Archive of Our Own

Looking at his watch for perhaps the twentieth time, Ron sighed loudly. From the other side of the table came an irritated huffing. Ron chose not to respond. Twenty to nine. He'd been here over half an hour.

"Would you stop tapping those giant feet of yours?"

Ron finally looked up to face the other person sitting at his table. "Only if you stop snapping your gum."

Pansy Parkinson glared at him. "I do not snap my gum, Weasley."

"Whatever you say," he muttered, glancing once more at the front door. "What the hell is taking them so long?"

"Maybe it's something at work?"

Ron shook his head. "Malfoy left work an hour before I did. Harry left twenty minutes after that. I get that Malfoy's late sometimes, but Harry's usually good about it. Besides, after forty minutes, at least one of them should be here by now."

Pansy snapped her gum once more, raising one antagonistic eyebrow as she did so. Merlin, she was a pain in the arse sometimes. "Draco's getting a solid piece of my mind when I see him next. What is he thinking, leaving me here to deal with you?"

"Deal with you? You've got it backwards, I think. You know, things haven't been the same ever since he and Harry stopped trying to sabotage each other as partners."

"You noticed too?" Pansy leaned back in her chair. "Draco's self-absorbed during the best of times, but all those team-building exercises the Ministry forced him on only meant I see him even less. And now that he and Potter are positively chummy, I can't seem to spend any time with him that doesn't include Potter and his group of friends."

Ron waited for her to say something like "no offence", but that didn't happen. Of course not. "Not exactly a picnic for those of us on the other side of the situation," he muttered. And went back to tapping his feet. Because he could.

Neither of them spoke to each other for some painful period of time. Though he and Hermione hadn't been together for nearly two years now, one of the few things he missed about her was that at least she could carry on a conversation. Sometimes, Ron could just sit back and listen to her go on and on about whichever cause or subject had caught her attention that week. There was none of that with Pansy. That woman could just sit and glare with the best of them. Which was fine at times. But not when he was the only one to absorb her annoyance.

"I would really like to know what's so much more important to Draco than I am," Pansy finally said, and Ron instinctively shrank away from that tone. That tone meant someone was in for a world of pain (or at least, a world of nagging) when she caught up to them.

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" Ron asked, aware this was a little like poking a tiger who hadn't eaten in a while, but thinking the result might be interesting anyway. As long as he wasn't the one she mauled.

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do about it. I'm Apparating straight into Draco's flat to give him a piece of my mind. I don't care that he's been complaining of being worn out lately. You all work the same job, and you seem perfectly energetic, if all that foot tapping and knee bouncing is anything to go by." Ron rolled his eyes. "And you're coming with me."

"I'm what?" Woman was mad. Certifiably. There was no way he was going to barge into Malfoy's flat, short of being ordered to do so by his supervisor for investigation or rescue reasons.

"You're coming with me. Look, they're partners. I'm positive Draco will know where Potter is. And then we can force them to take us out somewhere — somewhere better than here — and buy us a good meal by way of apology. And then we might forgive them. Might. I know how likely you are to be swayed by food, Weasley."

"Hey!" he said indignantly. "Watch it."

"Oh, shut it. Now let's go." And without waiting for a response — or an argument, which was what he was already formulating — Pansy grabbed hold of his wrist and Disapparated them both.

Well, one thing to be said for Pansy: she wasn't a woman who took no for an answer.

Pansy landed neatly before the doorway to Draco's flat. Weasley, on the other hand, tumbled clumsily at her feet. "Oaf," she muttered, straightening her sleeve where he had tried to catch himself. With a few whispered spells, she had Draco's front door unlocked even before Weasley had managed to right himself.

"You're really good at that, for not being an Auror," he said, dusting himself off.

"Why thank you," she said sweetly, knowing it wasn't meant as a compliment. "Now shut it and follow me."

They crept quietly inside Draco's place. All the lights were on, and Pansy recognised his cloak draped neatly over the back of the sofa. So he'd made it home.

"I don't hear anyone," Weasley whispered, taking light, deliberate steps towards the hallway, and Pansy looked at him, eyebrows raised. She hadn't expected he knew how to be so quiet. "Should we call out?"

"And how do you think Draco will react, if he hears you bellowing for him?" she said with a sigh. "No. Follow me. I know he prefers a long shower after his shift. He probably just fell asleep. Let's go and wake him." And teach him not to neglect his friends, her wide smile implied. Weasley, thank Merlin, seemed to understand the implication without her having to actually state it. He just nodded and gestured for her to lead the way.

Sliding off her shoes, she put a finger to her lips and led him up the staircase, then down the hall. Draco's room was the last door, past the linen cupboard and the bathroom. Even from the top of the stairs, she could see that a dim light was on in the bedroom. So help her, if he was in there doing something as trivial as reading or napping…

Weasley positioned himself right behind her when she stopped moving. "Ready?" she mouthed at him. He nodded. "Let's go."

She took the doorknob in hand and twisted at the same time she pushed into it, registering in a vague sort of way that she could hear someone moving around in the room after all. She did not even make it a full two steps into the room before she stopped, hand coming up to her mouth. "Oh dear sweet Merlin."

Behind her, Weasley kept coming. He crashed into her, apparently unaware she had stopped. "What is i— augh, my eyes." His hands flew up to his face to cover his eyes, as if that could erase what he'd just seen. For her part, Pansy could only stare, frozen to the spot.

The sight of her best friend, her onetime crush, on his hands and knees atop the bed, Potter's pale arse pumping as he moved frantically behind him was going to be with her a long time.

"What the fuck are you two doing here?" Draco shouted, reaching an impressive volume for someone who appeared to be getting so thorough a workout. Potter looked torn between finishing and Disapparating away from the whole situation. "Get out!"

Still rooted to the spot, Pansy just gaped. They were… They… But… A strong hand gripped her by the arm after a moment of fumbling and dragged her backwards, back through the door where her feet refused to lead her on their own.

"I don't know about you," Weasley said grimly, "but I am Apparating out of here before either of them get a chance to leave that room. I plan on ingesting as much alcohol as is humanly possible in a little time as possible, in the hopes that I can burn that image from my brain. You're welcome to join me at the pub, if you want."

Pansy shook her head. "Not the pub," she said faintly. "My place. Much better selection, and we won't have to worry about being cut off." For the second time tonight, she wrapped her fingers around Weasley's wrist and Apparated him away with her. She didn't think he'd protest much this time, anyway.

Ron didn't know what he'd expected of Pansy's place, but this wasn't it.

This was incredibly tasteful, but… he couldn't even think of the word. Hermione would probably have a host of them at her disposal. Maybe he'd ask her the next time they met for lunch. All he really noted was that the light seemed just right, things were arranged so the place seemed full, but not cluttered, and that she had an inordinate number of magazines and scrolls of parchment, all arranged neatly on her coffee table.

Mostly, he was just interested in the drinks cabinet.

Which really was quite impressive.

"Strongest thing I own," she said, pouring two large glasses of clear liquid. They were the only words she'd spoken, other than a murmured Accio after she had opened the cabinet. She handed Ron one of the glasses as she took a great swallow, not even batting an eye. Ron took a large gulp and spluttered. Fuck, that made Firewhisky seem like tap water. It wasn't smooth, and it wasn't particularly good, but damn if it wouldn't get them well and truly fucked up. "More?" she asked when he'd recovered.

"Please."

She topped up both their glasses to the brim and took another large swallow of hers. Damn, she could drink. Ron was no slouch at it himself, but she handled it like it was nothing. "To blackouts and forgotten memories," she said with a little grimace. Ron clinked his glass against hers, seeing a flash of his best friend thrusting into Malfoy and wishing this stuff would hit his bloodstream a little faster.

"Don't suppose you're any good with Obliviate?" Pansy asked after a moment, surveying the other contents of her cabinet.

"If I were, you think I'd be drinking this stuff? What about you?"

"Unfortunately not. This is the closest I come. Works well enough for most things, but I think this might be a special case." She sighed and toed off her shoes, losing about three inches of height in the process. "You can hold your booze, can't you?"

