Pants Parkinson and the courting methods of one George Weasley
For hd_writers Drabble Day, for the prompt: court. Originally posted here.
[Spoiler (click to open)]
Other girls get taken to Madame Puddifoot’s for tea and snack cakes, or to the Hog’s Head for a pint if they’re old enough for it. Other girls get taken out to dinner and romanced with flowers and chocolates and such, maybe bits of jewelry if their partner’s got the vault for that sort of thing.
She gets taken to Fortescue’s for a cone and deluged with more prank ideas than she thinks she’ll ever need. She gets post that turns into a pansy in her palm while her co-workers are about, then into a pair of miniature knickers when she’s tucked it in her pocket for the rest of her shift. She gets hysterical owls from her best mates that their hair’s turned blue or their hands green, that someone’s sent their shop assistants an oversized Skiving Snackbox or set their curtains to wrap around them like togas they can’t remove.
Her co-workers tell her their boss comes in one Monday to a package that turns him into a lemon for the morning, until he finally finds someone willing to try the counterspell, and her horrible neighbour the next floor up complains about all his furniture suddenly floating a good inch off the floor, where it cannot possibly make the terrible scratching sounds through her ceiling.
She thinks she’s got the better end of things. Madame Puddifoot’s always smells like a greenhouse turned treacle-sweet, the sort of thing meant for young girls and the boys who want to kiss them but not a thing meant for adults, and the Hog’s Head gets as tiresome as the Three Broomsticks after a while, just another meat market she tolerates at best.
No, the way her Earless woos her is far better, more intensely personal and more compelling for it, and while she’s sure he’d never stoop to swooning charms or love potions to convince her, he really doesn’t have to. She’s won over just by him.
So when she wakes one Saturday morning to a bout of hysterical messages from her shithead brother and his prig wife about someone turning their home into marshmallow filling like from pastries, she laughs until she’s near sick with it.
Then she goes round to see George, who’s waiting at his counter and talking ways to cast jinxes with a student who’s listening with bald adoration, and she waits just off to one side until they’re finished, because, well, this is her Earless, isn’t it? Boyish and lovely. She could watch him work forever, she thinks, and she’s sure she’d like to try.
“Sorry about that,” he says when he’s sent the student on her way. “Poor kid’s been getting bullied, apparently. First Slytherin in her family, prick brother a few years ahead of her. You know how it is.” He shrugs, bashful, and tries to dismiss it. She wants to kiss him all the time but never quite as much as she does just then. “Can I help you with something, Miss Parkinson?”
“So formal,” she teases and slips her arms around his neck, leans up and touches her mouth to his. “You’re delightful, Earless. Come home with me.”
“Pants?” He frowns a bit in confusion. “It’s only half-ten.”
“Did you or did you not make my idiot brother’s house into an oversized sweet?”
He blinks. Must remember then, because he grins a bit wicked. She loves that grin. “I did, yeah. On account of him being a pillock to you last week. Er, sorry. I know you can handle it yourself. You did, didn’t you. But I thought, well. You know how it is. Had a thing I meant to test out on someone, was fairly sure it was safe, thought I might kill two birds with one stone, right?”
She’s nodding along with him, more smitten by the word, and she lets him finish before she leans her forehead against his. “I can, yeah, and ordinarily, I’d have a few things to say about someone else stepping into it. But just this once, I’ll make an exception.” She can barely get the words out for the laughter bubbling up again. “Just, he sent pictures. Or his wife did, whatever. There are pictures, is what I’m saying. And they are at mine, and I need you to come back with me now so I can show you them.” She takes a breath, does something she’s promised herself she wouldn’t. “And when I say show you them, I mean shag you senseless. I’m not sure if that’s clear.”
He’s gawping at her, sort of laughing in shaky, hiccuping blurts and choking on it, but when she stops speaking, he wrangles himself under control. “Because I pranked your brother?”
“Because as courting methods go, that one’s perfect. So. Unless there’s some pressing engagement keeping you here…”
He looks as helplessly fond as she feels, circles her with his arms and holds her close. “There isn’t, no.”
And when she cocks an eyebrow at him, he flicks his wand at his door to spell it locked.
Other girls get taken to Madame Puddifoot’s or out for dinner, get sent flowers and chocolates and jewelry in their time. Pansy gets a nickname she can’t use in public without getting looks and more blackmail material on her friends and family than one girl could ever make proper use of in a lifetime.
But then, other girls don’t get anyone nearly as good, and when Pansy thinks of all the effort he’s put in to wooing her, all the ways he’s shown her how much attention he’s paid to the things that matter, she thinks the other girls settle far too quickly.
