Voting: Week 2
Welcome to the second week of voting! We had some great entries this week, so lets get to it.
We had 10 awesome, drool-worthy drabbles starring Ron and Pansy! A bit fewer than we thought but some people had to drop out.
Voting Rules:
1. Do not vote for yourself and do not ask others to vote for you.
2. If you entered the challenge, you are required to vote.
3. Please vote for a 1st, 2nd, and LEAST favorite drabble. If you do not fill out the entire form, your vote will not be counted.
4. Please vote for the NUMBER of the drabble, not the name of it. Just makes it easier. :)
5. Thank you for being lovely.
The Prompt:
Detention
Results will be posted on Thursday and banners will be up sometime after that.
Have fun! And any comments/questions/suggestions, just let us know. Comments are screened.
COPY AND PASTE THIS INTO YOUR COMMENT:
1.
Author:
Title: Reform
Warnings: Language, racist
Word Count: 399
It had been Granger’s fault. Pansy had simply been attempting to shut the bushy Mudblood up. But, of course, the chit’s brash defender had shown up in the nick of time.
On pure instinct Pansy had pointed her wand, hurling a hex at Weasley. She'd missed, but not before he had hurled one of his own.
And here they were, in detention, alone.
It was worse than writing lines. His presence was so… worrisome.
Yes, that was the word. He bothered her.
She glanced at the ginger sitting beside her. His red hair, the color of sunsets and pumpkin juice, was dusting his shoulders, giving it a soft playful appearance that some girls might fancy running their hands through.
She grimaced.
The thought of running her hands through Weasley’s hair was wrong. He was a Gryffindor blood traitor for Gods’ sake!
Still, the image lingered a second longer than she would have liked, causing her inhale sharply, scowling harder than ever.
Fucking blood traitor. She hated them; always sticking up for Muggle-borns as if they were equals. What was wrong with him? He could be friends with anyone, but he chose her!
She glanced sideways at him. If he were completely unappealing, his love of Mudbloods wouldn’t be so infuriating, but as it were, he wasn’t. In fact, some would say he was attractive.
Some, but not her.
Alright, perhaps he could be attractive... if he acted like a proper pure-blood.
She stared a bit longer. Weasley's form had changed impressively since last year. His broad build was apparent through his robes, and he was taller. He’d make a formidable opponent... or shag.
She clicked her tongue in disgust. Shagging a Weasley? Completely unacceptable for any respectable pure-blood witch!
Pursing her lips, she tried to regroup and focus on her lines. However, it was only a moment later she found herself stealing another glance.
This time, he was staring back at her.
She stopped breathing. Those eyes. She had never noticed how captivating they were. Like a perfect blue sky or tropical ocean, one you wouldn’t mind drowning in...
Bloody hell!
She rolled her eyes at him.
“You know, you’re too pretty to be such a bitch,” he said with pity in his eyes.
She narrowed hers suspiciously. “What?”
Shaking his head, he returned to his lines.
She couldn't stop staring now.
Perhaps Ronald Weasley wasn’t completely horrible.
2.
Author:
Title: Absurdly Perfect
Words: 391
Warnings: Scenes of a mildly sexual nature.
“This is absurd. Isn’t this absurd, Harry? Ron? This is absurd,” stated Hermione in the tones of someone absolutely convinced of their overall greatness in life.
“Yes,” said Harry vaguely. “Absurd.”
“Mmhm,” mumbled Ron. “Absurd.”
It was absurd how messed up Ron’s life was. Absurd. And there were so many different reasons for the absurdity that Ron couldn’t even name them all. He decided, right then and there, to keep a list.
“Harry?” he whispered through Hermione’s rant about the Ministry of Magic. “Do you have a quill?”
Harry looked at him blankly. “Why would I have a quill?”
“I don’t know,” Ron paused. “I just thought you’d have one.”
“Oh,” Harry said, and went back to staring off into space.
That was one of the reasons that Ron should put on his list. Not having a quill. That was rather absurd.
“-If Fudge would just realize how absurd he’s being … what with all the deaths and disappearances you’d think someone might have noticed-!”
Having to listen to your so-called friend whine about politics; that was somewhat absurd. Or maybe it was just absurd that Ron was still sitting there.
But, even more absurd than all of that, was Pansy Parkinson. Ron was sure of it. She was the absolute definition of the word.
“Weasley!” Pansy snapped and Ron’s head jerked up. “Get up! You’re walking me to Potions.”
See? Absurd.
Perhaps, though, what was even more absurd was that Ron did walk Pansy to Potions. He even opened the door for her.
“Weasley!” she snapped again as Ron was lowering himself into his usual seat. He stood up again quickly, almost knocking over his chair.
“Yes?”
“Get over here! You’re my partner today.”
And so Ron walked over to the Slytherin side of the room and sat down next to Pansy. Absurd.
When Ron blew up their cauldron - which was not absurd, it was absolutely ordinary - Pansy told Snape it was her fault.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, blinking up at him.
“Detention,” Snape snarled. “Both of you.”
And while Ron was busy cursing Snape under his breath, Pansy was smirking. Utterly absurd. The definition of absurdity.
And when Pansy arrived at their detention that night, a good fifteen minutes late, and started kissing him, Ron decided that maybe things weren’t so absurd after all. Maybe they were perfect.
3.
Author:
Title:Angry Imprint
Words:less then 400.