"You might be surprised," Ron told her, taking another swallow.

"As long as you're not going to be sick all over my carpet, that's all I care about," she said with a shake of her head. "I never expected we'd end up in my flat together, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Just, please, Weasley, keep things neat, hm?"

"I'm not that big a slob," he muttered, trailing her into the living room.

"Whatever you say," she said, walking lightly on her toes as she made her way towards the sofa. It was ridiculous how poised she was. Perhaps that was why she did well enough in her career, a fact she wasn't shy about sharing.

Ron only glared at her back. But he didn't want to leave. If he was alone, he might start to think about... that... thing... he didn't want to remember. He followed and waited until she'd seated herself. She lounged comfortably on the plush sofa, feet up and crossed at the ankles. Petite as she was, she had a way of taking up a surprising amount of room. There was nowhere for him to sit. He looked around and sighed. Fine. Floor it was.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Weasley," Pansy said with a roll of the eyes. She Accio-d a chair that Ron hadn't seen, tucked into the corner. "We may not be friends, but I won't make you sit on the floor. I did technically invite you over."

"Thanks." He sat down gingerly. The thing looked delicate, and he didn't want to be cut off if he ruined her furniture. It was too small for him. His knees jutted up, and he leaned forwards, feeling incredibly awkward. Pansy only raised one eyebrow, clearly amused. "Oh, don't even say it," he muttered.

"Say what?" He hated how she could feign innocence so well. But there was that smirk underneath it, and he was tempted to ruin it for her by bringing up why they were both sitting in her living room, steadily drinking, except that thinking about it... well, made him think about it.

"Never mind."

"Good boy." She leaned her head back against the arm of the sofa. "So," she said after quite a while, disrupting Ron's attempt at trying to judge just how many more drinks were left in the bottle between Pansy's legs, "I suppose now we know why our best friends have been so hard to get hold of, especially on their own."

Ron shuddered. "Ugh. Did you have to bring it up?"

"Well, I'm sorry, but I can't see anything but the sight of Potter doing those things to..." She made a face. "Well, you know; you were there."

"A fact I'm trying very hard to forget!"

"Well, we're obviously failing at it. Short of memory modification charms, which neither of us is good at, all we have to rely upon is the alcohol. And while I'm starting to feel it, I am nowhere near drunk enough to have forgotten yet. So do the chivalrous thing, Weasley, and distract me."

"Distract you how?"

"I don't know. Think of something! What is it you do when you want to distract yourself?"

"Wizarding chess." Pansy made a face. "Well, what do you do?"

"I work." She raised her eyebrows. "And indulge my more carnal pleasures."

There was a significant moment of silence as they both considered that, Pansy smirking and Ron trying to get over his shock that she'd say something like that, and then a moment of horrified silence as the events of the last half hour replayed in their heads, and they both hurriedly drank from their glasses. The parts Ron couldn't seem to forget were the sounds: flesh slapping against flesh, Harry panting, Draco making those… oh god, those were moans, weren't they? He felt a little ill, and he knew it had nothing to do with the alcohol.

"Moving on," Pansy said quickly, at the same time Ron shouted, "change of subject, please!"

"While you're here, Weasley, and helping me make a sizeable dent in my alcohol supply, why don't we, you know, chat? We've been forced into socialising for the last year and a half now. We might as well actually attempt a conversation, instead of just sitting here, getting drunk in silence."

Well, she had a point. Unfortunately, Ron couldn't think of anything they had in common, other than their friends, and that was a subject neither of them were particularly keen on discussing at the moment. He looked around her living room, hoping to spot some sort of conversation piece, and latched on to the first likely-looking thing. "Is that a photograph of you with Aidan Lynch?"

Pansy tilted her head back to look at the framed photo on one of the bookshelves. "Oh, that? He hired me last year. Nice bloke, even if I did have to wonder if he's taken one too many Bludgers to the head. Wife… well, she's very particular. Excellent taste, though. You know him?"

"Know him? He's only the best player in the European League! He's the one who got himself punched by Viktor Krum after that game six months ago, because he made Krum look like an uncoordinated git who'd never been on a broom before. I can't believe you've met him."

"Met him, had dinner with him, danced with him. Just part of the glamorous life I lead," she said, sporting what might just be the first genuine smile she'd ever directed his way. "When you're good at what you do, the rich and famous have a way of seeking you out."

Ron resolutely told himself to appear less star-struck. But he couldn't help but ask, "Who else have you worked for?"

"Gwenog Jones. Arabastia Harquinn. The Weird Sisters, when they did their last tour. Antonio Vaccai. Barnabas Cuffe."

"Blimey," Ron said, letting out a low whistle. Maybe he should have made more of an attempt to be friendly with her. Being friends with Harry, and sort of a war hero in his own right, meant he'd met a few celebrities in the last few years, but being able to give someone a quick handshake and make an introduction that would be forgotten before the end of the evening was a bit different from what Pansy did.

"Jealous?"

"A little, yeah."

Pansy laughed. "Good. Stroke my ego, Weasley, and I'll share the good booze."

"This isn't the good stuff?"

"No. This is the strong stuff. The good stuff is on the shelf that's charmed to be invisible until I tell it not to be."

Devious fucking Slytherins. Although that was rather clever. Ron would have to think about setting a similar sort of charm on his bottom desk drawer, where he kept a stash of his favourite sweets. He got maybe one in every six or seven. "Well, in the interest of good alcohol, I'd be willing to stroke you." Pansy choked on her drink and Ron realised what he'd just said. "I mean your ego! Stroke your ego! Oh fuck me."

"First you say you'll stroke me, and then you ask me to fuck you. Merlin, Weasley, I didn't realise Gryffindors were so forward." Pansy snorted, a very unladylike piece of behaviour that Ron would normally love to call her on. When he only stammered, she laughed. "Ease up there, Weasley. It's just fun to rile you. You sit here and try to remember what it's like to string two coherent words together, and I'll be back with something better to drink." She got up from the sofa and headed out of the room, wobbling only briefly.

As soon as she was gone, Ron put his head in his hands. Fuck. Too bad he really was pants at Obliviation. She was never going to let him live this down.

After a few moments in which Ron was busy berating himself, Pansy made her way back into the living room, two light blue shot glasses with silver rims balanced in one hand, and a tall, thin bottle clutched in the crook of her other arm. "This should be more to your liking," she said, flashing a wide grin. "In fact, I'd guarantee it."

Ron watched the transparent liquid slosh around inside the bottle. It was thin, and, at first glance, appeared clear, but with a yellowish tint. When she handed it to him so she could situate herself back onto the sofa, it looked pink. And when he tilted it to get a better look, he could swear it was blue. "What is this?"

"I'm not telling until you try it."

"It's not Veritaserum, is it?" he asked warily. He'd never seen Veritaserum that wasn't strictly clear, but that didn't mean this didn't have something else in it. He uncorked the top and took a whiff. He couldn't smell a thing. "Or poison?"

Pansy raised her eyebrows. "I'm not certain if I should be insulted, Weasley, or just amused that being an Auror makes you all so damned paranoid. It's not going to make you admit anything unexpected any more than any other variety of alcohol. And it's not poison. Would probably have been cheaper and easier to get, if it was."

"You're really not going to tell me what it is?"

"Only that it's alcohol, specially crafted, and damn hard to get your hands on without certain connections. Also, it's much easier to take than what we've been drinking until this point." She set both shot glasses on the coffee table, took the bottle back from Ron, and poured them each a drink. She lifted her glass and waited until he did the same. "To forthcoming blackouts, and enjoying the journey in the process."

Ron clinked his glass against hers, still unsure he wasn't just going to be drinking coloured water, or perhaps some sort of potion that would do odd things to him for her amusement. Well, if worse came to worst, he had a bezoar in his pocket, easily accessible. It was a lesson taught in the Auror Corps, and one Ron always appreciated, for unsurprising reasons. "Yeah, to that."

He had closed his eyes to take the shot, but opened them wide as the experience registered. The alcohol slid smoothly down his throat, and complex flavours hit him in quick succession. He caught cherry, then vanilla custard, which transitioned smoothly into buttered rum. "Wow."

