Point of View 2/3
Title: Point of View
Author: persephone33
Rating: Very R
Pairing: Ron/Pansy
Spoilers: None for canon. This ship isn't exactly what JKR had in mind.
Author's note: This story started out as a writing exercise, but evolved into something more. I didn't fret as much about characterization as I normally do, and focused less on dialogue, but I hope it's still an enjoyable read.
Summary: It was the same girl. It had to be. She always sat alone, always drank the same glass of ridiculously expensive wine, always crossed her legs in the same way, tugged at her inevitably too short skirt, and twirled a lock of hair around a finger. Her expression was always the same, too, though she wore it on different faces.
~~HER~~
He was here again.
Pansy's breath caught in her throat as she caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. She lifted herself on to the bar stool, tugging at her skirt, and ordered the same wine that she always did. There was only so far she would go for this deception, and drinking the other swill that this particular pub served was not one of them.
The bartender placed the wine in front of her, and she sipped it for want of anything better to do. Her skirt kept creeping up her thighs, exasperating her; every girl whose hair she procured this week had been several inches taller than she was. Beggars, however, could not be choosers. He was here. Again, and that was more than she could ever ask for.
She nervously twirled a lock of hair around a finger before she realized what she was doing, and shook her head. This hair was too short. The girl obviously didn't use conditioning charms; it just sat on her head with no style whatsoever. Pansy was disgusted. There would be no way that he would want to come and talk to her like this. She should have skipped the whole thing altogether.
She sighed heavily, about to pay for her drink and leave, when she felt his presence behind her. She fell absolutely still as she heard him whisper, "I know who you are."
A thrill coursed through her entire body. Finally, she thought. Weeks of being close to him and not touching him had been torture. She didn't, however, want to give her hand away completely, yet. It was best if she played like she'd been going on for the past few weeks. He might not know, she reasoned, and then she'd have lost face for nothing
"No, I don't think you do. I don't ever remember meeting you before," she replied evenly.
The damn skirt was riding up again, and she tugged at it and tossed her hair from her face, scowling as she realized she was fidgeting. Parkinsons don't fidget, he father's voice said from the depths of her memory. She sipped from her glass and regarded the man next to her.
"That's a lie, now, and you know it," Ron answered with a smile.
"I don't lie," she countered, and blinked several times, hoping that God, or Merlin, or whoever kept score up there somewhere wouldn't rain down a barrage of lightning bolts.
He protested vehemently, that he 'knew it was her' and something in her snapped.
She was shocked. There was no way. She'd been careful, hadn't she? But it was something that she'd wanted for so long that she was having trouble keeping it all bottled up inside.
"Nonsense," she said firmly, dismissing his statement. "You don't know me. You've never even looked twice at me."
Unconsciously, she brought her hand to tug on a lock of her hair, forgetting for a moment that it wasn't her own dark, chocolate brown locks, but the horrific hair of the girl that she'd bumped into on the tube that morning.
Her hand fell even as she heard her mother's voice in her head, chastising her. "Terrible habit, child. Stop fussing with your hair."
He protested again, and the tenuous control she had on her temper snapped. Never. He'd never seen her, even in all of the time they'd had the same classes at school.
"No, you've not spoken to me in years," she said. Before she could stop herself, the words were out of her mouth. Damn it.
"Then that's my fault entirely. I should have."
"You should have," she repeated. That sealed it, then. He definitely didn't know to whom he was speaking. "You'd no more want to talk to me than to resurrect The Dark Lord."
"You think you know me so well?" he argued. "You don't know me at all."
No, she thought wryly. I've only watched every move you've made since fourth year. "Whatever, Weasley. Everyone knows you." Pansy's normally sure voice faltered. Who am I kidding? she thought to herself. I can't even begin to be someone that he'd want. "You're Potter's right hand. You're good. You have no patience for those who don't live up to your exacting standards."
"That isn't true, he said, leaning so close to her that she was close enough to see into his eyes, to distinguish each of his individual lashes, see the way the lock of red hair fell on his forehead, the dimple in his cheek. Her pulse sped up and her gaze fell involuntarily on his mouth, and she heard him say, "Give me a chance. Let the Polyjuice wear off, and you'll see."
Whatever minuscule, fleeting hope that she'd had that he'd known who who she was had vanished at once and she was overcome with an inexplicable sadness. "I thought as much," she said bravely. "All Gryffindor bravado. You have no idea who I really am at all. And the minute I let myself change back you'll walk away."
He leaned in even closer and asked, "You care if I walk away?"
