded like the crashing of china against the wood paneled walls echoed through the corridors. Ron increased his speed, jogging towards the noise. At a scream he could only assume came from Pansy, he broke all pretense of appearing unworried and broke out into a run for the dining hall.
He found them there, Pansy stripped down to nearly nothing and hanging, suspended in mid air, while the oaf she'd brought home from the pub picked up her china, the set she always insisted being out when she served dinner to a guest, and threw them, piece by piece against the wall while she watched.
"Are you going to do it, or aren'tcha?" the man taunted, flinging the soup tureen against the wall and laughing as the remains of what Ron presumed to be their supper splashed all over Pansy's red silk dinner dress, lying crumpled on the floor beneath her.
She clenched her teeth and growled menacingly. "Stop it. Stop now or I swear you'll be sorry."
"Can't love. Not ‘til you give me what I come for."
Pansy's voice wavered with anger. "You need to release me, before things get really ugly."
Her date got right in her face and pointed his wand in the soft palate of her jaw, nearly piercing the tender flesh there. "You're not in any position to give orders, sweetheart," he said softly.
Before Ron had a chance to so much as say a word to stop him, the man whispered a spell and red light left his wand and entered Pansy's still bound body, causing her eyes to flicker and close, and her struggling limbs to go limp.
"Bah," the man said, his lip curled in a sneer. "Not nearly worth my time. Though maybe now that she's quiet, she'll be a bit more fun." As he flipped a knife from his pocket and cut her legs free, Ron sprang into action.
He attacked the bigger man from behind, which proved to be the wrong thing to do, he could hear the echo of Professor McGonagall from long ago, a horrified whisper, saying, "Muggle dueling? Honestly, Mr. Weasley." While mulling this over, the probable half-giant decided that the best way to get the pest off his neck was to back into the very hard paneled walls of the dining room repeatedly.
Just before Ron lost consciousness, he remembered that he was a wizard.
Wrenching his wand out of his back pocket, he Stunned the man, who hadn't been able to get his own shot off. The trouble with that was that the bigger wizard fell on top of Ron, knocking the breath from him as they landed on the parquet floor.
Ron shoved the man off of him and lay still for a moment, gasping for air. After several long moments that he thought would never end, Ron finally gasped in a breath of air, regaining his composure and sitting up slowly.
The first thing that he did was to check that his Stunner was holding. His jaw clenched as he looked down at the whale of a man he'd felled and for good measure, and to satisfy a bit of a grudge he had against the bloke for the hell of a bump he had coming up on the back of his head, he Stunned him again.
Turning around, he approached Pansy, still hovering in midair. He released her binding, catching her awkwardly in his arms before lowering her to the floor. "Ennervate," he murmured softly.
Pansy's lashes fluttered and finally her eyes opened properly and her brown eyes fixed on Ron. "What are you doing, Weasley?" she asked, frowning and trying groggily to sit up.
"Saving your arse," Ron replied wryly.
"Saving my--" Her gaze lit on the man lying on the floor a few feet away. "Oh, yes, that."
"You gonna tell me that was foreplay?" Ron asked, with a disapproving look.
"Mind your tone, Weasley," she scolded, swaying a bit.
Ron knelt beside her, reaching out to steady her and trying to keep his emotions under control. He was angry at her for letting this man into her house, angry at the unconscious man for being a shite-arsed bastard, worried about Toddy, had a lingering concern for the well-being of the woman in front of him, and beneath it all, wanted nothing more than to take Pansy in his arms and kiss her until she saw reason.
"Let's get you to bed," he said, scooping her into his arms.
She let out a barely audible whimper; the man must've beat her around a bit before Ron had arrived on the scene. "Sorry," he whispered. "You okay?"
She didn't answer the question, but looked over his shoulder at the man on the floor. "What about him?" she asked.
"You're seriously worried about him?" Ron asked incredulously.
"I want him out of my house," she replied, and closed her eyes, resting her head on Ron's broad shoulder.
Done, Ron thought, relieved that she didn't want the bastard to join her upstairs.
He took her up the stairs in a hurry, winding his way through Beaumaris' circular corridors and finally found the door to Pansy's room. He lay her on the bed very gently, mentally swore that the circumstances weren't radically different, and then went back downstairs to deal with the trash.
Upon re-entering the dining room, he found the spot on the floor where he'd left the man empty. Immediately on alert, Ron drew his wand again and slipped around the corner of the door, seeing the back of the man's cloak flap around a corner.