"I told you." She grinned crookedly. "And that's just the first one." She stretched out and grinned at him lazily. So this was Pansy, under the influence of alcohol and feeling sociable. Ron had only ever seen her sober and snippy, or somewhat buzzed and combative. This was a very surprising change. He actually felt he could talk to this version of the woman. And maybe, just maybe, she'd forget when he'd stuck his foot in his mouth earlier.

Three hours after Apparating them both to her house, Pansy found herself lounging on her couch, drunker than she'd been in nearly two years, and actually enjoying Weasley's company.

Would wonders never cease?

"Yeah, well, I save Harry's arse all the time," Weasley was saying a little louder than was required by the distance between them, as Pansy tried to remember how many shots she'd poured them of Liquore del Prisma. The bottle was nearly empty, and though she could acquire more, it was going to be pricey. But Merlin knew they couldn't keep drinking the other stuff all night if they still wanted to have livers and even a few functioning brain cells in the morning. "Do you have any idea how much trouble he is?"

Pansy snorted, a habit she wished she could stop. She'd been conscious of it ever since Blaise had told her it made her sound like a pug, in addition to looking like one. The man was quite good-looking, but an utter arse. All those paternity suits served him right. "Potter? Trouble? My dear, try keeping a Malfoy in line. May as well attempt to lock a ghost in a bloody box."

"Issnot as easy as you'd think, with Harry," Weasley said firmly. He looked down at his empty shot glass. "This stuff's brilliant. Different flavour every time, no matter how many I have. Where'd you get it?"

"I have my ways." Really, it had been a discovery through her work, when she was putting together a party for a bunch of people who made the Malfoys look downright plebeian. The maker did not pay for advertising, yet still made a killing on it. Everything was done through very selective word-of-mouth. Occasionally, a client of hers would ask about it, and she went through the complicated (and damned expensive) channels to get it, on the condition that one or two bottles of the crate went to her, for the trouble. So far, both clients and the drink's maker had been perfectly happy with her stipulation. She sat up, amused by watching Weasley contemplate his glass, as if he could make more appear by staring at it. "Hold on. I want to listen to some music."

She got up, feeling herself totter as if she were wearing high heels instead of simply walking barefoot across the carpet. The wireless was just past Weasley, on one of the bookshelves in the corner. It was small, but the sound charm was good on it, and the music always sounded just right, from anywhere in the room. "There," she said, flipping it on to something instrumental. She liked music when she drank. And this song, light and airy and high, made her think of birds in the springtime. Her favourite kind.

Somewhere between wireless and sofa, she lost her footing and stumbled forwards. Drunk as he was, Weasley still managed to reach out and catch her before she smashed her face on the table. He had hold of her upper arms, gripping tightly, and she realised with something akin to amusement that she was essentially sitting on his lap. "Think that might be the cue we've had enough tonight?"

"Well, you tell me. Can you still see our friends in that position from earlier?" Pansy waited. When he paused to think about it before wrinkling his nose a moment later, she raised her eyebrows at him. "I take it that's a yes?"

"Maybe one more drink," Weasley allowed. Moving with great care, he stood her up and got up behind her. "But careful. Healing spells aren't my thing, even sober."

He walked her the three or four steps to the sofa, his giant hands now at her hips, holding her steady. There was only the slightest wobble to his gait. Impressive. He eased her down, losing his balance and flopping onto the sofa next to her. He laughed. "Nearly flattened you, sorry."

"No harm done," she said, wondering when exactly she'd hit the point at which she didn't mind Weasley helping her, or sitting next to her, or even touching her as he essentially set her on the sofa. Must have been around the time her lips and nose went numb. "Now, pour us each one more shot and tell me what you taste."

Weasley did as told, only sloshing a bit of the alcohol onto the table. They clinked glasses again, and Weasley closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "Lemon. Cream. What about you?"

"Strawberry and… mascarpone, I think."

"I wonder," Weasley said slowly, his head tilted like a curious animal, "if when you kiss someone, you taste what they taste."

Pansy had trouble coming up with a response. She didn't actually know the answer, as it was something she had never tried. And Merlin, Weasley wasn't proposing… "No idea. But I think we're done for the night."

He shook himself. "Right. You have a Floo?"

"Sorry."

Weasley shrugged. "Apparition's out. Bound to leave something behind. And trust me, splinch yourself once, and you're not exactly eager to do it again." He stood up carefully, checked for his wand, and made for her front door. She got up and trailed him, holding onto furniture while her world tilted without permission. "G'night, Pansy. Thanks for your hospila— for being nice." He held out his hand, waiting for her to shake it. When she figured there was no harm in that, she slipped her hand inside his, where it disappeared. He did have freakishly large hands. In fact, he was just freakishly large in general. She only came up to his chest.

Instead of shaking her hand, he leaned forward, bowed, and gave it a kiss. She laughed, startled. "Weasley, you're a git."

"But I'm a git who made you laugh," he answered with a large grin. "Who knew that by the end of the night, we could prove we can get along?"

"Fair enough. Now get home. Public Floo point about three streets down the hill from here."

He tossed her a little salute. "Thanks. Oh, and if you get the nerve to confront Malfoy…let me know."

"Are you confronting Potter?"

Weasley shook his head. "Not unless you want to send along a bottle of something to ease the situation."

"On your own, Weasley." She paused before shutting the door behind him. "Good night. And, as I was too stunned to say it earlier, thanks for pulling me out of there."

"Thought I was going to have to toss you over my shoulder and carry you out for a moment," he said with a little smirk. "Now, bed with us, and if we're lucky, we won't remember a damn thing past three o'clock this afternoon." He saluted her again and walked down her drive, weaving, but not looking in immediate danger of falling over and cracking his damned head open.

Pansy watched him go, humming some tune under his breath as he walked away. She shook her head, making herself dizzy in the process, and leaned her forehead against the wall. What an evening. Catching Draco being buggered by his partner, emptying a bottle of the priciest booze one could find, and not even being that upset that of all people to share her alcohol, it had been Weasley, who could actually be a decent bloke, when you got enough booze into him.

Or maybe that was the booze talking.

Ron counted down the minutes until work was over for the day. Seventeen of them left, assuming there wasn't a last-minute call no one else could take. Seventeen very long, painful minutes. He'd had hangovers before, but usually a quick dose of Headly's Hangover Remedy killed the worst of it. The three doses he'd taken today had scarcely made him functional. The one thing to be said for whatever he'd shared with Pansy last night was that no one had mentioned he reeked of alcohol — in fact, three of the women in the office had complimented his 'new after-shave', though not one of them could agree on the actual scent. He'd given himself a discreet sniff when he had been alone, and hadn't smelled anything.

"Auror Weasley!"

Ron whipped his head up. Had he dozed off, or just zoned out? The quick movement was accompanied by a bolt of pain and an uncomfortable spinning feeling. "Yes sir?"

Auror Brocking waved him over. "May I have a word with you? In my office?"

Three minutes. That was all he had left before the end of his shift. "Yes sir. Right there."

He got up carefully, thinking that if he could just get his head to clear, things would be okay. He'd been sick twice before work, before he could find his kit of potions remedies, and the disorienting fog he was dealing with was really hampering his productivity. At least everything he'd had to do today had been in the office.

He stepped into his supervisor's office, standing in front of the desk. "Can I help you sir?"

"You are aware of your partner's age, correct?" Auror Brocking asked, putting his feet up on the corner of his desk and linking his fingers over his stomach. Ron envied him. He'd like to be able to kick back like that.

"Of course, sir. Fifty-five." He'd somehow been saddled with the oldest bloke on the force for a partner. Not that he wasn't a good Auror. And he was still very spry for his age — a fact Michelson liked to tell people. Often.

"Correct. I'm certain you're also aware, that's a Ministry record, beating Alastor Moody's previous record of fifty-four before his move from active duty to instruction. At his age, Michelson is the oldest Auror in active duty. And as he's hit this milestone, we at the Ministry wanted to throw a celebration of sorts for his transition into Training Instructor."