Warnings:Light language.
She thinks they were meant to be miserable.
Wasn’t that how god created everything; good and evil (happy and sad).
She’d never grow to love him that was impossible.
Witches didn’t love, they used; used till there was nothing left but a dirty heart.
He trails kisses down her jaw, skin pale and soft.
Eyes clench shut, try to imagine tanned and light brown eyes.
They’re dead, why not die too?
She whispers in the night, darkness clings to them; tighter till it constricts.
“He’s dead,” she sobs at his funeral, because she can’t deny that she loved him. Even if the affection was never returned, she cannot help what her heart decides to feel.
“Good thing, a git like that deserved it,” murmurs a toneless voice besides her and she just wants to scream.
Instead face reddens and she continues to stare at the bleak coffin before her.
It’s ironic that he’s the one who died (she made her whole life about hate).
“Didn’t that mudblood die also?” she whispers, more question then taunt. He stiffens besides her and seems to bleed anger at the mere knowledge of her speaking about his Hermione.
His hand is an angry imprint on her face and she feels nothing.
She lies besides him at night and wonders how they’ll ever make this messed-up union work.
It’s a disgusting fascination she has with him, that long replaced adoration for Draco.
They don’t make love, they shag. It’s the sick truth she’s learned accept because only he’ll take her.
Damaged goods.
She moves closer to him, buries into the warmth that only he can provide.
Skin is hot against her face and she breathes him in, until she can only hope to drown.
“This is really just an agreement,” he mutters, brushing thick strands out of her face.
She’s not used to the new abrasive Ron, the man who grabs her tightly; wants to bruise her.
The sick disgusting witch in her wants him.
Till she gasps for breath and needs to grip on forcefully just to know she’s alive.
“I hate you,” she whispers against naked skin; beginning to forget it’s supposed to be the truth.
4.
Author:
Title: Fire and Smoke
Words: 386
Warnings: angst
Ron stares down at the marble floor as he tries to count off the number of seconds in one minute. He doesn't remember being this bad at counting but apparently he is, because every time he reaches sixty and looks up at the clock it turns out that he's always fast. He tries to force himself to slow down this time, to pause between the numbers, but halfway through he loses track again and has to start over.
On the opposite side of the bench, clinging to the wooden arm like it's a life preserver, is Pansy Parkinson.
Ron thinks that it's funny to be sitting here with her like this again, in a quiet room with his jaw locked and her mouth set in a grim line. He remembers the long row of wooden desks in McGonagall's classroom, and the clock on the wall with the second hand that moved more slowly than he would have liked, and her hands folded primly in her lap while he fidgeted with his shirt cuffs. Finally, after more than an hour of heavy silence, she'd turned to him and hissed,
"This is your fault."
The anger that burned through him then was quick and clean, smoldering in his stomach and licking at the base of his spine. It almost felt good, to hate her so much.
"Exiting," a security guard announces, pulling open the door to the courtroom. Ron lurches to his feet and scans the faces of the buzzing crowd until he sees a head of red hair bobbling over the rest.
"Come on," says Arthur Weasley, when he finally reaches him. "Let's get out of here."
Ron grabs his sleeve. "What was the verdict?"
His father's eyes flicker. "Guilty."
"Both of them?" Ron asks, and Mr Weasley nods.
For a moment Ron feels nothing, but then it's there, a churning mass of relief and disgust and pity that clogs his chest like a deep breath of smoke and ash. He looks back at Pansy, who is standing with a tall man wearing black robes. He says something to her and puts a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it off and turns away from him. She looks up, and her eyes meet Ron's for one terrible moment.
She doesn't have to say anything this time.
5.
Author:
Title: What He Wants
Words: 399
Warnings: Some bad language and implied sexual situations
Ron Weasley was pissed off. An entire evening scrubbing cauldrons in the dungeons was not his idea of a good time. Besides, it was so bloody unfair. How the bloody hell was he supposed to know the classroom they usually practised in would be… occupied?
A hot blush spread on his face at the memory. He’d opened the classroom door quite innocently and Pansy had been there. With Malfoy. He had been so shocked by the sight that he had just frozen on the spot. And then Snape had shown up. With McGonagall. He briefly wondered if either of the Slytherins would ever be able to do it again. He knew he wouldn’t have if McGonagall had glared at his… bits like that.
And now he would have to spend the evening in detention with Pansy. Shit. As if he wasn’t embarrassed enough already. Ron cast a covert look at the other sink. She was scrubbing a caldron, looking for all the world like nothing embarrassing had ever happened to her.
“Thinking about what you saw, Weasel?” she asked without looking up. Ron’s ears turned even redder. Suddenly he remembered (as if he could ever forget!) how her hair had been all messed up, her arms wrapped around… No! He had to get that image out of his head. Especially because it wasn’t as gross as it should have been. Bloody hell! Surely he wasn’t attracted to Pansy Parkinson of all people… No, it had to be about Malfoy. Draco fucking Malfoy, always getting whatever he wanted. He hoped McGonagall was making his life a living hell right now.
“I’ll bet Granger never does that to you, does she?” Pansy kept taunting. “How frustrating it must be for you, Draco having everything you want.”
“I don’t want that. At least not with you!” Ron retorted quickly. Too quickly. Pansy finally looked up from her cauldron, a satisfied smirk on her face.