"Stop!" he shouted, only to hear a deep echoing laughter in the hall ahead. He aimed and cast his spell, narrowly missing his target and the man cackled as he Disapparated, leaving Ron cursing in the corridor, alone.
He exhaled heavily and went back up the stairs, where he found Pansy in her bathroom, running the water for a soak. She turned her head and gazed at him over her shoulder and asked, "Where is Toddy? Why hasn't she come when I've called her?"
He shoved his hands in his pockets and said, "She's ill. She can barely hold her head up."
Pansy's expression went from cool indifference to immediate consternation, and she repeated, "Ill? Are you sure? Why hasn't anyone told me?"
"Didn't think you'd be concerned," he said, giving a shrug.
"Not concerned?" Pansy looked at him as if he were the most idiotic man in Britain as she turned off the taps with a flourish. "She was my nanny elf! She practically raised me! She's been with me since I was a child!" Tightening the belt on her robe, she marched up to him, and Ron didn't miss the way she winced as she moved. "Take me to her."
Thinking it was strange that she didn't know where the elf's room was located, he did as she bid him, silently offering an arm for her to lean on. It was obvious that she wasn't herself, that she was still a bit wobbly from her attack.
For her part, Pansy's mind was spinning. She hadn't ever thought twice about bringing men home; there had always been a few rowdy ones, but never one that had physically hurt her. She was horrified that her date had got the upper hand on her, and humiliated that her house manager/gardener had to save her, and seen her at her weakest moment. Said man was currently bearing up well under the circumstances, however. He wasn't saying much and hadn't chided her for making such an awful decision in her choice of male company for the evening. The worst part was that she was still having to depend on him to keep her upright. Abbaddon, the man who'd cursed her earlier, had gone several rounds knocking her about the room before tying her up and cursing her, so she was sore and probably had some residual spell damage as well.
Her hand curled around his well built arm, and closed her eyes as they made their way to the basement level of the manor. "I suppose I should thank you for taking care of that monster," she said weakly.
Surprised as he was at her murmured thanks, he reminded himself that if not much else, Pansy did seem to be fair when it came to those in her employ. "I didn't get to deal with him as I would have liked," he said with a shrug, supporting more of her weight as she faltered briefly. "Should I carry you the rest of the way?"
As much as she wanted to demand that he absolutely should, it would have been too humiliating for her to have him do that twice in one night. "I'm fine," she murmured, looking up at him. Seeing the blood on the back of his head, she asked, "How badly are you hurt?"
"Just enough to feel stupid," he answered, his cheeks flushing as he lead her carefully down the hallway. "I reacted a bit impulsively and tried to tear him apart the Muggle way first."
It seemed a bit petty to berate him for the way he defended her honor, but she shook her head and chuckled, anyway. "Philistine," she said mildly. "Always using brawn over brains, aren't you?"
He pondered that for a moment, not really sure if she was putting him down or just teasing, and finally, he answered, "It's more satisfying to break someone with your bare hands. But you're right," he agreed, "It's not always the best course of action." He winced a bit at his words; Pansy'd most obviously been on the receiving end of just that, and he wondered if his idiocy was congenital or just something he'd perfected over the years.
"I've never had the pleasure of Muggle dueling," she said as they approached Toddy's door. "Though if Abbaddon ever comes back, I shall certainly have a go, I think." He'd stopped, and she looked up at him expectantly. "Is this it?"
He nodded and Pansy straightened and went in, holding her head regally as if she weren't in any pain at all. She exchanged a few words with the elf to make sure that the little creature was alright, and then tucked in the covers around her old nursemaid.
"I won't have you getting up when you don't feel well, Toddy," she said quietly. "That's an order."
There was some mild wailing from the elf, and Pansy rose to go. "I'll be back down tomorrow to see about you. Send for..." she faltered and glanced at Ron. "Send for Bernard if you need something."
"I'll look after her, Pans--Miss Parkinson, don't worry." Ron smiled crookedly and offered, "I think she's beginning to be able to tolerate me, after all."
"If she stayed in bed on your orders there must be something about you to respect," Pansy murmured, stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind her. As soon as it was shut, she leaned against the wall, exhausted from the ordeal of pretending she wasn't in pain. "How long has she been ill?" she asked, as she closed her eyes and tried to compose herself.
"Going on a month," he said, slipping an arm around her once again, wanting to get her back to her quarters so that she could at least sit down and rest. "At first I thought she had a touch of illness, but I think she's just really old. She's run down."