Men. All alike. Tell them 'no' and all they want is 'yes'. The truth was that she didn't want to walk away. She wanted him to lean forward the rest of the way so that she could drag him by the collar and kiss him like he so obviously needed to be kissed. Really kiss him. Wind her fingers in his hair and find out what he tasted like, what kind of sounds he made, whether or not he'd pull her close or push her away.
"What?" she asked. "No." Oh, god. I didn't even believe that.
"Lie," he stated flatly.
Her fingers itched to touch him, any part of him, and she let herself settle for touching his tie. "Tell me then, Weasley. Why do I keep coming here night after night?"
"My sparkling wit? Or maybe you just like turning me down."
She laughed. He really was funny, not that she'd ever tell him that. "No, Weasley," she answered honestly. "It's been a wrench turning you down."
She watched him as a myriad of emotions crossed his face, and it almost looked as if he was put out with her. As if already she'd done something that he didn't like.
Pansy listened closely as he enumerated the times that she had, indeed, declined his offers of dinner, drinks, and companionship. Her breath caught and her skin tingled at the mere brush of his arm on the back of her chair.
"You said 'no' every time, yet you didn't want to. Tell me why." His voice was commanding, even hypnotic.
"Because I'm not me," she said truthfully in a moment of stupidity. "And I didn't want to give in to you, and have it be someone else that you were sitting next to, or having dinner with."
Pansy bit her lip, irritated with herself. Stop talking, girl, she admonished herself, and looked away.
A knot formed in the pit of her stomach as she had a premonition of his disgusted expression at the realization of her true identity. At once, she stood smoothly, paid, and muttered, "Ridiculous. Bloody ridiculous."
"There's no point in even having this conversation," she said quietly, making her way to the exit.
She wasn't really surprised by the click of the door opening behind her. He was him, after all. She slowed almost imperceptibly, allowing him to catch up to her. When he caught up to her, that's when the polyjuice wore off and the change began. The potion was worth it, but painful, there was always a price to be paid. When her eyes opened through the receding haze of pain, she heard her surname.
"Parkinson," he said quietly.
She walked a little more quickly as she glanced back. His expression looked like what she would only categorize as disappointment.
"Pansy," he called more forcefully.
Her heart dropped like a stone. How long had she wanted him to say that, to call her by name? She stopped automatically, still staring straight ahead, not daring to hope that he was stopping her for anything more than business.
He turned her again, his hand brushing her elbow with the barest of pressure, but it was there all the same, sending pleasant tingles all the way to her core.
He was smiling at her. And speaking to her. Pay attention, girl. Answer. He'd asked her to dine with him. Seriously, she thought, her mood bordering on angry, That's not funny.
"It's cruel to tease people, Weasley."
"Ron," he corrected automatically, still with his hand touching her arm. "I'm not teasing you," he said sincerely. "I very much want to have dinner with you."
Don't say yes. Not yet. "Why?" she asked. There was no way he felt the same way she did. It was unthinkable.
She listened as he enumerated his answers, giving his explanation, but when he reached out his hand to run one long, slender finger down the line of her jaw, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping.
No, she thought. He'll make a fool of me.
"Weasley," she began.
"Ron," he reminded her.
"Ron," she said, a rush of air coming from her lips. How long had she wanted to say that? How long had she fantasized about them much closer together, with her screaming that particular name?
He watched her closely, studied her as if she were an intricate piece of artwork. His gaze moved from her eyes, taking in her hair, her face, and finally settling on her lips.
Oh, if there is any mercy in the world, he'll kiss me, she thought fervently.
And then it happened. His hands in her hair, his mouth lightly on hers. He kissed her. And then he did it again. And again.
Pansy found that she couldn't stop herself any longer. She moved in slow motion, molding herself to him, her arms moving to twine around his neck, taking advantage of what might be a one time event. Unable to stop herself any longer, she let out a satisfied moan as he found a spot underneath her ear that she hadn't even been aware was sensitive.
He pulled away and she knew it was over. When she opened her eyes, however, she saw him mirror her own expression of surprise, intrigue and pleasure, and she heard him ask her again.
"Have dinner with me, Pansy."
"Alright,"she said, her lips evidently now moving of their own accord. "Dinner."
His smile nearly killed her. He leaned in to kiss her once more, and her stomach did a little somersault. This was something that she could definitely get used to.
Ron took her carefully by the hand as he led her back into the pub, and she was hit with a wave of several different emotions. There was fear, disbelief, excitement, anticipation, and there, laying a foundation beneath it all, with Pansy pretending that it didn't exist, was hope.