“I knew it. Ickle Weasel wants to play with Slytherins.” Her voice took on a hint of suggestiveness that made Ron shiver. “What would you do to get a chance? To try something you Gryffs only dream about?”
Ron was too shocked to answer. A traitorous part of him whispered that perhaps the evening didn’t have to be that bad after all…
6.
Author:
Title: Greenhouse Five
Words: 398
Warnings: Implied substance abuse
The first night of detention in the greenhouses was hell. Dirt and manure lodged itself in her nail beds, Weasley took to whinging like an alcoholic to Ogden’s Finest, and she spent the night soaking in the prefect’s baths, scrubbing away the overpowering scent that clung to her.
The second night saw some slight improvements. Besides the occasional heavy sigh, Weasley’s sulking turned into silent torment, Draco bribed the house-elves into bringing her chocolate, and Daphne taught her a charm to repel the smell.
On the third night of detention, Pansy discovered the mushrooms.
“Weasley, you have got to see this.”
In the flash of excitement that followed opening the cupboard, she forgot to hate him, but he reminded her quickly enough.
“Like I’m going to fall for that again.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “I promise I’m not trying to bash your head in with a trowel.”
There was a chink as he set something down on the counter, and she thought she could hear a note of interest in his voice. “What is it, then?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“If you try anything…” He sounded reluctant, but his footsteps told her he was nearly jogging.
“I promise not to jeopardise your virtue.”
“That’s not what I-oh, sod off.”
His shoulder brushed hers as he crouched next to her; for a moment nothing, and then the gasp that followed sudden comprehension.
“No. We’re in enough trouble as it is.”
“She’s practically got a forest of mushrooms in there-she won’t notice if we take some.”
“Take some?”
“What else would we do?”
“You mean you aren’t planning to blackmail Sprout into cancelling detention?”
She let out a snort of laughter. “Oh, please.”
“You mean...”
“No, I am not saving you from detention.”
They lapsed into silence-a quick glance at Weasley told her that he was staring at the dark space beneath the counter contemplatively. She felt a flash of triumph as a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I always thought Granger was the wet one in your little threesome.”
“Oh, shut up.”
She settled back on her heels and watched his face move through various shades of red.
“Fine,” he said. “But if we’re caught, I’m blaming you.”
“Brilliant.” Her face broke into a smile,and Weasley flushed again. “And, don’t worry, no one will catch us.”
7.
Author:
Title: Being an Adult has Its Advantages
Rating: Light R
Word Count: 397 (w00t!!)
With his broom slung over his shoulder, Ron Weasley walked into the empty classroom.
“Parkinson.”
“Weasley.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Proctoring detention tonight, you?”
“You are? I was told I was.”
Pansy looked back to her nails and began filing again. “Why would a Quidditch trainer be in charge of anything, let alone shaping young minds?”
Ron shrugged. “I don’t know, why would heartless harpies who somehow wheedled their way into a Transfiguration position?”
She stood up, pulling on her short, short skirt. “Obviously McGonagall got confused in her schedule, I guess I’ll be going.”
Ron pulled his eyes off her long legs and gulped as she got closer…and closer. She was in front of him, the smell of her was heady and rich as she leaned over and reached around him for her wand. He looked down at her backside, at her taut arse and thought about how long it had been since he’d been with anyone. He also puzzled silently if she was purposely showing off her assets and if so, why?
She got up and gave him a look that he couldn’t understand but made him swallow again. She began to turn but he reached out and grasped her forearm, flexing his muscled bicep, showing his own assets, for why? He still wasn’t sure.
She looked down at his hand and then back at him.
“Why do you assume you are the one who gets the night off?” he asked.
She was standing so close, her pug nose almost touching his rather larger one, so when she licked her lips slowly, Ron almost felt her tongue along his own lips.
“Night…off?” she whispered.
He suddenly realized he was still grasping her arm, more importantly, he realized… she was letting him.
Without thought of reproach or repercussions he pulled her to him and then she was there and her mouth was on his, opening itself up to him and he was kissing her; all the petty arguments and bickering seemed no more than foreplay.
Pansy had her hands down his pants before he fully remembered where they were.
“Wait,” he pulled away. “What about the students coming for detention?”
She smiled wickedly. “There’s no students coming for detention tonight. It was canceled.”
“Canceled?” he asked. “So, no one’s coming?”
She reached back into his pants. “Let’s see how the night plays out, shall we?”
8.
Author:
Title: Bugger!
Words: 392
Warnings: Ron swears a bit, but that's Ron.
She's annoying. No, strike that, she's a complete bitch! I glare at the back of Pansy Parkinson's head. As usual, she sits next to Malfoy and fawns over him, sickening!
I feel Hermione elbow me and hear her urgent "Snape!" but can't tear my eyes away from Ferret and Pug-face.
"Mr Weasley, while I am sure that a young lady like Miss Parkinson is fascinating to you, I would appreciate if you concentrated on my class. Judging by your performance, this is not only advisable but strictly necessary. Detention, Mr Weasley, tomorrow night at seven, here."
I unsuccessfully try to stifle a groan. Shit! I look past Snape to glare at Parkinson and Malfoy, who predictably sneers, highly amused by my misfortune. Pug-face, on the other hand, surprises me by winking. Winking! I gape at her.
;);););
I enter the dungeon classroom. Pansy is already there, scrubbing furiously at a dirty cauldron. No magic. 'Bugger,' I think, remembering the bedpans that Snape made me clean in third year. I shudder.