"When I was just a little thing, she used to tell me she'd been Merlin's nanny," Pansy said, the corner of her mouth tipping up in a smile, "and that if I didn't obey, horrible, awful things would happen." She tilted her head to the side in thought, and ended up resting it on Ron's shoulder. Pansy knew that she should try to be stronger and not show weakness, but she'd had a hell of an evening and was too tired to be proud. "Consequently, she was the only one I ever listened to, the only one who could get me to do what was expected of me."
Ron smiled unknowingly. "I wonder if she realized what power she held," he teased. "I wish she'd tell you a thing about these... characters you've been carrying on with."
Pansy stilled, any trace of a smile fell from her face as she and pulled her arm from his, her head spinning as she did so. "I can make my way upstairs by myself. You're no longer needed this evening." Putting a hand out to steady herself against the wood paneled wall, she swallowed thickly, hoping that she could actually carry through on her statement to him.
"As you wish," he said, but continued to watch her to make sure she made her way up the staircase. She stumbled a few times, and Ron winced, mostly at his own inability to keep his mouth shut, but finally her door closed behind her. Making his way out to the guest house, he shrugged the entire evening off as a loss. Pansy didn't keep him around for anything but manual labor, and he'd be stupid to forget that.
When she got to the top of the staircase and finally made her way into her bedroom suite, shutting the door behind her, Pansy sank down onto the floor just inside the door and rested her head on her knees. Everything was out of control. Toddy was ill, her date had attacked, cursed and almost certainly done far worse things to her, and her groundskeeper was the one to save her; and then comment on her behavior. It was humiliating, every bit of it and for a moment in the quiet evening surrounded by the dark of her room, Pansy allowed herself to cry until all of her emotions were spent.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ron/Pansy
Word count: 5309
Rating: R++ For Pansy's mouth, her bad decisions and some naughtiness. :D
Warnings: Oh, my, so many warnings, where do I begin? Well, this was written over a span of MONTHS. It has two different authors, and the POV is wonky sometimes, in my opinion.
Author's Notes: On pages 14-26 of the word document, some of you might be interested to know that Seegrim provided Ron's dialogue/characterization. I'm never as good without her. And a big smushy hug of thanks to raspberry_rave, who read it, edited it and still said nice things.
Pansy Parkinson was not a woman who suffered fools.
After chucking out the latest in the series of disposable men in her life (the last after she'd found that he'd sold scantily clad pictures of her to the Daily Prophet), she'd called her dearest friend in the world to sit and comfort her while she ranted and raved and generally called the men of the world every foul name that she could think of.
It would've been much more satisfying for Pansy if that friend hadn't been Draco Malfoy, a man who had all the mercy of a tin of sardines.
"You knew it would end this way, Pans," he said unsympathetically. "It always does. It's as if you choose men you're certain will disappoint you."
"I chose you once, you know," she replied petulantly.
He raised his arms in reply, as if she'd made his point. "Exactly. And look how well that worked out for you! You didn't even speak to me, your dearest friend in the world, for nearly two years, after." He moved casually over to the bar, pouring himself a tumbler of scotch and topping off the wine glass that she held out to him. "If it were me, I'd stay celibate for a bit. See how that works out for me."
Pansy scoffed. "You would not. You're the only person in England with looser morals than me," she replied indignantly.
He chuckled. "Yeah, well I might have thought'd be funny to watch you try, anyway."
"God, I adore it when you mock my pain," she said, leaning her head against the back of her chair and closing her eyes. "It makes me feel so loved."
"Oh, shut it," he returned impatiently. "If you want to feel loved, you can go get your nanny elf from the third floor or curl up with a stuffed bear. But you invited me here. You invite Draco Malfoy, you get what you pay for."
"Enough. You know I can't stand it when you talk about yourself in the third person."
"I like it," he drawled, moving over to the window to look out at the expansive grounds of Beaumaris, Pansy's ancestral home. His gaze traveled over the gardens until they lit on a figure who was hauling hay out to one of the stables, ostensibly to feed the horses Pansy had stabled there. "Did you get new help, finally?" he asked, looking at the man taking long strides and carrying his load easily.
"Oh," Pansy answered distractedly. "Yes. I did it as a bit of a lark, actually, more to amuse you than anything else, but it turns out he's dead useful. A real work ethic on that one."
"Why would your new gardener amuse me?" Draco inquired, quirking a brow.