"Oh. That's thoughtful, sir. I'm sure he'll like that. I expect you'll want this kept secret?"

"Well, yes, that's one reason we're telling you, Weasley. But as his partner for the last few years, you know him better than many of the other Aurors. Your help in planning this party would be appreciated. Now, don't worry about the logistics," he added hurriedly, seeing Ron's slightly alarmed face. "We've hired a professional for that end of it. They'll just be deferring to your judgement in places and asking details about Michelson that will direct some of the details of the party."

"It'll be a pleasure working with you, Weasley," said a light, sweet voice behind him, and Ron jumped, spinning around to see the other person he hadn't even noticed.

"Pansy?"

"Of course," she said with a little raise of her eyebrows.

"Only the best event planner for this party, Auror Weasley," Brocking said brusquely. "It isn't every day someone breaks this record. In fact, when Moody set it, the record had been in place nearly three hundred years. And as Ms Parkinson is the best planner in London, or even the whole of the United Kingdom, we thought there could be no one better to fill the position. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yeah, I guess." He caught the look on her face, one eyebrow going just a bit higher. "I mean, I've never hired her, but I know she's brilliant." Her eyebrows went down to normal, and she gave Auror Brocking a friendly smile.

"Good, good. Nice to have your vote of confidence. Now, if I'm not mistaken, Weasley, you're done for the day. Ms Parkinson," Brocking said, standing and offering his hand, "it will be a pleasure working with you. Please, don't hesitate to contact Auror Weasley with any questions. We'll try to make him available to you whenever necessary."

"I look forward to planning your celebration," Pansy said with surprising good grace. So this was Pansy the business woman. Outside of last night, he'd only seen her on the dozens of occasions they met with their best friends. "You have my contact information, should you require anything outside of our arranged meetings. Have a pleasant evening, Auror Brocking."

"Weasley, why don't you escort Ms Parkinson out on your way home? That way she can use the Apparition point on this floor instead of being bothered to use the one in the Atrium."

"Yes sir. Good night sir." He turned to Pansy, who was looking at him critically. "After you," he said, holding the door open.

Neither of them said anything as Ron gathered his things and led her out of the department and down a private corridor. "Just a few more twists and turns," he said, essentially to himself. She followed behind him, the heels of her dress shoes clicking a quick tempo on the marble floor, the only sound other than the rustling of their robes. "Ah, here we are."

Instead of stepping inside the circle painted on the floor, Pansy turned to him. "You look like last night took its toll, Weasley."

"I'll admit to feeling under the weather," he said, noting that the polite Pansy he'd thought he met last night had gone again. "You look fine, though."

She flashed him a smile, unexpectedly. "Thank you." She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out a small phial of light blue syrup. "Tricks of the trade." She grabbed one of his hands and pressed the corked glass tube into his palm. "Take this and thank me later." She curled his fingers around the phial and patted his closed hand. "And for what it's worth, Weasley, you're good drinking company. And you smell quite nice. Sandalwood, is it?" She stepped past the boundaries of the Apparition point and disappeared.

Ron blinked. So the pleasant-Pansy hadn't been a figment of his alcohol-soaked imagination. Huh. It would take some getting used to, but over all, he thought it a welcome change. Especially as he'd have to see her again.

Pansy lay in bed, staring at her ceiling. A quick Tempus Charm told her it was just after five in the morning. The sun wasn't even properly up yet, and wouldn't be for a while yet. But she was ready to start her day, no matter the early hour. No rest for the wicked.

And she did like to be wicked.

She made her way to the shower, stripping her undergarments as she went. She loved the feel of cool morning air on her bare skin, and her hair brushing the middle of her back as she moved. It took more work to maintain her hair at this length than the style she'd kept during much of school, but it went with her professional image. And it looked good. She knew that.

Five-twelve in the morning. Time for a long, hot shower, time to get ready, and even time for a quick cup of tea and bit of breakfast. Then off to the flower market by seven, when the florists began to set up shop, and long before the tourists and housewives showed up looking for something to put in a vase on the kitchen table. After that, down to Intricate Icings, where she was meeting a client to pick a cake for her granddaughter's seventeenth birthday. After that meeting, she'd sit with Marcel, who ran the place, to discuss options for the party at the Ministry. She had an idea of what she wanted, but she knew Marcel would let her know if there was anything he might be willing to whip up especially for her. After that, she could pick up something to eat before spending the second half of the day haggling prices for performers at Lady Copenhaan's daughter's birthday.

All in all, Pansy loved what she did. She had worked damned hard to make herself a notable name in this industry, and if she'd had to be a bitch now and then to do it, it was only for the best. Besides, she had a talent when it came to giving attitude. No one was going to get the better of her. And Merlin help anyone who presented a challenge they didn't think she could overcome, just to watch her fail. In fact, something along those lines had been the push she needed to get into this field.

By ten that evening, Pansy was exhausted. She'd toed off her shoes and padded into the kitchen to reheat some leftover Thai food. She was standing at the counter, absently eating as she made sure to keep her food off the list of theme suggestions a client had owled while she was out, when someone knocked loudly at her front door. "This had better be damned good," she threatened, flinging the door open, wand in hand.

Weasley stood on her doorstep, holding a sheaf of papers awkwardly, as if they were a peace offering. "I know it's late, but these are from the Minister, and he wanted them hand-delivered." He paused. "Nice pyjamas."

Pansy blushed. She'd forgotten she'd changed from her work robes into flannel trousers and a sleeveless top. "Shut it, Weasley."

"What? They are nice. Anyway, here. It's just contracts for the Ministry thing. Minister Shacklebolt said to return them to him or Auror Brocking by next Monday." He held out the papers, which were clipped together neatly.

"Thank you."

"Welcome. Oh, and I meant to say, thanks for that potion the other day. Worked a hell of a lot better than the stuff I was using." He offered a hesitant smile. "Sorry to barge in so late."

Pansy squared her shoulders. "If the Minister demands, what can you do?"

Weasley didn't respond for a moment. Pansy followed his distracted gaze downwards and cleared her throat. Weasley pulled his eyes from her neckline. "Hm? Oh." He turned pink. "Right. Well, I'm off. Let me know when you want to set up a meeting to go over…whatever it is you need from me." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Good night, Pansy."

"Weasley."

She shut the door on him a bit more sharply this time. Had he actually just had the gall to stare at her cleavage? She hmphed to herself and readjusted her top. Well, he could hardly be blamed, knowing something good when it stood in front of him. Still, it wouldn't hurt him to gain some manners.

"Hey, Ron?"

Ron looked up from the file he'd been scouring to see Harry standing in front of his desk, shifting from foot to foot. "Yeah?"

"I was just wondering… do you plan on ignoring me forever?"

Closing the file, Ron sighed. "No."

"Good. Look, Draco and I are sorry we stood you up the other week. We just lost track of time, and —"

Ron held up his hand. He knew why they'd lost track of time. He'd seen it with his own eyes, much as he wished otherwise. Even all the alcohol he'd consumed that night couldn't burn it from his brain. "I don't need to hear the details, thanks. But Merlin, Harry, you couldn't have warned us you were fooling around together?"

Harry looked around. "Not so loud. We haven't told anyone yet, okay?"

"Yeah, but you're my best mate. And for the love of Merlin, if Pansy or I had known, we wouldn't have come barging into Malfoy's place! Or even if you'd only told me, I could have talked her out of it!"

"You really think you could have talked Pansy Parkinson out of something?"

Ron glared at his best friend. He wasn't the one who deserved a bit of harassment. "Hey, she listens to reason!" He was pretty sure she did, anyway.

"Right. Whatever you say. Still, I didn't expect you to react quite that badly."

"Well, how did you think I was going to react? I walked in on my best mate and someone we all used to hate, doing… things."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, it wasn't an amazing experience on our end. It kind of kills the mood when someone just walks in on you in the middle of an intimate moment."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "'Intimate moment'? So, does that mean it's more than just… you know?"

"Yeah. It's a serious relationship. It's been that way for over a year."

Well, so much for his stellar Auror-trained powers of observation. "Oh…. Congratulations?"