Pansy turns around and smiles at me. Pleasantly. Which makes her look almost pretty.
"Hello Ron."
"Um, hello, Pu- Parkinson," I reply. Almost called her 'Pug-face' there, and why's she calling me Ron anyway? I frown.
"I didn't know you had a stutter, Ron. Is that why you're always so quiet?" She sounds sincere, but I am sure she's just taking the mickey.
"I don't stutter!"
"Oh, all the better." She smiles again; she really does look pretty when she does that.
I return her smile, still wary of her sudden friendliness, but deciding that I might as well play along. I pick up a cloth and start helping Parkinson with her cauldron.
We look at each other. She has really nice eyes, too. I move towards her, towards her lips. My eyes flutter close.
I purse my lips ... and receive a nasty blow to the ribs. Should have known! Incredulous, I am about to yell at her, but my "Pansy!" dies on my lips when I look into Hermione's eyes. I blink at her.
"You fell asleep and were moaning," she reprimands me, "even Professor Binns noticed." She shakes her head in disgust.
'Bugger,' I think, Pansy's face imprinted in front of my inner eye. Bugger!
9.
Author:
Title: Sorting Things Out
Words: 384
Warnings: None
When I saw Ron Weasley come through the door to my office, I could tell he was furious from the lovely puce colour from his cheeks to ears. I gave him the smile that made even my Slytherins go ice cold--or so they must given how they freeze. Hufflepuffs seem to go to water given how their knees buckle.
"Mr Weasley, I'll hand it to you for nerve. Even Lucius Malfoy didn't dispute detentions for his son. Yet here you are--"
"It's Christmas hols, and you're not keeping Rosie back to even the score, Parkinson."
"Miss Weasley is serving detention because she and a knot of her cronies snuck into Gryffindor Tower and hexed James Potter, giving him a baboon's arse and a donkey's ears."
"That's why you gave her detention?"
"No, I gave her detention because she was caught. Sloppy of her. Personally, I think she wanted to be caught. She doesn't want to go home for hols. Why might that be?"
The breath went out of him then, and he sank into the chair by my desk with a thunk.
"Her mother and I just filed for divorce and…."
"And," I said softly, "she got sorted into Slytherin and for some reason she thinks that's a disgrace." I stared unblinking at him. "Any reason she should think that?"
He glared back. "None. She's my blood, my family. I don't care what House she's in."
"Tell your cousin Malfada that. Of course, that's so long overdue the account is closed there. So you might want to tell your daughter instead, before it cankers." I wrote out a pass, then handed it over to him. "She can serve the balance of her detention time after the hols. But you shouldn't be here nevertheless. Parents don't interfere at Hogwarts. She's mine, and whatever you might think of Slytherins, we take care of our own."
At his grimace, I sneered at him and said, "if you want to convince your daughter she hasn't grown horns, you might want to work on your expression whenever the word 'Slytherin' is spoken."
I rose then and grabbed my cloak from the back of my chair; he surprised me by helping me put it on.
"You're not what I expected, Parkinson."
"I grew up. Sometimes that happens."
10.
Author:
Title: It's All Your Fault
Words: 399
Warnings: Some coarse language, but nothing explicit.
“Mr Weasley that will be 10 points from Gryffindor, and a detention tonight at seven.” Snape sneered down his nose at Ron, who currently had no eyebrows. He swore he only added three 1mm slices of Valerian root to his Exploding Fluid. Ron slouched over the desk turning to Harry when Pansy’s shrill laugh filled the classroom.
"Weasley has no eyebrows. Merlin you look stupider than normal!” she squeak, pointing at him, before falling into another bout of giggles.
“What is that racket?” Snape roared coming out of the store cupboard. Pansy quickly stifled her laughter, but it was too late. Snape stood in front of her, sneering at.
“Detention Miss Parkinson, for that noise you call a laugh”
“But sir!” Pansy flustered.
“But nothing. You shall report here with Mr Weasley tonight.”
The lesson soon passed with Gryffindor only losing 30 points, and Neville managing not to blow his cauldron up for once.
“Bloody hell. I can’t believe I have a detention, and with that awful bint as well!” Ron fumed stuffing food in his mouth at the same time.
“Well it’s your own fault. If you hadn’t stayed up all night doing your charms essay you wouldn’t have made such a simple mistake. Even Neville managed this potion without a hitch.” Hermione piped in before excusing herself to start this week’s potions essay.
7pm came all too soon for Pansy.
“It’s his fault. Stupid weasel.” She muttered walking along to the potions class. She had a transfiguration essay to finish for tomorrow and really didn’t need to give McGonagall an excuse to deduct Slytherin points for late work. She entered the class to find Ron there.
“Mr Weasley. You shall be remaking the Exploding Fluid and Pansy, you shall assist him. You have an hour.” And with that Snape left.
“It’s all your fault.” Pansy jibed.
“My fault? I didn’t force you to laugh.”
“Well if you hadn’t messed up your potion and singed your eyebrows then I wouldn’t be here!” She said flopping onto the stool leaning on the desk whilst Ron continued. Soon the hour was up, the potion was done, and Snape let them leave.
“Hey! Pansy!” Ron called to a retreating Pansy.
“What?” she turned, to see Ron wiggling his non-existent eyebrows before walking away. All he could hear as he left the dungeons was her shrill laugh echoing down the hall.