Pansy gave a serene smile. "Oh, he's more than a gardener. He helps with the horses and manages the household and the grounds. Toddy's getting so old, and even though she's a dear old elf, I needed more help around this moldering ruin than the little aged thing could give me," she said, joining Draco at the window. "Especially with my new fall line coming out next month. So I kept him on."
Draco stared at the man's back, crossing an arm over his chest as he drank deeply from his glass. "Still don't see why you think that might amuse me."
"Because it's Ronald Weasley," Pansy said, her serenity giving way to a gleefully evil grin. "Sometimes I go out and lounge by the pool just to watch him work without a shirt on. He developed quite nicely after we left Hogwarts. He's taller than you, and I'd bet he has about two stone more of muscle."
"So he's every bit the oaf I always knew he would be," Draco returned, unimpressed. "And he couldn't get anything better than manual labor. Figures."
"Yes, well, he's done an alright job so far, so don't run him off," Pansy directed, turning back to go re-seat herself.
"Parkinson," he said threateningly, reverting to their childhood habit of calling each other by their surnames. "You're not actually thinking of making the Weasel your next conquest. Tell me you have your sights set on something better than that."
"Please," Pansy said, her lips pursed. "I just don't want to have to go through the torture of interviewing and hiring another groundskeeper. It's maddening, the amount of dreck that comes out when you place an advert. Bloody awful," she lamented.
"If you'd sell this place and move to London like a sane person, you wouldn't have to have inferior persons in your employ, Pans," he said archly. "It just stubbornness, you holding on to this place."
"Perhaps," she returned, looking around her favorite sitting room in her childhood home. "But it's what I have left of the Parkinson line. I'm its, it's mine and I'm keeping it." She fixed her eyes on her oldest and dearest friend. "And there really isn't a whole lot you can say to change my mind."
"You have a weasel working for you. In your home," Draco said disgustedly. "I think that's foul, and only shows you're lacking in good judgment."
"No, the center page spread of me in my knickers in the daily fish wrapper shows my poor judgment," she argued evenly. "Hiring Weasley, as it turns out, was less of an amusement for you and more one for me." She gave him a smile and an arched brow. "I do so adore when you get all worked up, Draco. It's always hours and hours of entertainment."
"So glad I could help," he said dryly.
"Yes, well, what better place from which to derive entertainment than your friends?" Pansy asked impishly.
"I wasn't entertained so much as aroused by your little jaunt in the paper," Draco admitted. He let his gaze linger on her long legs, crossed demurely, and then followed up to her shapely torso as she relaxed, taking a sip from her wine glass. "You still look amazing, Pansy. I don't know why you didn't want to model."
"I don't like to be objectified," she said flatly.
"You love to be objectified," Draco argued. "You adore being the center of attention, and you like nothing better than when all the male eyes in the room are on you."
"When you put it that way," Pansy mused, "I don't know why I didn't try harder for it. Though I enjoy designing very much. Dressing people is fun."
"You still could be a model. Thirty isn't that old. You still have a few years before gravity takes its toll on your body."
"Sod off, Draco, darling," she said lazily, turning her attention to where he was still looking out the window. "Are you still watching Weasley?" she asked sweetly. "You haven't switched sides on me, have you?"
"No," Draco said firmly. "And I'd go so far as to take you up to that den of iniquity you call a bedroom just to prove it to you, if I must."
Pansy chuckled softly. "That won't be necessary. Though I might call you if my baser urges get the best of me. We all of us need a little release now and then, don't you agree?"
He winked at her, their easy banter back and forth comforting to them both. She wouldn't call him and they both knew it, but they both still spoke as if their joining together might be a possibility, and probably always would.
"But not tonight," Pansy said brightly. "I have a date."
"Now that your requisite half hour of mourning your last relationship is over, it's good to see you've moved on, Pans," he said shaking his head.
"I met him last night at the pub. He's tall and sort of has a brooding personality. And he's deliciously yummy. All broad shoulders and bulging biceps."
Draco cast a last disdainful look out the window. "Yes. It seems you're surrounding yourself with that lately."
"Don't be jealous, Draco. You're still the only man I've ever loved."
He snorted derisively. "Please."
"Well, if there weren't a little shriveled up black hole where my heart should be, I'd have loved you," she said fondly, rising and giving him a peck on the cheek.
"Right," Draco said, enfolding her in an embrace and resting his chin atop her head. "Floo if you need anything, Pans."