Harry offered him a hesitant smile. "Thanks. It's really weird, you know, to find something special with someone you used to spend so much negative energy on. Sometimes, the universe surprises you. I mean, with Draco, there was just this one night—"

"Okay, that's enough," Ron said quickly. "I've got far too clear a mental image to hear that story right now. Not that I'm not glad you're happy. I am. Really. Just… please, keep the details to yourself?"

"Sure thing," Harry said with a blush. "It's just that since no one knows, there's no one I can talk to about it."

"Well, Pansy and I definitely know about it. So, you know, you don't have to sneak around with us or anything. I'm sure she'll be just as supportive… eventually."

"You think so?" Harry brightened a bit. "Draco thinks she's going to hex him the next time she sees him. He's been hiding from her."

"Hiding from whom?"

Both Ron and Harry stilled. Pansy. Fuck, he'd forgotten she was going to meet him this evening.

"Er. No one?" Harry tried after an awkward moment.

"Lying's not your strong suit, Potter. Get Draco to give you some lessons. Speaking of, where is he?"

"Out?" Harry tried. Ron winced. Wow, Pansy was right about Harry's lack of believability.

"Tell him when you see him — which I'm certain will be soon — that we have to talk. Also tell him that if I got into his place once, despite the wards, I can do it again."

Ron took a moment to appreciate that as short as she was, Pansy actually had one of the most powerful Aurors in the department — and obviously, Malfoy as well, who might actually be more afraid of her — nervous. "He'll tell Malfoy. Come on, Pansy. Auror Brocking said we can use the debriefing room for this."

As he led her away, he caught Harry mouthing a silent message: I owe you one. Ron shook his head. Harry owed him a lot more than one. But it was Pansy that made the comment aloud. "Saving Potter's arse again?" she asked once they were out of earshot.

Ron snorted. "Well, trying, anyway." He guided her by the elbow when she tried to walk past the door to the debriefing room. "This one."

Pansy peered into the room. "Wow. It's just the two of us. What on earth does he think we need all this room for? Acrobatic sex?"

With a little cough, Ron shrugged. "Let's get down to business, shall we? Auror Brocking said you'd have questions for me to answer?"

"Several. Surprise parties go one of two ways — generic as hell, which I don't do, or tastefully personalised. And as I don't know the man, and he doesn't have any close relatives, guess where you come in?"

"Ah." Ron pulled out a seat at the corner of one table for Pansy, something his mother would be proud of, even if it was for Pansy, whom she would probably treat much the same way she'd treated Fleur years ago. "Have at it." He sat himself in a chair just on the other side of the corner, so he could face her without being absurdly far away. Honestly, what did they need all this room for?

"First off, hobbies. Does Auror Michelson have any? Quidditch? Model trains? Potions work? Chess? Dancing?"

Ron thought about it. "Well," he said after a moment. "I know he'll humour me on boring overnight shifts by playing chess, but I don't think he enjoys it much. And the only thing I've ever seen him do, really, outside of work, is knit."

Pansy's eyebrows shot up. "Knit?"

"Yeah. I mean, just once. He said it was just to keep his fingers nimble."

"I see."

"Oh, or the photography! He does both the regular kind, and the Muggle kind. Landscapes and stuff. Like, you know, you'll be watching a photograph of a pond, and then a duck will pop up from underneath the water. Lots of stuff with ponds and the ocean and birds and fish. And squirrels. Man has a thing for squirrels. Feeds them on his lunch, too. Goes to the park nearly every day."

"Well, now we're getting somewhere, I suppose, though damned if I'm making squirrels a theme. Let's get back to the basics: favourite colours, favourite foods, music preferences, that sort of thing."

She peppered him with questions for a while, until Ron began to feel he was writing his partner's biography. Eventually, he moved closer, so he could just read over the list she had in front of her. It was working out well enough, until he realised he could smell her perfume. It made him want to close his eyes and bury his face in her neck. And once he thought about that, he realised that really, her neck wasn't too far away from other places he'd been secretly enjoying glimpses of.

He backpedalled from that slippery slope as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, he did so in a fairly literal sense, shoving himself backwards and nearly toppling from his chair. Pansy blinked at him and pushed a lock of loosely curled hair behind her ear. "Weasley? Something wrong?"

"No, no, just remembered a report I was supposed to file before I leave today. Nearly forgot. Brocking would've had my head. I'll just… finish it up after we're done here."

Pansy looked at him curiously. Ron felt himself blushing and tried his hardest to look nonchalant. "Well, I think we're about done here for today, as it happens. If I need anything else, or want to run anything by you, I'll be in touch." She rose and held out her hand. He had a fleeting moment of insanity where he thought about kissing it again, before he shook it firmly, enveloping her dainty hand in his. "Thank you for your time."

"Pleasure was mine." Merlin help him, it was, too. What was wrong with him? "Would you like me to escort you to the Apparition point?"

"No, thank you. I have other Ministry business today." She gathered her files and gave him a brief nod before saying goodbye and exiting the room.

Ron flopped back in his chair. The room still smelled like her, vanilla and something floral, light and sweet and tantalising, and he wanted to put his head through the wall. Pansy Parkinson was the last person in the world he needed to be having these thoughts about. The looking, yes, he couldn't really help, when she insisted on wearing robes that showed off her rather ample assets, or coming to the door wearing a pyjama top that was barely considered clothing. But fuck if he couldn't make himself take a step back and give up on that train of thought.

He got up and went back to his desk and the file he'd been reading when Harry interrupted. Nothing like a murder case to get one's mind right.

Despite leaving the Ministry without being able to find Draco to give him a long-overdue piece of her mind, Pansy was in fairly good spirits that evening. Weasley, thick as he could be, had given her enough to work with regarding Auror Michelson's surprise party. He'd given her something else, too: ammunition.

She'd already been surprised by his behaviour a few times since he had yanked her out of Draco's bedroom. There was the moment he caught her, then helped her toward the sofa, which hadn't been strictly necessary. He had kissed her hand when they'd parted that evening, though at the time, drunk as they were, it hadn't seemed that important. Then there was the ogling when he'd come to deliver the contracts.

But today had been the clincher. He'd actually sniffed her. She was positive he hadn't even been aware he'd done it, but he had. And then he'd got that dreamy, dazed look on his face, just like those other times she'd caught him staring at her chest. It made him look ridiculous. And Pansy loved it. She enjoyed being the centre of attention. And she loved knowing she had that kind of power over someone, especially men.

She was quite aware Weasley had no idea she knew he fancied her. It was just a physical thing, because they had nothing in common, but that didn't mean she couldn't toy with him a bit. It would certainly liven up the days she had to pop into the Ministry. She went to sleep that night, dreaming of new ways to torture him, a smile on her face.

The following week, she took extra care with her hair and makeup in the morning. It was a quiet day, full of meetings in her office, no running around required. So she put on her favourite work robes, the ones that buttoned up when required, but fell just off her shoulders when she wanted them to, and dabbed a bit of perfume between her breasts and at the crown of her head. With his height, Weasley was sure to smell it. She wore a necklace that drew the eye downwards and nestled in her cleavage. Let him try to pretend he wasn't looking now.

Giving a smile and a nod to the secretary at the front of the office, Pansy slipped in and headed for Weasley's desk. She walked quietly, a talent in itself in these heels, and stopped just behind him. When he didn't move, she inched closer and coughed lightly.

Weasley jumped and turned toward her in his chair, obviously not expecting her to be so close. He stopped, his face nearly nestled between her breasts. When he turned bright red and backed away, stammering a hello, she only smiled sweetly. "Good afternoon, Weasley. I called yesterday and spoke to Auror Brocking. He said you'd be likely to have some time for me?"

"Yeah, I, uh…" He cleared his throat. "What'd you need?" He hastily shoved the file he'd been marking up into the top drawer of his desk. Pansy noted that he was now looking anywhere but at her chest.

"I just wanted to get your opinion on some decorations. Here," she said, handing over the binder of photographs, sketches, and notes she had put together.

Weasley paled. "I'm warning you, I'm pants at this sort of thing."