We had 10 awesome, drool-worthy drabbles starring Ron and Pansy! A bit fewer than we thought but some people had to drop out.
Voting Rules:
1. Do not vote for yourself and do not ask others to vote for you.
2. If you entered the challenge, you are required to vote.
3. Please vote for a 1st, 2nd, and LEAST favorite drabble. If you do not fill out the entire form, your vote will not be counted.
4. Please vote for the NUMBER of the drabble, not the name of it. Just makes it easier. :)
5. Thank you for being lovely.
The Prompt:
Detention
Results will be posted on Thursday and banners will be up sometime after that.
Have fun! And any comments/questions/suggestions, just let us know. Comments are screened.
COPY AND PASTE THIS INTO YOUR COMMENT:
1.
Author:
Title: Reform
Warnings: Language, racist
Word Count: 399
It had been Granger’s fault. Pansy had simply been attempting to shut the bushy Mudblood up. But, of course, the chit’s brash defender had shown up in the nick of time.
On pure instinct Pansy had pointed her wand, hurling a hex at Weasley. She'd missed, but not before he had hurled one of his own.
And here they were, in detention, alone.
It was worse than writing lines. His presence was so… worrisome.
Yes, that was the word. He bothered her.
She glanced at the ginger sitting beside her. His red hair, the color of sunsets and pumpkin juice, was dusting his shoulders, giving it a soft playful appearance that some girls might fancy running their hands through.
She grimaced.
The thought of running her hands through Weasley’s hair was wrong. He was a Gryffindor blood traitor for Gods’ sake!
Still, the image lingered a second longer than she would have liked, causing her inhale sharply, scowling harder than ever.
Fucking blood traitor. She hated them; always sticking up for Muggle-borns as if they were equals. What was wrong with him? He could be friends with anyone, but he chose her!
She glanced sideways at him. If he were completely unappealing, his love of Mudbloods wouldn’t be so infuriating, but as it were, he wasn’t. In fact, some would say he was attractive.
Some, but not her.
Alright, perhaps he could be attractive... if he acted like a proper pure-blood.
She stared a bit longer. Weasley's form had changed impressively since last year. His broad build was apparent through his robes, and he was taller. He’d make a formidable opponent... or shag.
She clicked her tongue in disgust. Shagging a Weasley? Completely unacceptable for any respectable pure-blood witch!
Pursing her lips, she tried to regroup and focus on her lines. However, it was only a moment later she found herself stealing another glance.
This time, he was staring back at her.
She stopped breathing. Those eyes. She had never noticed how captivating they were. Like a perfect blue sky or tropical ocean, one you wouldn’t mind drowning in...
Bloody hell!
She rolled her eyes at him.
“You know, you’re too pretty to be such a bitch,” he said with pity in his eyes.
She narrowed hers suspiciously. “What?”
Shaking his head, he returned to his lines.
She couldn't stop staring now.
Perhaps Ronald Weasley wasn’t completely horrible.
2.
Author:
Title: Absurdly Perfect
Words: 391
Warnings: Scenes of a mildly sexual nature.
“This is absurd. Isn’t this absurd, Harry? Ron? This is absurd,” stated Hermione in the tones of someone absolutely convinced of their overall greatness in life.
“Yes,” said Harry vaguely. “Absurd.”
“Mmhm,” mumbled Ron. “Absurd.”
It was absurd how messed up Ron’s life was. Absurd. And there were so many different reasons for the absurdity that Ron couldn’t even name them all. He decided, right then and there, to keep a list.
“Harry?” he whispered through Hermione’s rant about the Ministry of Magic. “Do you have a quill?”
Harry looked at him blankly. “Why would I have a quill?”
“I don’t know,” Ron paused. “I just thought you’d have one.”
“Oh,” Harry said, and went back to staring off into space.
That was one of the reasons that Ron should put on his list. Not having a quill. That was rather absurd.
“-If Fudge would just realize how absurd he’s being … what with all the deaths and disappearances you’d think someone might have noticed-!”
Having to listen to your so-called friend whine about politics; that was somewhat absurd. Or maybe it was just absurd that Ron was still sitting there.
But, even more absurd than all of that, was Pansy Parkinson. Ron was sure of it. She was the absolute definition of the word.
“Weasley!” Pansy snapped and Ron’s head jerked up. “Get up! You’re walking me to Potions.”
See? Absurd.
Perhaps, though, what was even more absurd was that Ron did walk Pansy to Potions. He even opened the door for her.
“Weasley!” she snapped again as Ron was lowering himself into his usual seat. He stood up again quickly, almost knocking over his chair.
“Yes?”
“Get over here! You’re my partner today.”
And so Ron walked over to the Slytherin side of the room and sat down next to Pansy. Absurd.
When Ron blew up their cauldron - which was not absurd, it was absolutely ordinary - Pansy told Snape it was her fault.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, blinking up at him.
“Detention,” Snape snarled. “Both of you.”
And while Ron was busy cursing Snape under his breath, Pansy was smirking. Utterly absurd. The definition of absurdity.
And when Pansy arrived at their detention that night, a good fifteen minutes late, and started kissing him, Ron decided that maybe things weren’t so absurd after all. Maybe they were perfect.
3.
Author:
Title:Angry Imprint
Words:less then 400.
Warnings:Light language.
She thinks they were meant to be miserable.