"Mmm," she replied in assent, shooing him out of the room, and waving as he strode down the corridor to the front door. "Don't forget there's a tea at the Goyle's on Sunday noon," she reminded him as she started up the stairs to her bedroom, eager to get ready for the man that would be there in a few hours.
Draco began to open the door as he said, "As if you and my mother would ever let me forget one of those blasted social teas. Did you want me to escort you?"
Pansy's reply was cut off as her groundskeeper chose that moment to enter the house, and both of the former Slytherins swiveled their heads to look at him. Ron's face turned an impressive shade of red, and Draco asked Pansy, "Don't you have a servants' entrance, Pans? It looks bad for the help to be entering the same doors that we use."
Ron glanced at Pansy and blushed even darker before he muttered, "Sorry."
"I see your powers of elocution are still much the same," Draco said, giving Ron a once over. "I think it might be worth the trouble of another round of interviews, Pansy. I wouldn't be able to live with this hanging about."
With that parting jibe, Draco gave Ron one last sneer and let the door slam behind him.
"Nice friend you have there," Ron said, nodding toward the door.
"Yes, Pansy said, stepping back down the few steps she'd climbed to remain on the ground floor. "He's one of my closest, actually."
Ron stayed quiet, deciding that Pansy probably already knew how he felt about her 'closest friend.' "I only stepped in because I thought you'd want to know the menu for tonight."
"Yes," she said, pleased that he'd thought of telling her. "I'm having someone new to the house, so make certain that you have the elves set the table with the very best china and silver."
Ron gave an impassive nod, quite certain himself that whatever scum that Parkinson brought home would not give a whit about what the food was served on.
"And keep a civil tongue in your mouth about Draco."
She turned on her heel and didn't even look back at him as she ascended the stairs.
Not that he expected her to look at him. She hadn't so far. Not really.
He'd worked for Pansy Parkinson a total of two months, and for the most part found her to be cold, disdainful and distant, and the maker of some spectacularly bad mistakes. That didn't change the fact that she was incredibly beautiful, with the kind of legs men would die to have wrapped around them, a mane of thick, dark curls, eyes that were liquid chocolate, and soft pink lips that more often than not he got caught up watching rather than listening to what was coming out of them like a good employee.
But that's what he was. An employee.
He'd had a couple of false starts, career-wise, and it turned out that as much as he was suited to be an Auror, the politics of the Ministry of Magic didn't suit him. He'd done some construction, and some curse breaking, but none of that appealed as much as simply working with his hands. He liked the isolation. And he longed to get out of the city, so when he saw the advert in the Prophet, he'd answered it, surprised after a brief interview, to find himself working for Pansy Parkinson.
Except for a half dozen elves, he was her only employee.
She wouldn't ever think of him as anything else, even if he suddenly became the crown prince of England, there was no way that Pansy Parkinson would deign to notice someone from such humble roots.
Even if he knew that he'd be better for her than all the barflies that she could ever bring home.
He sighed and watched her climb the stairs, hypnotized by the swaying of her shapely hips until she rounded the landing and was out of sight. Deciding that he'd better do his job if he wanted to keep it, he made his way down to the kitchens to make sure that the elves carried out his employer's orders to the letter. There would be days of sullen silence if even the smallest thing was wrong. And like the pathetic sod he was, he liked it when she spoke to him, even when she was barking orders.
*************
She brought different men back to the house periodically. None of them were worthy of her, and certainly none of them respected her. Hell, he wasn't sure that any of them even liked her. Ron kept his silence, though. It wasn't as if she were going to start asking him for his opinion on her personal matters.
She should, though, he thought bitterly as he strode out to the barn. She didn't even like the men she brought home. He could see it in her eyes, they were dead when she looked at them; even when she laughed at something one of them whispered in her ear, Ron could see that there was no spark, no life behind them. She was going through the motions of love, or what he presumed she thought love to be.
He approached her horse with the curry comb and the animal nuzzled him gently. It was odd for all her coldness and love of command that she'd chosen the most docile horse in the lot. It was a mottled white and tan spotted animal with lovely eyes, and Ron could tell at first sight that the horse just wanted to be loved. She thrived from any attention paid to her at all.
It wasn't too far off from being like the girl, herself. Ron smiled to himself as he ran the comb down the mare's flanks.
"What do you think you're doing?" Pansy called, her silhouette framed in the doorway by the setting sun. Ron's heart caught in his chest, the woman was so beautiful. Scary, but really, really, pretty.