Chapter One
Author: persephone33
Rating: Very R
Pairing: Ron/Pansy
Spoilers: None for canon. This ship isn't exactly what JKR had in mind.
Author's note: This story started out as a writing exercise, but evolved into something more. I didn't fret as much about characterization as I normally do, and focused less on dialogue, but I hope it's still an enjoyable read.
Summary: It was the same girl. It had to be. She always sat alone, always drank the same glass of ridiculously expensive wine, always crossed her legs in the same way, tugged at her inevitably too short skirt, and twirled a lock of hair around a finger. Her expression was always the same, too, though she wore it on different faces.
~~HER~~
He was here again.
Pansy's breath caught in her throat as she caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. She lifted herself on to the bar stool, tugging at her skirt, and ordered the same wine that she always did. There was only so far she would go for this deception, and drinking the other swill that this particular pub served was not one of them.
The bartender placed the wine in front of her, and she sipped it for want of anything better to do. Her skirt kept creeping up her thighs, exasperating her; every girl whose hair she procured this week had been several inches taller than she was. Beggars, however, could not be choosers. He was here. Again, and that was more than she could ever ask for.
She nervously twirled a lock of hair around a finger before she realized what she was doing, and shook her head. This hair was too short. The girl obviously didn't use conditioning charms; it just sat on her head with no style whatsoever. Pansy was disgusted. There would be no way that he would want to come and talk to her like this. She should have skipped the whole thing altogether.
She sighed heavily, about to pay for her drink and leave, when she felt his presence behind her. She fell absolutely still as she heard him whisper, "I know who you are."
A thrill coursed through her entire body. Finally, she thought. Weeks of being close to him and not touching him had been torture. She didn't, however, want to give her hand away completely, yet. It was best if she played like she'd been going on for the past few weeks. He might not know, she reasoned, and then she'd have lost face for nothing
"No, I don't think you do. I don't ever remember meeting you before," she replied evenly.
The damn skirt was riding up again, and she tugged at it and tossed her hair from her face, scowling as she realized she was fidgeting. Parkinsons don't fidget, he father's voice said from the depths of her memory. She sipped from her glass and regarded the man next to her.
"That's a lie, now, and you know it," Ron answered with a smile.
"I don't lie," she countered, and blinked several times, hoping that God, or Merlin, or whoever kept score up there somewhere wouldn't rain down a barrage of lightning bolts.
He protested vehemently, that he 'knew it was her' and something in her snapped.
She was shocked. There was no way. She'd been careful, hadn't she? But it was something that she'd wanted for so long that she was having trouble keeping it all bottled up inside.
"Nonsense," she said firmly, dismissing his statement. "You don't know me. You've never even looked twice at me."
Unconsciously, she brought her hand to tug on a lock of her hair, forgetting for a moment that it wasn't her own dark, chocolate brown locks, but the horrific hair of the girl that she'd bumped into on the tube that morning.
Her hand fell even as she heard her mother's voice in her head, chastising her. "Terrible habit, child. Stop fussing with your hair."
He protested again, and the tenuous control she had on her temper snapped. Never. He'd never seen her, even in all of the time they'd had the same classes at school.
"No, you've not spoken to me in years," she said. Before she could stop herself, the words were out of her mouth. Damn it.
"Then that's my fault entirely. I should have."
"You should have," she repeated. That sealed it, then. He definitely didn't know to whom he was speaking. "You'd no more want to talk to me than to resurrect The Dark Lord."
"You think you know me so well?" he argued. "You don't know me at all."
No, she thought wryly. I've only watched every move you've made since fourth year. "Whatever, Weasley. Everyone knows you." Pansy's normally sure voice faltered. Who am I kidding? she thought to herself. I can't even begin to be someone that he'd want. "You're Potter's right hand. You're good. You have no patience for those who don't live up to your exacting standards."
"That isn't true, he said, leaning so close to her that she was close enough to see into his eyes, to distinguish each of his individual lashes, see the way the lock of red hair fell on his forehead, the dimple in his cheek. Her pulse sped up and her gaze fell involuntarily on his mouth, and she heard him say, "Give me a chance. Let the Polyjuice wear off, and you'll see."
Whatever minuscule, fleeting hope that she'd had that he'd known who who she was had vanished at once and she was overcome with an inexplicable sadness. "I thought as much," she said bravely. "All Gryffindor bravado. You have no idea who I really am at all. And the minute I let myself change back you'll walk away."
He leaned in even closer and asked, "You care if I walk away?"
