FIC: Girl (Ron/Pansy, PG13)
Title: Girl
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ron/Pansy
Rating: PG13 (for language)
Word Count: 1000 words
Summary: Is there anybody going to listen to my story / All about the girl who came to stay?
Additional Notes: The third and last fic for xylodemon's Ficlet-a-thon, still for saphreanth. Ron/Pansy. Prompt: Girl, by The Beatles. I have been uncreative (please ignore the mood) and chosen to use the song titles for titles.
Update: This fic has been recced by sandystarr88 at het_reccers here and silburygirl at crack_broom here, and KIA here. Thanks! :)
i. the girl who came to stay
Molly had hoped that she was wrong about Pansy Parkinson the way she was about Fleur Delacour. She knew she should have trusted Bill’s judgement, and that was why, when Ron brought Pansy home (Molly recognised the sneer from Sylvia, the arrogance from Francis) and she wrinkled her nose in discontent, Molly kept quiet, positive that the Burrow would grow on her son’s girlfriend.
“It’s rather moldy in here, isn’t it?” Pansy scoffed, to Ron’s mortification and Molly’s indignance.
“You’ll just have to get used to it,” Molly said, mustering up just enough politeness.
Pansy didn’t, however, and neither did Molly. Whereas Fleur attempted to cook them breakfast and make herself useful around the house, Pansy expected to be waited on and was mortified to learn there were no house elves in the Burrow and that she needed to wash her own knickers. Whereas Fleur was cheerful and perky, Pansy was sour and scared Ron’s young nephews and nieces away. Whereas Fleur grew on Molly, Pansy most certainly never did.
“It’s only a matter of time,” Arthur told Molly. Molly sighed, resigned to wait for the day Pansy decided to leave.
Like stubborn mold, however-surprisingly enough-Pansy Parkinson stayed.
ii. it makes you sorry
Hermione thought it was because she’d been so hard on Ron when she broke off their relationship. She thought maybe it was a means of getting revenge, some stubbornness and defiance that really wasn’t healthy at all. She almost felt sorry. She wasn’t the girl for Ron, but then again, neither was Pansy.
She still visited the Burrow, and though she tired of listening to Molly and Ginny complain bitterly about the latest Parkinson Problem, after which they’d give her Meaningful Looks, she figured listening was the best she could do.
“You and Ron were so good together,” Molly sighed wistfully.
Hermione coughed delicately. “We fought a lot.”
“They have a row every day,” Ginny countered, making a face.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “It’s Ron’s decision in the end. If he wants to-"
“Hullo, all,” Ron waved a bit, and all three women turned to look, smiling awkwardly. “Talking about her again?”
“How was the couch?” Ginny asked brightly.
Ron glared at her.
“Hullo, Ron. Tea?” Hermione offered sympathetically.
“No thanks.” Ron shrugged, got his cup of coffee, and left the room.
“There’s really nothing I can do,” Hermione said meekly, shrinking under Molly and Ginny’s encouraging looks. Was there?
iii. and i believe her
Ron went to his flat sometimes, steaming and pissed off and Harry would open the door dutifully, yawning the sleep away while he padded over to his small kitchen, taking out the alcohol that’s more Ron’s than his.
“Will you be taking my spare room tonight, or is this the kind of night when she storms into my flat and I’ll have to go amuse myself in a coffee shop while you have mad make-up sex?” he wearily asked one night. Ron stared blankly.
“Ronald Weasley, I know you’re in there!”
“Coffee shop it is,” Harry sighed, looking for the silver lining of his dark, Slytherin-shaped cloud. At least he had enough time to put on decent clothes, instead of being thrown out in his night robes.
“What are you doing here? Go away,” Pansy fumed when he opened the door.
“It’s actually my house, but I was just on my way out,” Harry replied dryly. “And please, try not to leave your knickers hanging by my windowsill this time.”
Sometimes, Harry mused, sipping the coffee Bert had already put out even before he’d said anything, if they weren’t kicking him out of his own flat, they were rather amusing.
iv. as if it’s understood
For all the crap Ron gave her about her choice in men, Ginny was rather miffed that he went right out ruining everything with Hermione made-for-Ron Granger for Pansy bloody-sodding-bitch Parkinson and being a right bloody hypocrite.