"Nonsense. Just flip through the options I've selected and either say 'no' or 'maybe'. It's not Arithmancy, for Merlin's sake. I'll sit here and wait." She perched herself on the corner of his desk, hiking her robes up as she crossed her legs in front of him. As he flipped through pages, muttering 'no' and 'maybe', she bounced her leg slightly, knowing he could see the motion. And when she scooted closer, her right leg so close to his right hand that he had a hard time keeping from brushing her, Weasley jabbed at a page and declared the centrepieces in that sketch the ones to go with.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, fine. They'll be great. Anything you pick will be great, that's why they hired you. I should get back to work, though. It couldn't hurt to get this paperwork in early for a change."

Pansy slid off his desk, not bothering to guard against the material of her robes riding up against her thigh for a brief second before falling back into place. Weasley caught the flash of extra skin, colouring deeply. "Well, thank you for your time."

Weasley started to say something back, but stopped when Pansy's stomach growled audibly. "All right, that's it. We're going out for lunch."

"Don't be ridiculous." She didn't need lunch. She had things to do. She had a schedule. Of course, she had planned a longer stretch for teasing Weasley…

"Not taking no for an answer. I'm due for a lunch break. You're obviously hungry, and I've never seen you actually eat. And you just put me through a hundred pages of banners and curtains and fabric for chairs and centrepieces. So unless you have a client in the next hour, we're going to lunch." He looked her right in the eye. "Besides, if I have to do that paperwork on an empty stomach, it's never going to get done. So. Do you have a client in the next hour?"

Pansy sighed. "No."

"Then lunch it is. Look, I'll even buy, as long as you don't make me look through decorations again. Come with me."

She weighed the energy she would waste arguing with Weasley, who apparently was hard to dissuade when the topic at hand was a meal, against her desire to get on with her day for a moment. Of course, if she went for lunch with him, it would give her more time to tease him. She might actually get his brain to liquefy. "Yes, Auror Weasley," she said, making her voice as playful as possible. Let him see how long he could hold out.

Weasley blinked at her and offered a crooked sort of smile. "You like pizza?"

Pansy's instinct was to wrinkle her nose, but she fought it off. "Pizza? You're going to take me somewhere Muggle, aren't you?"

"No! There's a place around the corner from the Ministry. Wizard owned and operated. I mean, they have pasta too. And a good wine list, from what I hear."

She arched an eyebrow. "Wine? Why didn't you say so?"

Weasley grinned at her. "Should have realised. Sorry." He held the door for her as they exited the Auror office and gestured for her to enter the lift first. Pansy had to admit, she wouldn't have guessed years ago that Weasley had any semblance of manners; she'd rather assumed that being raised in a house with that many children, he'd be rude, slovenly, and loud, with nothing redeeming about him.

They were walking out of the Atrium when a man Pansy didn't recognise murmured something as he walked past. He might have been trying for subtle, but he failed miserably. "Hey, Weasley, who's the bird? Not much to look at, but nice set of tits on her."

Weasley spun around, suddenly commanding in a way he'd never been, an aura of force about him that had little to do with his Auror's robes. "Watch the way you speak about her!" he snapped, eyes flashing. Pansy took in his flared nostrils, his protective stance, and the fact that he hadn't laughed or simply agreed, and held her breath. It was more than attraction, wasn't it, the physical pull to someone that was about lust and scratching an itch? Oh sweet Merlin, his Gryffindor sensibility had got the best of him.

"Fuck, sorry, Weasley. Didn't realise you were going to get your knickers in a twist. Thought you were a breast man."

"Doesn't matter if I am or not," Weasley said, his voice carrying a bit of threat to it. Pansy wondered if this was how he talked to suspects he interrogated. She'd always considered him a bit awkward and second-rate. The thought that he might actually be good at his job had simply never crossed her mind, but it seemed like something she might need to reconsider. "Didn't your mother ever teach you manners? Especially when a lady's present?" When Weasley got nothing other than an unintelligible mutter from the older man, he glowered. "Your wife know you speak about other women that way, Hawking? Because I have a meeting with her next week. I could ask her."

"All right, all right. I'm sorry." The man looked at Pansy. "Sorry. Didn't mean anything by it."

"Fucking git," Weasley muttered as he held the door open for her and they stepped out into the sunlight. "I'm sorry about him."

Pansy shook her head. "Don't worry about it. He's an arse. But thank you. It was amusing, watching him suddenly cower like that."

"It's his wife he really ought to be afraid of," Weasley said, still quite pink. "Woman's deadly accurate with a hex. She used to teach defensive combat techniques to Auror trainees. Was just promoted to the head of the Auror Instructor squad."

Pansy smirked. "I think I'd like to see her handle him."

"It'd be a sight to see, that's for damned sure. Now let's forget about him." He led Pansy into a little restaurant that really was right around the corner. The owner greeted him by first name, and Weasley replied in kind, exchanging pleasantries before Ron took the man aside and whispered with him for a while. They were ushered to a little table in the far corner and before Pansy could even ask for a wine list, a bottle of something was opened in front of them and a glass was filled for each of them before the waiter ducked away.

"What's this?"

Ron shrugged. "Owner suggested it. Said it would go well with the dishes he's putting in for us."

"You eat here a lot, don't you?"

"Every now and then. Used to be almost daily. When we were training for the physical portion of our exams, it seemed like I was always eating. Antony asked me if I wanted a job in the kitchen at one point, I was making so many menu suggestions." He smiled a little sheepishly and raised his glass to hers. "Fancy toasts are your thing, not mine. So, here's to a good meal."

Pansy clinked her glass against his. "I can get behind that."

"I guess it's no real surprise how I got into my field," Ron said after several awkward moments of silence. "But we've been hanging out for nearly a year with our best friends, and I don't know what made you decide to be an event planner."

"Slytherin pride and appreciation of a good challenge, actually." Whatever the waiter had poured for them was nice, crisp and light without being too sweet. She'd never had wine with pizza, but it might work.

"How's that?"

Pansy smirked. "Draco had been nagging me about my drinking habits, since all we ever seemed to do was go to clubs. I told him he was acting like my mother. We argued for a while, and he said that I'd never find a good, rewarding job that allowed me to have a drinks cabinet like I did. And it turned out he was wrong. That drinks cabinet is actually for my job. I get bottles sent as gifts and samples some of the time, and the rest I simply buy. In order to recommend the best for my clients, I have to know what the best of everything is."

Weasley grinned. "How'd he take your approach?"

"With muttering, grumbling, and a very reluctant admittance that I'd got the better of him." She took another sip of her wine. Weasley hadn't touched his past the first sip with the toast. Having expected him to prattle on a while about himself, or work at the very least, she kept finding herself surprised whenever he would turn the conversation back to her. By the time they'd got through most of their meal — pizza for him, chicken parmesan for her, though she did try a slice of his meal — she came to the realisation that Weasley was trying quite hard to flirt with her.

He wasn't very good at it.

When they parted at the end of the meal, Pansy debated her options. She could leave, giving him no hope whatsoever. She could tell him she knew what was going on. Or…she could toy with him a little longer and bask a bit more in Weasley's attention.

It wasn't really a choice at all, when you thought about it.

"Thank you for lunch, Weasley, and for your assistance in choosing decorations." Not that he'd had any real insights to that, but she hadn't exactly expected any. "With the big day next month, expect a random owl or two. I do have a meeting with Auror Brocking next week to go over the basics."

"Of course. And lunch was my pleasure." He took her hand, and she had a brief moment where she knew he was considering kissing her hand again before he simply shook it. "Thank you for agreeing to it. It's nice to go out with someone and not discuss open cases."

As Pansy could count on one hand the number of times she'd been to meals that hadn't been with Draco or related to her own work in the last several months, she felt that on that point at least, she could empathise. "I can't imagine it makes for stimulating conversation." She gathered her robes around her, the folders she'd brought with her spelled small and tucked in a pocket. "See you around, Weasley." And with that, she Apparated home before he had the chance to say something that might embarrass them both.