Wasn’t that how god created everything; good and evil (happy and sad).
She’d never grow to love him that was impossible.
Witches didn’t love, they used; used till there was nothing left but a dirty heart.
He trails kisses down her jaw, skin pale and soft.
Eyes clench shut, try to imagine tanned and light brown eyes.
They’re dead, why not die too?
She whispers in the night, darkness clings to them; tighter till it constricts.
“He’s dead,” she sobs at his funeral, because she can’t deny that she loved him. Even if the affection was never returned, she cannot help what her heart decides to feel.
“Good thing, a git like that deserved it,” murmurs a toneless voice besides her and she just wants to scream.
Instead face reddens and she continues to stare at the bleak coffin before her.
It’s ironic that he’s the one who died (she made her whole life about hate).
“Didn’t that mudblood die also?” she whispers, more question then taunt. He stiffens besides her and seems to bleed anger at the mere knowledge of her speaking about his Hermione.
His hand is an angry imprint on her face and she feels nothing.
She lies besides him at night and wonders how they’ll ever make this messed-up union work.
It’s a disgusting fascination she has with him, that long replaced adoration for Draco.
They don’t make love, they shag. It’s the sick truth she’s learned accept because only he’ll take her.
Damaged goods.
She moves closer to him, buries into the warmth that only he can provide.
Skin is hot against her face and she breathes him in, until she can only hope to drown.
“This is really just an agreement,” he mutters, brushing thick strands out of her face.
She’s not used to the new abrasive Ron, the man who grabs her tightly; wants to bruise her.
The sick disgusting witch in her wants him.
Till she gasps for breath and needs to grip on forcefully just to know she’s alive.
“I hate you,” she whispers against naked skin; beginning to forget it’s supposed to be the truth.
4.
Author:
Title: Fire and Smoke
Words: 386
Warnings: angst
Ron stares down at the marble floor as he tries to count off the number of seconds in one minute. He doesn't remember being this bad at counting but apparently he is, because every time he reaches sixty and looks up at the clock it turns out that he's always fast. He tries to force himself to slow down this time, to pause between the numbers, but halfway through he loses track again and has to start over.
On the opposite side of the bench, clinging to the wooden arm like it's a life preserver, is Pansy Parkinson.
Ron thinks that it's funny to be sitting here with her like this again, in a quiet room with his jaw locked and her mouth set in a grim line. He remembers the long row of wooden desks in McGonagall's classroom, and the clock on the wall with the second hand that moved more slowly than he would have liked, and her hands folded primly in her lap while he fidgeted with his shirt cuffs. Finally, after more than an hour of heavy silence, she'd turned to him and hissed,
"This is your fault."
The anger that burned through him then was quick and clean, smoldering in his stomach and licking at the base of his spine. It almost felt good, to hate her so much.
"Exiting," a security guard announces, pulling open the door to the courtroom. Ron lurches to his feet and scans the faces of the buzzing crowd until he sees a head of red hair bobbling over the rest.
"Come on," says Arthur Weasley, when he finally reaches him. "Let's get out of here."
Ron grabs his sleeve. "What was the verdict?"
His father's eyes flicker. "Guilty."
"Both of them?" Ron asks, and Mr Weasley nods.
For a moment Ron feels nothing, but then it's there, a churning mass of relief and disgust and pity that clogs his chest like a deep breath of smoke and ash. He looks back at Pansy, who is standing with a tall man wearing black robes. He says something to her and puts a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it off and turns away from him. She looks up, and her eyes meet Ron's for one terrible moment.
She doesn't have to say anything this time.
5.
Author:
Title: What He Wants
Words: 399
Warnings: Some bad language and implied sexual situations
Ron Weasley was pissed off. An entire evening scrubbing cauldrons in the dungeons was not his idea of a good time. Besides, it was so bloody unfair. How the bloody hell was he supposed to know the classroom they usually practised in would be… occupied?
A hot blush spread on his face at the memory. He’d opened the classroom door quite innocently and Pansy had been there. With Malfoy. He had been so shocked by the sight that he had just frozen on the spot. And then Snape had shown up. With McGonagall. He briefly wondered if either of the Slytherins would ever be able to do it again. He knew he wouldn’t have if McGonagall had glared at his… bits like that.
And now he would have to spend the evening in detention with Pansy. Shit. As if he wasn’t embarrassed enough already. Ron cast a covert look at the other sink. She was scrubbing a caldron, looking for all the world like nothing embarrassing had ever happened to her.
“Thinking about what you saw, Weasel?” she asked without looking up. Ron’s ears turned even redder. Suddenly he remembered (as if he could ever forget!) how her hair had been all messed up, her arms wrapped around… No! He had to get that image out of his head. Especially because it wasn’t as gross as it should have been. Bloody hell! Surely he wasn’t attracted to Pansy Parkinson of all people… No, it had to be about Malfoy. Draco fucking Malfoy, always getting whatever he wanted. He hoped McGonagall was making his life a living hell right now.
“I’ll bet Granger never does that to you, does she?” Pansy kept taunting. “How frustrating it must be for you, Draco having everything you want.”
“I don’t want that. At least not with you!” Ron retorted quickly. Too quickly. Pansy finally looked up from her cauldron, a satisfied smirk on her face.
“I knew it. Ickle Weasel wants to play with Slytherins.” Her voice took on a hint of suggestiveness that made Ron shiver. “What would you do to get a chance? To try something you Gryffs only dream about?”