“Calm down,” Harry told her, touching her arm soothingly. She exhaled slowly, loosening her grip on her glass before it broke.
“It was about the chores. Again. She made a crack about how she’d pay me if I washed her clothes for her. Again.”
Harry patted her gently.
“I don’t know what Ron sees in her. She’s such a bitch, and if you ask me-are you even listening?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
Harry stopped mid-yawn, nodding. “Yes, yes I was. Sorry. Was up early.”
Ginny sniffed. “And you can’t say I didn’t try either. I told her she looked pretty, and you know what she said?”
Harry knew. “What?”
Another sniff. “And I quote, ‘Sorry Weaslette, nothing much we can do for you.’ Can you believe her?”
Harry shook his head ruefully. “I’m sure Ron has his own reasons.”
“Love potion?” Ginny asked hopefully.
“Pansy’s a very… different kind of girl,” Harry explained diplomatically.
“It’s all that inbreeding,” Ginny said sullenly.
v. cool, cool, cool, cool
If Pansy was good at anything (besides the sex, and she was excellent in that), it was coming up with reasons. Pansy Parkinson was brilliant at rationalising away everything.
“Why don’t you play nice?” Ron would ask.
“I’m not sleeping with them, am I?” she’d reply boredly.
“You’re not going to try at all?”
“Weasley, if you can’t deal with it, there’s an easy enough solution.”
He can’t believe she still called him Weasley.
“Pansy.”
“I’m already the scorn of high society, my family’s disowned me, bless their souls, and I’m expected to do hard labour. What else do you want me to do for you?” she’d say, and it would make so much sense that Ron had nothing left to say.
“It was just an idea,” he’d mumble, shoulders sagging in defeat.
“Let’s go out. Please?” she’d whisper in his ear, and the conversation would be dropped.
“Fine,” he’d agree, and she’d beam and kiss his nose.
“Good, I’ll be outside in five,” she’d say, shooing him out. “Do something about your face, you look hideous, and you better take me somewhere nice or you’ll be sorry, Ronald Weasley.”
Ron would sigh rather fondly.
Ladies and gentlemen, Pansy Parkinson.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ron/Pansy
Rating: PG13 (for language)
Word Count: 1000 words
Summary: Is there anybody going to listen to my story / All about the girl who came to stay?
Additional Notes: The third and last fic for xylodemon's Ficlet-a-thon, still for saphreanth. Ron/Pansy. Prompt: Girl, by The Beatles. I have been uncreative (please ignore the mood) and chosen to use the song titles for titles.
Update: This fic has been recced by sandystarr88 at het_reccers here and silburygirl at crack_broom here, and KIA here. Thanks! :)
i. the girl who came to stay
Molly had hoped that she was wrong about Pansy Parkinson the way she was about Fleur Delacour. She knew she should have trusted Bill’s judgement, and that was why, when Ron brought Pansy home (Molly recognised the sneer from Sylvia, the arrogance from Francis) and she wrinkled her nose in discontent, Molly kept quiet, positive that the Burrow would grow on her son’s girlfriend.
“It’s rather moldy in here, isn’t it?” Pansy scoffed, to Ron’s mortification and Molly’s indignance.
“You’ll just have to get used to it,” Molly said, mustering up just enough politeness.
Pansy didn’t, however, and neither did Molly. Whereas Fleur attempted to cook them breakfast and make herself useful around the house, Pansy expected to be waited on and was mortified to learn there were no house elves in the Burrow and that she needed to wash her own knickers. Whereas Fleur was cheerful and perky, Pansy was sour and scared Ron’s young nephews and nieces away. Whereas Fleur grew on Molly, Pansy most certainly never did.
“It’s only a matter of time,” Arthur told Molly. Molly sighed, resigned to wait for the day Pansy decided to leave.
Like stubborn mold, however-surprisingly enough-Pansy Parkinson stayed.
ii. it makes you sorry
Hermione thought it was because she’d been so hard on Ron when she broke off their relationship. She thought maybe it was a means of getting revenge, some stubbornness and defiance that really wasn’t healthy at all. She almost felt sorry. She wasn’t the girl for Ron, but then again, neither was Pansy.