Men. All alike. Tell them 'no' and all they want is 'yes'. The truth was that she didn't want to walk away. She wanted him to lean forward the rest of the way so that she could drag him by the collar and kiss him like he so obviously needed to be kissed. Really kiss him. Wind her fingers in his hair and find out what he tasted like, what kind of sounds he made, whether or not he'd pull her close or push her away.
"What?" she asked. "No." Oh, god. I didn't even believe that.
"Lie," he stated flatly.
Her fingers itched to touch him, any part of him, and she let herself settle for touching his tie. "Tell me then, Weasley. Why do I keep coming here night after night?"
"My sparkling wit? Or maybe you just like turning me down."
She laughed. He really was funny, not that she'd ever tell him that. "No, Weasley," she answered honestly. "It's been a wrench turning you down."
She watched him as a myriad of emotions crossed his face, and it almost looked as if he was put out with her. As if already she'd done something that he didn't like.
Pansy listened closely as he enumerated the times that she had, indeed, declined his offers of dinner, drinks, and companionship. Her breath caught and her skin tingled at the mere brush of his arm on the back of her chair.
"You said 'no' every time, yet you didn't want to. Tell me why." His voice was commanding, even hypnotic.
"Because I'm not me," she said truthfully in a moment of stupidity. "And I didn't want to give in to you, and have it be someone else that you were sitting next to, or having dinner with."
Pansy bit her lip, irritated with herself. Stop talking, girl, she admonished herself, and looked away.
A knot formed in the pit of her stomach as she had a premonition of his disgusted expression at the realization of her true identity. At once, she stood smoothly, paid, and muttered, "Ridiculous. Bloody ridiculous."
"There's no point in even having this conversation," she said quietly, making her way to the exit.
She wasn't really surprised by the click of the door opening behind her. He was him, after all. She slowed almost imperceptibly, allowing him to catch up to her. When he caught up to her, that's when the polyjuice wore off and the change began. The potion was worth it, but painful, there was always a price to be paid. When her eyes opened through the receding haze of pain, she heard her surname.
"Parkinson," he said quietly.
She walked a little more quickly as she glanced back. His expression looked like what she would only categorize as disappointment.
"Pansy," he called more forcefully.
Her heart dropped like a stone. How long had she wanted him to say that, to call her by name? She stopped automatically, still staring straight ahead, not daring to hope that he was stopping her for anything more than business.
He turned her again, his hand brushing her elbow with the barest of pressure, but it was there all the same, sending pleasant tingles all the way to her core.
He was smiling at her. And speaking to her. Pay attention, girl. Answer. He'd asked her to dine with him. Seriously, she thought, her mood bordering on angry, That's not funny.
"It's cruel to tease people, Weasley."
"Ron," he corrected automatically, still with his hand touching her arm. "I'm not teasing you," he said sincerely. "I very much want to have dinner with you."
Don't say yes. Not yet. "Why?" she asked. There was no way he felt the same way she did. It was unthinkable.
She listened as he enumerated his answers, giving his explanation, but when he reached out his hand to run one long, slender finger down the line of her jaw, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from gasping.
No, she thought. He'll make a fool of me.
"Weasley," she began.
"Ron," he reminded her.
"Ron," she said, a rush of air coming from her lips. How long had she wanted to say that? How long had she fantasized about them much closer together, with her screaming that particular name?
He watched her closely, studied her as if she were an intricate piece of artwork. His gaze moved from her eyes, taking in her hair, her face, and finally settling on her lips.
Oh, if there is any mercy in the world, he'll kiss me, she thought fervently.
And then it happened. His hands in her hair, his mouth lightly on hers. He kissed her. And then he did it again. And again.
Pansy found that she couldn't stop herself any longer. She moved in slow motion, molding herself to him, her arms moving to twine around his neck, taking advantage of what might be a one time event. Unable to stop herself any longer, she let out a satisfied moan as he found a spot underneath her ear that she hadn't even been aware was sensitive.
He pulled away and she knew it was over. When she opened her eyes, however, she saw him mirror her own expression of surprise, intrigue and pleasure, and she heard him ask her again.
"Have dinner with me, Pansy."
"Alright,"she said, her lips evidently now moving of their own accord. "Dinner."
His smile nearly killed her. He leaned in to kiss her once more, and her stomach did a little somersault. This was something that she could definitely get used to.
Ron took her carefully by the hand as he led her back into the pub, and she was hit with a wave of several different emotions. There was fear, disbelief, excitement, anticipation, and there, laying a foundation beneath it all, with Pansy pretending that it didn't exist, was hope.
Chapter One