"That's my horse," Pansy snapped. "I always take care of her. Always."
"I was only brushing her, is all," he replied.
"Don't." Pansy approached him angrily and Ron handed the curry comb over to her as a peace offering. She snatched the brush from his hand and he eased back away from her and leaned on one of the stalls. She looked at him for a moment, and then sighed, obviously exasperated with him. "Don't you have something to do?"
"Well," he said, nodding toward her horse. "I was doing it."
"I'm here now," she said.
Something welled up in Ron. He didn't know if it was years of being bullied about by Hermione that had done it, or if it was his frustration towards the woman in front of him, but he'd found he couldn't stay silent.
"In addition to my outlined duties, perhaps you need to give me a list of things that aren't my responsibility, as well," he bit out, growling the last words a bit more forcefully than he'd meant to.
Her eyes widened, and Ron could tell that by the surprise she tried carefully to hide that she hadn't expected him to say anything about her rude arrival and usurpation of his task. Her wide brown eyes, fringed almost artistically with dark lashes, blinked once before she schooled her features and frowned at him.
"I- sorry," he said, shaking his head. "She's yours. Got it."
"Her name's Ivory," Pansy offered, turning back to comb the animal's mane.
"I won't touch her again," he said, and moved out of the stall and towards the barn door.
She didn't say anything more, but he turned back as he reached the exit and watched as the mistress of the manor, a woman who had never shown him even a hint of kindness, smiled and stroked her favorite pet lovingly, murmuring affectionate words and feeding her an apple from her pocket.
She was a paradoxical one, that Pansy Parkinson.
*************
It was later that same night that Ron heard a commotion near the family wing. He was in the servant's quarters, tending to Toddy; the old elf was beyond old and not at all in her right mind. To make matters worse she was too weak to work and yet she still tried, breaking tea sets, forgetting ingredients, forgetting about Pansy altogether and leaving the other elves to clean up her messes. Ron seemed to be the only one that could convince the old elf to stay in bed and have a bit of soup. He liked her well enough and, in her more lucid moments, he could tell that she was really very concerned with Pansy's well being.
So when the noise came and startled them both, Ron stood from his seat at the elf's bed side.
"Go," the little creature croaked, concern etching itself into her features. "See to it that the Mistress is alright, boy."
"Right, Toddy," he replied easily, smoothing her covers. He shook his head at his actions as he left the servant's wing and headed toward the main part of the house. Hermione, could she see him now would be ridiculously pleased that he was taking care of one of the magical creatures that she'd championed. Only now he wasn't doing it for her. He was doing it because it was the right thing to do.
There was an increased bit of banging coming from the dining room, what sounded like the crashing of china against the wood paneled walls echoed through the corridors. Ron increased his speed, jogging towards the noise. At a scream he could only assume came from Pansy, he broke all pretense of appearing unworried and broke out into a run for the dining hall.
He found them there, Pansy stripped down to nearly nothing and hanging, suspended in mid air, while the oaf she'd brought home from the pub picked up her china, the set she always insisted being out when she served dinner to a guest, and threw them, piece by piece against the wall while she watched.
"Are you going to do it, or aren'tcha?" the man taunted, flinging the soup tureen against the wall and laughing as the remains of what Ron presumed to be their supper splashed all over Pansy's red silk dinner dress, lying crumpled on the floor beneath her.
She clenched her teeth and growled menacingly. "Stop it. Stop now or I swear you'll be sorry."
"Can't love. Not ‘til you give me what I come for."
Pansy's voice wavered with anger. "You need to release me, before things get really ugly."
Her date got right in her face and pointed his wand in the soft palate of her jaw, nearly piercing the tender flesh there. "You're not in any position to give orders, sweetheart," he said softly.
Before Ron had a chance to so much as say a word to stop him, the man whispered a spell and red light left his wand and entered Pansy's still bound body, causing her eyes to flicker and close, and her struggling limbs to go limp.
"Bah," the man said, his lip curled in a sneer. "Not nearly worth my time. Though maybe now that she's quiet, she'll be a bit more fun." As he flipped a knife from his pocket and cut her legs free, Ron sprang into action.
He attacked the bigger man from behind, which proved to be the wrong thing to do, he could hear the echo of Professor McGonagall from long ago, a horrified whisper, saying, "Muggle dueling? Honestly, Mr. Weasley." While mulling this over, the probable half-giant decided that the best way to get the pest off his neck was to back into the very hard paneled walls of the dining room repeatedly.
