Moonlight Moments
Title: Moonlight Moments
Author: Carrie Leigh
Characters: Ron/Pansy
Prompt: Illusion
Word Count: 490
Rating:PG-13
Warnings:Illusion
Summary: One side of Pansy has to be an illusion.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters. I’m not making any money from this. I write only for my own pleasure and hopefully yours, as well.
Author’s Notes: This was written for hp_humpdrabbles 2012. A special thanks goes to jandjsalmon for the beta. She's a doll.
If Ron Weasley was a gambler, he’d have been all in. It was a sure thing.
Because most of the time, Ron was sure that Pansy loathed him. It was a completely safe bet.
Sure, she slept with him, that much was true. But she didn’t like him. She was Pansy Parkinson, after all. She didn’t like most people, just on principle.
Yet every now and again, when they were lost in one another, bodies entwined, she’d look at him in the moonlight, her dark eyes held by his.
And it was there. He’d seen it; he was certain. It was only a flicker, but it was something more than sex, beyond how he could make her body react, on a different plane than the physical.
Ron knew love when he saw it.
Probably. Mostly. At least he thought he might.
No, damn it. He did. And when he was buried inside her, with her trembling around him, that was when he saw how Pansy really felt about him. That was when she’d soften towards him with a gentle hand brushing his jaw, with a kiss that made him weak; then he knew. Afterwards, she’d curl into him, her dark hair spilling out onto his chest, and she’d talk to him.
Pansy Parkinson chatted with him.
No, really. She did.
And it was more than just berating him for his choice of tie, or his belt not matching his shoes, or the fact that he needed a haircut, or that he couldn’t be fussed to clear away the clutter in his flat when he knew she was coming over.
In those still, quiet moments, Pansy opened to him. She gave of herself. She conversed with him, asked advice, and on rare occasions, Ron swore he might have heard a soft laugh in response to something he’d said.
He’d made her laugh.
And not in a mocking way, either.
She laughed as if she was fond of him. As if she enjoyed his company.
In those moments, he was absolutely sure that she loved him every bit as much as he loved her.
And he did. He was a goner. She was the one.
But then morning would come, and in the daylight, it was as if the night before never happened. Over and over, they’d have these brilliant moonlight moments. And with the dawn came cold stares, clenched jaws and strained silences.
Of the two sides of Pansy, one had to be an illusion. One was artifice. A lie. A bluff.
The eternal optimist in Ron hoped he hadn’t bet the house on something he could never have.
Those nighttime moments with Pansy, though… they were enough to make him not care in the least whether or not he’d lost his shirt.
In fact, the less clothing the better, as far as he was concerned.
She’d come around, he was sure of it.
It was a safe bet. eternal optimist in Ron hoped he hadn’t bet the house on something he could never have.
Those nighttime moments with Pansy, though… they were enough to make him not care in the least whether or not he’d lost his shirt.
In fact, the less clothing the better, as far as he was concerned.
She’d come around, he was sure of it.
It was a safe bet.
Author: Carrie Leigh
Characters: Ron/Pansy
Prompt: Illusion
Word Count: 490
Rating:PG-13
Warnings:Illusion
Summary: One side of Pansy has to be an illusion.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters. I’m not making any money from this. I write only for my own pleasure and hopefully yours, as well.
Author’s Notes: This was written for hp_humpdrabbles 2012. A special thanks goes to jandjsalmon for the beta. She's a doll.
If Ron Weasley was a gambler, he’d have been all in. It was a sure thing.
Because most of the time, Ron was sure that Pansy loathed him. It was a completely safe bet.
Sure, she slept with him, that much was true. But she didn’t like him. She was Pansy Parkinson, after all. She didn’t like most people, just on principle.
Yet every now and again, when they were lost in one another, bodies entwined, she’d look at him in the moonlight, her dark eyes held by his.
And it was there. He’d seen it; he was certain. It was only a flicker, but it was something more than sex, beyond how he could make her body react, on a different plane than the physical.
Ron knew love when he saw it.
Probably. Mostly. At least he thought he might.
No, damn it. He did. And when he was buried inside her, with her trembling around him, that was when he saw how Pansy really felt about him. That was when she’d soften towards him with a gentle hand brushing his jaw, with a kiss that made him weak; then he knew. Afterwards, she’d curl into him, her dark hair spilling out onto his chest, and she’d talk to him.
Pansy Parkinson chatted with him.
No, really. She did.
And it was more than just berating him for his choice of tie, or his belt not matching his shoes, or the fact that he needed a haircut, or that he couldn’t be fussed to clear away the clutter in his flat when he knew she was coming over.
In those still, quiet moments, Pansy opened to him. She gave of herself. She conversed with him, asked advice, and on rare occasions, Ron swore he might have heard a soft laugh in response to something he’d said.
He’d made her laugh.
And not in a mocking way, either.
She laughed as if she was fond of him. As if she enjoyed his company.
In those moments, he was absolutely sure that she loved him every bit as much as he loved her.
And he did. He was a goner. She was the one.
But then morning would come, and in the daylight, it was as if the night before never happened. Over and over, they’d have these brilliant moonlight moments. And with the dawn came cold stares, clenched jaws and strained silences.
Of the two sides of Pansy, one had to be an illusion. One was artifice. A lie. A bluff.
The eternal optimist in Ron hoped he hadn’t bet the house on something he could never have.
Those nighttime moments with Pansy, though… they were enough to make him not care in the least whether or not he’d lost his shirt.
In fact, the less clothing the better, as far as he was concerned.
She’d come around, he was sure of it.
It was a safe bet. eternal optimist in Ron hoped he hadn’t bet the house on something he could never have.
Those nighttime moments with Pansy, though… they were enough to make him not care in the least whether or not he’d lost his shirt.
In fact, the less clothing the better, as far as he was concerned.
She’d come around, he was sure of it.
It was a safe bet.