Ron was too shocked to answer. A traitorous part of him whispered that perhaps the evening didn’t have to be that bad after all…
6.
Author:
Title: Greenhouse Five
Words: 398
Warnings: Implied substance abuse
The first night of detention in the greenhouses was hell. Dirt and manure lodged itself in her nail beds, Weasley took to whinging like an alcoholic to Ogden’s Finest, and she spent the night soaking in the prefect’s baths, scrubbing away the overpowering scent that clung to her.
The second night saw some slight improvements. Besides the occasional heavy sigh, Weasley’s sulking turned into silent torment, Draco bribed the house-elves into bringing her chocolate, and Daphne taught her a charm to repel the smell.
On the third night of detention, Pansy discovered the mushrooms.
“Weasley, you have got to see this.”
In the flash of excitement that followed opening the cupboard, she forgot to hate him, but he reminded her quickly enough.
“Like I’m going to fall for that again.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “I promise I’m not trying to bash your head in with a trowel.”
There was a chink as he set something down on the counter, and she thought she could hear a note of interest in his voice. “What is it, then?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“If you try anything…” He sounded reluctant, but his footsteps told her he was nearly jogging.
“I promise not to jeopardise your virtue.”
“That’s not what I-oh, sod off.”
His shoulder brushed hers as he crouched next to her; for a moment nothing, and then the gasp that followed sudden comprehension.
“No. We’re in enough trouble as it is.”
“She’s practically got a forest of mushrooms in there-she won’t notice if we take some.”
“Take some?”
“What else would we do?”
“You mean you aren’t planning to blackmail Sprout into cancelling detention?”
She let out a snort of laughter. “Oh, please.”
“You mean...”
“No, I am not saving you from detention.”
They lapsed into silence-a quick glance at Weasley told her that he was staring at the dark space beneath the counter contemplatively. She felt a flash of triumph as a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I always thought Granger was the wet one in your little threesome.”
“Oh, shut up.”
She settled back on her heels and watched his face move through various shades of red.
“Fine,” he said. “But if we’re caught, I’m blaming you.”
“Brilliant.” Her face broke into a smile,and Weasley flushed again. “And, don’t worry, no one will catch us.”
7.
Author:
Title: Being an Adult has Its Advantages
Rating: Light R
Word Count: 397 (w00t!!)
With his broom slung over his shoulder, Ron Weasley walked into the empty classroom.
“Parkinson.”
“Weasley.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Proctoring detention tonight, you?”
“You are? I was told I was.”
Pansy looked back to her nails and began filing again. “Why would a Quidditch trainer be in charge of anything, let alone shaping young minds?”
Ron shrugged. “I don’t know, why would heartless harpies who somehow wheedled their way into a Transfiguration position?”
She stood up, pulling on her short, short skirt. “Obviously McGonagall got confused in her schedule, I guess I’ll be going.”
Ron pulled his eyes off her long legs and gulped as she got closer…and closer. She was in front of him, the smell of her was heady and rich as she leaned over and reached around him for her wand. He looked down at her backside, at her taut arse and thought about how long it had been since he’d been with anyone. He also puzzled silently if she was purposely showing off her assets and if so, why?
She got up and gave him a look that he couldn’t understand but made him swallow again. She began to turn but he reached out and grasped her forearm, flexing his muscled bicep, showing his own assets, for why? He still wasn’t sure.
She looked down at his hand and then back at him.
“Why do you assume you are the one who gets the night off?” he asked.
She was standing so close, her pug nose almost touching his rather larger one, so when she licked her lips slowly, Ron almost felt her tongue along his own lips.
“Night…off?” she whispered.
He suddenly realized he was still grasping her arm, more importantly, he realized… she was letting him.
Without thought of reproach or repercussions he pulled her to him and then she was there and her mouth was on his, opening itself up to him and he was kissing her; all the petty arguments and bickering seemed no more than foreplay.
Pansy had her hands down his pants before he fully remembered where they were.
“Wait,” he pulled away. “What about the students coming for detention?”
She smiled wickedly. “There’s no students coming for detention tonight. It was canceled.”
“Canceled?” he asked. “So, no one’s coming?”
She reached back into his pants. “Let’s see how the night plays out, shall we?”
8.
Author:
Title: Bugger!
Words: 392
Warnings: Ron swears a bit, but that's Ron.
She's annoying. No, strike that, she's a complete bitch! I glare at the back of Pansy Parkinson's head. As usual, she sits next to Malfoy and fawns over him, sickening!
I feel Hermione elbow me and hear her urgent "Snape!" but can't tear my eyes away from Ferret and Pug-face.
"Mr Weasley, while I am sure that a young lady like Miss Parkinson is fascinating to you, I would appreciate if you concentrated on my class. Judging by your performance, this is not only advisable but strictly necessary. Detention, Mr Weasley, tomorrow night at seven, here."
I unsuccessfully try to stifle a groan. Shit! I look past Snape to glare at Parkinson and Malfoy, who predictably sneers, highly amused by my misfortune. Pug-face, on the other hand, surprises me by winking. Winking! I gape at her.
;);););
I enter the dungeon classroom. Pansy is already there, scrubbing furiously at a dirty cauldron. No magic. 'Bugger,' I think, remembering the bedpans that Snape made me clean in third year. I shudder.