Just before Ron lost consciousness, he remembered that he was a wizard.
Wrenching his wand out of his back pocket, he Stunned the man, who hadn't been able to get his own shot off. The trouble with that was that the bigger wizard fell on top of Ron, knocking the breath from him as they landed on the parquet floor.
Ron shoved the man off of him and lay still for a moment, gasping for air. After several long moments that he thought would never end, Ron finally gasped in a breath of air, regaining his composure and sitting up slowly.
The first thing that he did was to check that his Stunner was holding. His jaw clenched as he looked down at the whale of a man he'd felled and for good measure, and to satisfy a bit of a grudge he had against the bloke for the hell of a bump he had coming up on the back of his head, he Stunned him again.
Turning around, he approached Pansy, still hovering in midair. He released her binding, catching her awkwardly in his arms before lowering her to the floor. "Ennervate," he murmured softly.
Pansy's lashes fluttered and finally her eyes opened properly and her brown eyes fixed on Ron. "What are you doing, Weasley?" she asked, frowning and trying groggily to sit up.
"Saving your arse," Ron replied wryly.
"Saving my--" Her gaze lit on the man lying on the floor a few feet away. "Oh, yes, that."
"You gonna tell me that was foreplay?" Ron asked, with a disapproving look.
"Mind your tone, Weasley," she scolded, swaying a bit.
Ron knelt beside her, reaching out to steady her and trying to keep his emotions under control. He was angry at her for letting this man into her house, angry at the unconscious man for being a shite-arsed bastard, worried about Toddy, had a lingering concern for the well-being of the woman in front of him, and beneath it all, wanted nothing more than to take Pansy in his arms and kiss her until she saw reason.
"Let's get you to bed," he said, scooping her into his arms.
She let out a barely audible whimper; the man must've beat her around a bit before Ron had arrived on the scene. "Sorry," he whispered. "You okay?"
She didn't answer the question, but looked over his shoulder at the man on the floor. "What about him?" she asked.
"You're seriously worried about him?" Ron asked incredulously.
"I want him out of my house," she replied, and closed her eyes, resting her head on Ron's broad shoulder.
Done, Ron thought, relieved that she didn't want the bastard to join her upstairs.
He took her up the stairs in a hurry, winding his way through Beaumaris' circular corridors and finally found the door to Pansy's room. He lay her on the bed very gently, mentally swore that the circumstances weren't radically different, and then went back downstairs to deal with the trash.
Upon re-entering the dining room, he found the spot on the floor where he'd left the man empty. Immediately on alert, Ron drew his wand again and slipped around the corner of the door, seeing the back of the man's cloak flap around a corner.
"Stop!" he shouted, only to hear a deep echoing laughter in the hall ahead. He aimed and cast his spell, narrowly missing his target and the man cackled as he Disapparated, leaving Ron cursing in the corridor, alone.
He exhaled heavily and went back up the stairs, where he found Pansy in her bathroom, running the water for a soak. She turned her head and gazed at him over her shoulder and asked, "Where is Toddy? Why hasn't she come when I've called her?"
He shoved his hands in his pockets and said, "She's ill. She can barely hold her head up."
Pansy's expression went from cool indifference to immediate consternation, and she repeated, "Ill? Are you sure? Why hasn't anyone told me?"
"Didn't think you'd be concerned," he said, giving a shrug.
"Not concerned?" Pansy looked at him as if he were the most idiotic man in Britain as she turned off the taps with a flourish. "She was my nanny elf! She practically raised me! She's been with me since I was a child!" Tightening the belt on her robe, she marched up to him, and Ron didn't miss the way she winced as she moved. "Take me to her."
Thinking it was strange that she didn't know where the elf's room was located, he did as she bid him, silently offering an arm for her to lean on. It was obvious that she wasn't herself, that she was still a bit wobbly from her attack.
For her part, Pansy's mind was spinning. She hadn't ever thought twice about bringing men home; there had always been a few rowdy ones, but never one that had physically hurt her. She was horrified that her date had got the upper hand on her, and humiliated that her house manager/gardener had to save her, and seen her at her weakest moment. Said man was currently bearing up well under the circumstances, however. He wasn't saying much and hadn't chided her for making such an awful decision in her choice of male company for the evening. The worst part was that she was still having to depend on him to keep her upright. Abbaddon, the man who'd cursed her earlier, had gone several rounds knocking her about the room before tying her up and cursing her, so she was sore and probably had some residual spell damage as well.