When Ron stepped into the office the week after taking Pansy to lunch, only to find her perched atop Malfoy's desk and deep in conversation, he couldn't decide whether to be disappointed she was with Malfoy, elated she was in the office at all, or feel a bit sympathetic that Malfoy wasn't getting a word in edgeways.

He opted for the second choice, with a dash of the first and a sprinkling of the third thrown in for flavour.

He watched from the safety of his desk as Pansy gave Malfoy a bollocking. Harry wasn't around to protect his partner at the moment. Unfortunately for Ron, Malfoy's desk was far enough away that he couldn't hear any of their (apparently quite spirited) conversation. After several moments of failing to make out what was being said, Ron shrugged and leafed through Michelson's notes on the case they'd just concluded. Nothing new in those. He added his signature and tapped them with his wand, sending them off to the appropriate division.

"Weasley?"

Ron looked up, the sound of Pansy's sweetest tone bringing a grin to his face. "Yeah, Pansy? Done giving Malfoy a piece of your mind?"

"For now," she said primly, and he laughed. "But you're the real reason I'm here. I cleared it with Auror Brocking. I know you've only just arrived, but I need you to come with me. Official business. You understand." Her eyes flickered to Michelson, who was adding an obscene amount of sugar to his tea not far away.

"Right. Briefing room?"

"Not this time. This is more of an out-in-the-field assignment. You won't need your cloak; it's lovely out."

"Should I change out of my work robes?"

She eyed him critically and he tried not to squirm. After a moment, she shook her head. "No, I suppose those will do. No need to waste too much time."

They Apparated just outside L'Épicerie Étonnante, and Ron's eyes went wide. The food in the window — sandwiches, pastas, roasts, fruit and cheese platters — looked amazing. "When I saw your enthusiasm for food," she said with something that sounded like amusement, "I realised I was wasting your skills."

Ron finally tore his gaze from the display. "I'm sorry?"

"Yes, yes, we all know that." She snorted when he opened his mouth to protest. "Seriously, Weasley. You're here to help with the menu selection. Which comes with the ever-so-unfortunate task of tasting everything. Absolutely everything."

Ron looked at her and realised she wasn't kidding. He'd not only got out of more paperwork, but was being asked to indulge in what looked to be like truly brilliant food? "… Do I bow down and worship at your feet now, or later?"

Pansy laughed. "Later. We've an appointment to keep now."

She led him into the shop, where they were greeted by an older bloke with a French accent so thick Ron could barely understand him. His comprehension of the conversation wasn't helped when Pansy slipped into seemingly effortless French and finished the conversation that way. Whatever she said, Ron had the sneaking suspicion the last bit of it was at his expense. The looks they'd both given him, followed by the laughter, indicated it was likely. He just shrugged internally. Fuck it. He was still going to get to taste everything laid before him. He could put up with some harassment for that. Just like a meal at home growing up, only with significantly smaller portions, dishes with fancier names, and less hitting.

An hour later, Ron thought he had tasted every finger food known to man and wizard alike. There had been mini pies and sandwiches, cheeses and fruits he'd never heard of before, meats and nuts and spices wrapped in puff pastry, and things with complicated-sounding French names that probably just meant something like "asparagus wrapped in ham". His mum was a fantastic cook, but her kitchen just didn't have the supplies and charmed ovens needed for this sort of thing. Not that he'd ever tell her that. Merlin, no.

"Ready for dessert?" Pansy murmured in his ear as he leaned back in his seat, notes jotted on the long bit of parchment she'd given him before they started.

"Dessert?" Had he died and gone to some heavenly buffet?

"Of course. Honestly, Weasley, I don't do this half-arsed. We've another appointment across town in thirty minutes. Intricate Icings. Do you know it?"

He nodded. He did, but only because it was somewhere Ginny had considered for her wedding to that sports writer. In the end, their mum had made the cake — five layers, all different flavours of cakes and different fillings, and Ginny had opted for the dress she'd been drooling over instead. "I know of it, anyway." Whereas Pansy seemed perfectly happy to let him taste his way though every delicacy in the known universe to get his opinion, his sister had not been of the same mindset. Shame, really.

"Well, then you're in for something of a treat," she said. "Unless you're too full?"

Ron looked at her in mock horror. "Too full? For dessert? Are you mad?"

Pansy swatted his arm. "Then off your arse and let's get moving." She stood and beckoned the man who had greeted them. After a fast and light-sounding conversation that sounded very pretty, even if he had no idea what any of it was about, Pansy shook hands with the Frenchman and the young woman who stood by his side, and said what Ron recognised as goodbyes. Rather than trying out his appallingly limited and badly-accented French, Ron simply said thank you, complimented them on the cuisine, and headed for the door, Pansy nearly dragging him out by the elbow.

If the appetiser tasting had been good, Ron didn't know what to call what the bakery had in store for them. Tiny little squares of cake, two of each kind, and a small offering of biscuits and chocolates. Ron whistled through his teeth.

"You think that's impressive, you should see their full assortment of mignardises. Their wedding petits fours tasting platter is divine.

Ron's eyes went wide, just thinking of the possibilities, and Pansy rolled her eyes. "Don't embarrass yourself, Weasley. Or me. We're here on business."

Well, so much for the idea that she'd warmed up to him totally.

He thought about it as they waited for the woman at the counter to bring the list Pansy had asked for. While she leafed through an album with what looked to be hundreds of cakes, he contemplated the turn their… their… friendship… had taken. They weren't properly friends. Neither of them was ever going to randomly owl the other and ask to meet for drinks, outside of the preparations for this celebration Pansy was planning.

The frightening thing about it was, he was actually disappointed by that fact. When she wasn't being a total bitch, she could be quite a lot of fun to hang out with. She had redeeming qualities. She liked to give Malfoy hell, which was a load of fun to watch, and always had been. It pained him to acknowledge that he actually sort of fancied her. And there had been moments — brief, and few and far between — where he'd thought it might have been a mutual thing.

And she did have a nice set of tits.

Ron had just decided what they had was a simple working relationship, amicable but not overly friendly or open, when Pansy leaned over with a bite of something on her fork and held it to his lips. "Open up and try this," she said, her voice low and seductive.

Ron opened up, but it wasn't for the cake. He simply couldn't control the way his jaw dropped in shock.

It was a good move, no matter the reason. Lemon filling, a whipped cream icing that was somehow both light and rich, and a fluffy vanilla cake. Almost like the flavour of the first shot he'd done from that bottle at Pansy's.

Something hit him then, as he savoured the bite of cake. The booze. It tasted like different things, but always something the drinker enjoyed. The day after that, no one had mentioned he smelled of alcohol, though three different women in the office had commented on his new after-shave — which he hadn't been wearing. Nellie had said something to Lysandra as they argued over what the scent actually was during a slow period. Lysandra had said something about it being like candied orange peel, something that reminded her of her best childhood friend and always made her feel happy. Didn't it make sense that he'd smelled like something different to everyone, based on something they liked, just as the alcohol tasted different? And damn it, hadn't Pansy made some comment about how he'd smelled?

"Good?" she asked, using the same fork to put the other bite of the same cake between her own lips. Ron watched her pull the silver from between her mouth, watching the way her lips pressed down around it, the way she smiled as she tasted the cake, and the look of contentment on her face. He tried to tell himself that eating cake wasn't erotic.

He wasn't really listening to himself, as it turned out.

"Yeah. It's good." He swallowed hard, which had nothing to do with the cake itself. He just couldn't help staring at Pansy's mouth. He'd noticed her tits plenty (because it wasn't as if he could not see them). But her mouth was a whole new point of contemplation. It had a nice shape, and she wore a shade of lipstick that reminded him of light cocoa caramel, or maybe one of those fancy caramel coffee drinks Michelson liked to get from the Muggle place not far from the Ministry. It was very nice on her, without making her look... well, like a whore. But it was the way she moved that mouth — quirked her lips in a smile she quashed before it had time to take hold, smirked crookedly when he'd made an arse out of himself, or even the way she chewed on her bottom lip when she was concentrating.

His mind tried to think about what other things that mouth could do, and he shut it down in short order. Merlin, thinking like that was going to earn him nothing but discomfort and squirming and quite possibly a kick in the groin, if Pansy ever found out.