She still visited the Burrow, and though she tired of listening to Molly and Ginny complain bitterly about the latest Parkinson Problem, after which they’d give her Meaningful Looks, she figured listening was the best she could do.
“You and Ron were so good together,” Molly sighed wistfully.
Hermione coughed delicately. “We fought a lot.”
“They have a row every day,” Ginny countered, making a face.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably. “It’s Ron’s decision in the end. If he wants to-"
“Hullo, all,” Ron waved a bit, and all three women turned to look, smiling awkwardly. “Talking about her again?”
“How was the couch?” Ginny asked brightly.
Ron glared at her.
“Hullo, Ron. Tea?” Hermione offered sympathetically.
“No thanks.” Ron shrugged, got his cup of coffee, and left the room.
“There’s really nothing I can do,” Hermione said meekly, shrinking under Molly and Ginny’s encouraging looks. Was there?
iii. and i believe her
Ron went to his flat sometimes, steaming and pissed off and Harry would open the door dutifully, yawning the sleep away while he padded over to his small kitchen, taking out the alcohol that’s more Ron’s than his.
“Will you be taking my spare room tonight, or is this the kind of night when she storms into my flat and I’ll have to go amuse myself in a coffee shop while you have mad make-up sex?” he wearily asked one night. Ron stared blankly.
“Ronald Weasley, I know you’re in there!”
“Coffee shop it is,” Harry sighed, looking for the silver lining of his dark, Slytherin-shaped cloud. At least he had enough time to put on decent clothes, instead of being thrown out in his night robes.
“What are you doing here? Go away,” Pansy fumed when he opened the door.
“It’s actually my house, but I was just on my way out,” Harry replied dryly. “And please, try not to leave your knickers hanging by my windowsill this time.”
Sometimes, Harry mused, sipping the coffee Bert had already put out even before he’d said anything, if they weren’t kicking him out of his own flat, they were rather amusing.
iv. as if it’s understood
For all the crap Ron gave her about her choice in men, Ginny was rather miffed that he went right out ruining everything with Hermione made-for-Ron Granger for Pansy bloody-sodding-bitch Parkinson and being a right bloody hypocrite.
“Calm down,” Harry told her, touching her arm soothingly. She exhaled slowly, loosening her grip on her glass before it broke.
“It was about the chores. Again. She made a crack about how she’d pay me if I washed her clothes for her. Again.”
Harry patted her gently.
“I don’t know what Ron sees in her. She’s such a bitch, and if you ask me-are you even listening?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
Harry stopped mid-yawn, nodding. “Yes, yes I was. Sorry. Was up early.”
Ginny sniffed. “And you can’t say I didn’t try either. I told her she looked pretty, and you know what she said?”
Harry knew. “What?”
Another sniff. “And I quote, ‘Sorry Weaslette, nothing much we can do for you.’ Can you believe her?”
Harry shook his head ruefully. “I’m sure Ron has his own reasons.”
“Love potion?” Ginny asked hopefully.
“Pansy’s a very… different kind of girl,” Harry explained diplomatically.
“It’s all that inbreeding,” Ginny said sullenly.
v. cool, cool, cool, cool
If Pansy was good at anything (besides the sex, and she was excellent in that), it was coming up with reasons. Pansy Parkinson was brilliant at rationalising away everything.
“Why don’t you play nice?” Ron would ask.
“I’m not sleeping with them, am I?” she’d reply boredly.
“You’re not going to try at all?”
“Weasley, if you can’t deal with it, there’s an easy enough solution.”
He can’t believe she still called him Weasley.
“Pansy.”
“I’m already the scorn of high society, my family’s disowned me, bless their souls, and I’m expected to do hard labour. What else do you want me to do for you?” she’d say, and it would make so much sense that Ron had nothing left to say.
“It was just an idea,” he’d mumble, shoulders sagging in defeat.
“Let’s go out. Please?” she’d whisper in his ear, and the conversation would be dropped.
“Fine,” he’d agree, and she’d beam and kiss his nose.
“Good, I’ll be outside in five,” she’d say, shooing him out. “Do something about your face, you look hideous, and you better take me somewhere nice or you’ll be sorry, Ronald Weasley.”
Ron would sigh rather fondly.
Ladies and gentlemen, Pansy Parkinson.