Pansy turns around and smiles at me. Pleasantly. Which makes her look almost pretty.
"Hello Ron."
"Um, hello, Pu- Parkinson," I reply. Almost called her 'Pug-face' there, and why's she calling me Ron anyway? I frown.
"I didn't know you had a stutter, Ron. Is that why you're always so quiet?" She sounds sincere, but I am sure she's just taking the mickey.
"I don't stutter!"
"Oh, all the better." She smiles again; she really does look pretty when she does that.
I return her smile, still wary of her sudden friendliness, but deciding that I might as well play along. I pick up a cloth and start helping Parkinson with her cauldron.
We look at each other. She has really nice eyes, too. I move towards her, towards her lips. My eyes flutter close.
I purse my lips ... and receive a nasty blow to the ribs. Should have known! Incredulous, I am about to yell at her, but my "Pansy!" dies on my lips when I look into Hermione's eyes. I blink at her.
"You fell asleep and were moaning," she reprimands me, "even Professor Binns noticed." She shakes her head in disgust.
'Bugger,' I think, Pansy's face imprinted in front of my inner eye. Bugger!
9.
Author:
Title: Sorting Things Out
Words: 384
Warnings: None
When I saw Ron Weasley come through the door to my office, I could tell he was furious from the lovely puce colour from his cheeks to ears. I gave him the smile that made even my Slytherins go ice cold--or so they must given how they freeze. Hufflepuffs seem to go to water given how their knees buckle.
"Mr Weasley, I'll hand it to you for nerve. Even Lucius Malfoy didn't dispute detentions for his son. Yet here you are--"
"It's Christmas hols, and you're not keeping Rosie back to even the score, Parkinson."
"Miss Weasley is serving detention because she and a knot of her cronies snuck into Gryffindor Tower and hexed James Potter, giving him a baboon's arse and a donkey's ears."
"That's why you gave her detention?"
"No, I gave her detention because she was caught. Sloppy of her. Personally, I think she wanted to be caught. She doesn't want to go home for hols. Why might that be?"
The breath went out of him then, and he sank into the chair by my desk with a thunk.
"Her mother and I just filed for divorce and…."
"And," I said softly, "she got sorted into Slytherin and for some reason she thinks that's a disgrace." I stared unblinking at him. "Any reason she should think that?"
He glared back. "None. She's my blood, my family. I don't care what House she's in."
"Tell your cousin Malfada that. Of course, that's so long overdue the account is closed there. So you might want to tell your daughter instead, before it cankers." I wrote out a pass, then handed it over to him. "She can serve the balance of her detention time after the hols. But you shouldn't be here nevertheless. Parents don't interfere at Hogwarts. She's mine, and whatever you might think of Slytherins, we take care of our own."
At his grimace, I sneered at him and said, "if you want to convince your daughter she hasn't grown horns, you might want to work on your expression whenever the word 'Slytherin' is spoken."
I rose then and grabbed my cloak from the back of my chair; he surprised me by helping me put it on.
"You're not what I expected, Parkinson."
"I grew up. Sometimes that happens."
10.
Author:
Title: It's All Your Fault
Words: 399
Warnings: Some coarse language, but nothing explicit.
“Mr Weasley that will be 10 points from Gryffindor, and a detention tonight at seven.” Snape sneered down his nose at Ron, who currently had no eyebrows. He swore he only added three 1mm slices of Valerian root to his Exploding Fluid. Ron slouched over the desk turning to Harry when Pansy’s shrill laugh filled the classroom.
"Weasley has no eyebrows. Merlin you look stupider than normal!” she squeak, pointing at him, before falling into another bout of giggles.
“What is that racket?” Snape roared coming out of the store cupboard. Pansy quickly stifled her laughter, but it was too late. Snape stood in front of her, sneering at.
“Detention Miss Parkinson, for that noise you call a laugh”
“But sir!” Pansy flustered.
“But nothing. You shall report here with Mr Weasley tonight.”
The lesson soon passed with Gryffindor only losing 30 points, and Neville managing not to blow his cauldron up for once.
“Bloody hell. I can’t believe I have a detention, and with that awful bint as well!” Ron fumed stuffing food in his mouth at the same time.
“Well it’s your own fault. If you hadn’t stayed up all night doing your charms essay you wouldn’t have made such a simple mistake. Even Neville managed this potion without a hitch.” Hermione piped in before excusing herself to start this week’s potions essay.
7pm came all too soon for Pansy.
“It’s his fault. Stupid weasel.” She muttered walking along to the potions class. She had a transfiguration essay to finish for tomorrow and really didn’t need to give McGonagall an excuse to deduct Slytherin points for late work. She entered the class to find Ron there.
“Mr Weasley. You shall be remaking the Exploding Fluid and Pansy, you shall assist him. You have an hour.” And with that Snape left.
“It’s all your fault.” Pansy jibed.
“My fault? I didn’t force you to laugh.”
“Well if you hadn’t messed up your potion and singed your eyebrows then I wouldn’t be here!” She said flopping onto the stool leaning on the desk whilst Ron continued. Soon the hour was up, the potion was done, and Snape let them leave.
“Hey! Pansy!” Ron called to a retreating Pansy.
“What?” she turned, to see Ron wiggling his non-existent eyebrows before walking away. All he could hear as he left the dungeons was her shrill laugh echoing down the hall.