Her hand curled around his well built arm, and closed her eyes as they made their way to the basement level of the manor. "I suppose I should thank you for taking care of that monster," she said weakly.
Surprised as he was at her murmured thanks, he reminded himself that if not much else, Pansy did seem to be fair when it came to those in her employ. "I didn't get to deal with him as I would have liked," he said with a shrug, supporting more of her weight as she faltered briefly. "Should I carry you the rest of the way?"
As much as she wanted to demand that he absolutely should, it would have been too humiliating for her to have him do that twice in one night. "I'm fine," she murmured, looking up at him. Seeing the blood on the back of his head, she asked, "How badly are you hurt?"
"Just enough to feel stupid," he answered, his cheeks flushing as he lead her carefully down the hallway. "I reacted a bit impulsively and tried to tear him apart the Muggle way first."
It seemed a bit petty to berate him for the way he defended her honor, but she shook her head and chuckled, anyway. "Philistine," she said mildly. "Always using brawn over brains, aren't you?"
He pondered that for a moment, not really sure if she was putting him down or just teasing, and finally, he answered, "It's more satisfying to break someone with your bare hands. But you're right," he agreed, "It's not always the best course of action." He winced a bit at his words; Pansy'd most obviously been on the receiving end of just that, and he wondered if his idiocy was congenital or just something he'd perfected over the years.
"I've never had the pleasure of Muggle dueling," she said as they approached Toddy's door. "Though if Abbaddon ever comes back, I shall certainly have a go, I think." He'd stopped, and she looked up at him expectantly. "Is this it?"
He nodded and Pansy straightened and went in, holding her head regally as if she weren't in any pain at all. She exchanged a few words with the elf to make sure that the little creature was alright, and then tucked in the covers around her old nursemaid.
"I won't have you getting up when you don't feel well, Toddy," she said quietly. "That's an order."
There was some mild wailing from the elf, and Pansy rose to go. "I'll be back down tomorrow to see about you. Send for..." she faltered and glanced at Ron. "Send for Bernard if you need something."
"I'll look after her, Pans--Miss Parkinson, don't worry." Ron smiled crookedly and offered, "I think she's beginning to be able to tolerate me, after all."
"If she stayed in bed on your orders there must be something about you to respect," Pansy murmured, stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind her. As soon as it was shut, she leaned against the wall, exhausted from the ordeal of pretending she wasn't in pain. "How long has she been ill?" she asked, as she closed her eyes and tried to compose herself.
"Going on a month," he said, slipping an arm around her once again, wanting to get her back to her quarters so that she could at least sit down and rest. "At first I thought she had a touch of illness, but I think she's just really old. She's run down."
"When I was just a little thing, she used to tell me she'd been Merlin's nanny," Pansy said, the corner of her mouth tipping up in a smile, "and that if I didn't obey, horrible, awful things would happen." She tilted her head to the side in thought, and ended up resting it on Ron's shoulder. Pansy knew that she should try to be stronger and not show weakness, but she'd had a hell of an evening and was too tired to be proud. "Consequently, she was the only one I ever listened to, the only one who could get me to do what was expected of me."
Ron smiled unknowingly. "I wonder if she realized what power she held," he teased. "I wish she'd tell you a thing about these... characters you've been carrying on with."
Pansy stilled, any trace of a smile fell from her face as she and pulled her arm from his, her head spinning as she did so. "I can make my way upstairs by myself. You're no longer needed this evening." Putting a hand out to steady herself against the wood paneled wall, she swallowed thickly, hoping that she could actually carry through on her statement to him.
"As you wish," he said, but continued to watch her to make sure she made her way up the staircase. She stumbled a few times, and Ron winced, mostly at his own inability to keep his mouth shut, but finally her door closed behind her. Making his way out to the guest house, he shrugged the entire evening off as a loss. Pansy didn't keep him around for anything but manual labor, and he'd be stupid to forget that.
When she got to the top of the staircase and finally made her way into her bedroom suite, shutting the door behind her, Pansy sank down onto the floor just inside the door and rested her head on her knees. Everything was out of control. Toddy was ill, her date had attacked, cursed and almost certainly done far worse things to her, and her groundskeeper was the one to save her; and then comment on her behavior. It was humiliating, every bit of it and for a moment in the quiet evening surrounded by the dark of her room, Pansy allowed herself to cry until all of her emotions were spent.