~ back ~ next ~
[Spoiler (click to open)]
Other girls get taken to Madame Puddifoot’s for tea and snack cakes, or to the Hog’s Head for a pint if they’re old enough for it. Other girls get taken out to dinner and romanced with flowers and chocolates and such, maybe bits of jewelry if their partner’s got the vault for that sort of thing.
She gets taken to Fortescue’s for a cone and deluged with more prank ideas than she thinks she’ll ever need. She gets post that turns into a pansy in her palm while her co-workers are about, then into a pair of miniature knickers when she’s tucked it in her pocket for the rest of her shift. She gets hysterical owls from her best mates that their hair’s turned blue or their hands green, that someone’s sent their shop assistants an oversized Skiving Snackbox or set their curtains to wrap around them like togas they can’t remove.
Her co-workers tell her their boss comes in one Monday to a package that turns him into a lemon for the morning, until he finally finds someone willing to try the counterspell, and her horrible neighbour the next floor up complains about all his furniture suddenly floating a good inch off the floor, where it cannot possibly make the terrible scratching sounds through her ceiling.
She thinks she’s got the better end of things. Madame Puddifoot’s always smells like a greenhouse turned treacle-sweet, the sort of thing meant for young girls and the boys who want to kiss them but not a thing meant for adults, and the Hog’s Head gets as tiresome as the Three Broomsticks after a while, just another meat market she tolerates at best.
No, the way her Earless woos her is far better, more intensely personal and more compelling for it, and while she’s sure he’d never stoop to swooning charms or love potions to convince her, he really doesn’t have to. She’s won over just by him.
So when she wakes one Saturday morning to a bout of hysterical messages from her shithead brother and his prig wife about someone turning their home into marshmallow filling like from pastries, she laughs until she’s near sick with it.
Then she goes round to see George, who’s waiting at his counter and talking ways to cast jinxes with a student who’s listening with bald adoration, and she waits just off to one side until they’re finished, because, well, this is her Earless, isn’t it? Boyish and lovely. She could watch him work forever, she thinks, and she’s sure she’d like to try.
“Sorry about that,” he says when he’s sent the student on her way. “Poor kid’s been getting bullied, apparently. First Slytherin in her family, prick brother a few years ahead of her. You know how it is.” He shrugs, bashful, and tries to dismiss it. She wants to kiss him all the time but never quite as much as she does just then. “Can I help you with something, Miss Parkinson?”
“So formal,” she teases and slips her arms around his neck, leans up and touches her mouth to his. “You’re delightful, Earless. Come home with me.”
“Pants?” He frowns a bit in confusion. “It’s only half-ten.”
“Did you or did you not make my idiot brother’s house into an oversized sweet?”
He blinks. Must remember then, because he grins a bit wicked. She loves that grin. “I did, yeah. On account of him being a pillock to you last week. Er, sorry. I know you can handle it yourself. You did, didn’t you. But I thought, well. You know how it is. Had a thing I meant to test out on someone, was fairly sure it was safe, thought I might kill two birds with one stone, right?”
She’s nodding along with him, more smitten by the word, and she lets him finish before she leans her forehead against his. “I can, yeah, and ordinarily, I’d have a few things to say about someone else stepping into it. But just this once, I’ll make an exception.” She can barely get the words out for the laughter bubbling up again. “Just, he sent pictures. Or his wife did, whatever. There are pictures, is what I’m saying. And they are at mine, and I need you to come back with me now so I can show you them.” She takes a breath, does something she’s promised herself she wouldn’t. “And when I say show you them, I mean shag you senseless. I’m not sure if that’s clear.”
He’s gawping at her, sort of laughing in shaky, hiccuping blurts and choking on it, but when she stops speaking, he wrangles himself under control. “Because I pranked your brother?”
“Because as courting methods go, that one’s perfect. So. Unless there’s some pressing engagement keeping you here…”
He looks as helplessly fond as she feels, circles her with his arms and holds her close. “There isn’t, no.”
And when she cocks an eyebrow at him, he flicks his wand at his door to spell it locked.
Other girls get taken to Madame Puddifoot’s or out for dinner, get sent flowers and chocolates and jewelry in their time. Pansy gets a nickname she can’t use in public without getting looks and more blackmail material on her friends and family than one girl could ever make proper use of in a lifetime.
But then, other girls don’t get anyone nearly as good, and when Pansy thinks of all the effort he’s put in to wooing her, all the ways he’s shown her how much attention he’s paid to the things that matter, she thinks the other girls settle far too quickly.
~ back ~ next ~