"You all right, Weasley? You've gone a bit flushed."

Ron cleared his throat. "Yeah. Fine." He looked at the tray of desserts before them and gestured to one at random. "This one next?" When Pansy nodded, he picked up the other fork, as Pansy still had the one that'd been in both of their mouths (and oh dear Merlin, that line of thought was getting him nowhere good), and took a hasty bite. Lavender. He made a face.

"Well, that's not exactly a glowing endorsement," Pansy said, that smirk playing on her lips. "What's the matter, Weasley? Wasn't there a time you quite enjoyed the taste of Lavender?" Her eyebrows went up in a suggestive sort of way, and he coughed around his mouthful. "Oh, don't be such a prude," she said, patting him on the back until he stopped choking. He didn't fail to notice that her other hand was on his knee as she leaned forwards. "She told nearly the whole school you weren't a bad kisser, if it makes you feel any better."

It did, actually, in a small way, but he wasn't going to admit to that. Lavender had been all tongue and battles for the right to come up for air. To call her 'enthusiastic' would be an understatement. That was like saying the Atlantic was 'a little bit damp'. "She talked about me?"

"You went out with her; were you ever able to get her to shut up without shoving something in her mouth?" When Ron only had another coughing fit, she laughed and patted him some more. "Oh, suck it up. You still have desserts left to taste. Like this one."

Eyes watering a bit, Ron watched her take an iced bit of cake between thumb and index finger and pop it into her mouth. She sucked at a trace of chocolate on her thumb and smiled in a way that should be illegal, with her face tilted up and her eyes half-lidded. Ron clenched his jaw. Desserts. He was here for desserts. Nothing else. He could focus.

His focus really only lasted another ten minutes and five desserts later, when Pansy rolled her eyes, leaned over, and touched the corner of his mouth with one lacquered fingernail. "Missed some," she whispered in that ridiculously sultry voice she seemed to pop in and out of. And then she put that finger in her own mouth.

Ron's brain promptly shut down. It had been far too overworked this afternoon, but this was too much. He shivered. Fuck. After what might have been a minute, but might also have been only two or three seconds, he cleared his throat. "Uh. Sorry."

Pansy only gave him that look that was half-smile, half-smirk. "Such a mess, Weasley, honestly."

He felt like a mess. His brain was going in about eight directions at once, he felt he might actually be sweating, and he was fighting a so-far successful battle against his cock, demanding it not get hard where she could notice. It'd been too damn long since he'd had sex.

She sighed and tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear. "Well, that's everything I needed you for today," she said, gathering her little book that contained her notes for both tastings. "I'd make you escort me home, but I have more work to do. And I've probably kept you out long enough. The Ministry does expect you to work now and then, don't they?"

"Yeah, they're funny about that," Ron said, slightly relieved and also a bit disappointed they were done with their time together. At least he was safe to stand up without a very embarrassing problem rearing its head, so to speak. He followed her again as she spoke to the bakery's manager, then out the door, where they stood facing each other on the pavement.

"Then this is goodbye for now," Pansy said, removing her wand from her pocket and giving him another of those smiles that flashed her teeth and made him come a little unglued. No one should be allowed to make facial expressions like that. Not if they didn't mean something by it.

"Right. Take care, Pansy. Let me know if you need anything else."

He watched her Disapparate and sighed heavily once she was gone. Damn woman was excellent at getting him riled. For months, it'd been her irritating the hell out of him as they grudgingly occupied nearby space for the sake of their friends. Then it had become slightly strained tolerance. It hadn't really moved past that stage until he'd dragged her out of Malfoy's flat that one night. Now it was the way she was able to affect him with a damn touch or look or suggestive bit of conversation.

As he rode the lift back down to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he did remember something, though.

Sandalwood. That was what she'd said his "after-shave" smelled like.

Well, maybe he could make that work for him.

A week and a half before the event, and against her better judgment (or it would have been, had her better judgment not evaporated in this current period of stress), Pansy sent Weasley an owl requesting his presence at her home.

It was Draco's fault, really, that she'd had to sink to this. He was supposed to be the one coming over this evening to help her go through the samples of music from the bands on the short-list for the retirement event. But he and Potter had got themselves stuck in some damn case in the middle of nowhere in the north, and there was no one else she could demand to come over at the last moment.

But Weasley, she was fairly sure, would come when called.

He didn't disappoint. Her doorbell rang at just after ten that evening, and when she opened it, Weasley's towering frame was the one silhouetted on her porch. "You said you needed help with something for the party?"

She looked him up and down. He was still in his Auror robes. He'd come without even going home to change first. She had a brief realisation that this was part of who he was, and why he might be in a career that fit him, after all: he'd not only come when called, but come immediately, ready to help without a load of unnecessary questions or waffling back and forth about inconsequential details. If you needed him, he was there. But at least he didn't smell of sweat or dirt or something equally unpleasant. In fact, quite the opposite. Something warm and woody that made her breathe deeply to take it in and hold her breath to keep it there. Sandalwood, but with a hint of something else.

Sometimes, she didn't know what to do with the thought that he might be a good man. It unnerved her. He'd always just been Weasley, the annoying, over-loud prat, or lately, Weasley, the simple yet fun-to-fuck-with Auror. He'd always been a two-dimensional presence in her life. But now she was devoting a bit more energy to him, and it had the unfortunate effect of changing some of her perceptions.

Of course, that energy was all focussed on messing with him, and seeing just how far she could push him before he lost his mind.

"I do. Draco was supposed to help me this evening, but —"

"But he and Harry are on that stakeout. Well, don't worry. He's going to be standing around a dark forest for pretty much the whole evening, so I'm certain he'd rather do whatever it was he was supposed to do with you. Speaking of, what'd you need?"

"I just need a second opinion on this music. I had a band all picked out, as they were far better than anyone else available, and their manager was supposed to sign the contract last week. But their fool lead performer decided to go out with a bunch of friends, get pissed, and tip baby dragons at his uncle's sanctuary. He's now nursing a burn that renders him unable to play, unable to sing, and unfit for entertaining until they get that burn specialist from Romania to St Mungo's. So, long story short, I need to pick another bloody band. One not comprised of talented idiots."

Weasley just looked at her, corner of his mouth twitching in a grin. "Can't believe someone would be stupid enough to do something like that. Love to hear my brother bollock them." When Pansy just raised her eyebrows, he shrugged. "He works on a dragon preserve."

"I see." She had no other comment for that. "Well, I have a number of bands to go through, and I'm so damn tired I need a second set of ears. Come into the living room, settle on the sofa, and get ready to give opinions."

"Music's not really my thing..." he began, looking nervous. Pansy sighed.

"Look, I'm not asking you to deconstruct its technical merit or technique. I'm looking for 'this is really boring', or 'there's no way in hell Michelson would listen to this sort of thing', or 'this is catchy'. Can you do that?"

"Yeah. That, I can do."

"Good. Now park your arse on the sofa. The sound's best there."

Weasley did as he was told, hanging his cloak up on her coat rack, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his uniform, and removing his uniform boots, tucking them neatly into the corner. She didn't let her amazement show. Someone had trained him well, after all. His mother? Granger? Whomever he'd gone out with after that? Merlin knew how much effort that had taken.

He took up a ridiculous amount of room, lanky as he was, even though it was apparent he was trying to keep himself shoved into the corner of the sofa. She sighed loudly. "Oh, for Merlin's sake." With a dramatic flop onto the opposite corner, she situated herself as best she could, then raised her legs and draped them over Weasley's thighs. "What?" she asked innocently when she raised his eyebrows at her. "Is it my fault you're freakishly large?"

"I'm not freakishly large," he mumbled, pouting a little.

"Oh, so Lavender was exaggerating a bit, was she?"

Weasley turned scarlet. "She couldn't've — we didn't — how would she —?"

Pansy laughed. "Kidding, Weasley. She never said one way or the other, and now I know why. Don't have an aneurysm." Picking up her wand from the coffee table, she set the music to playing. "First band. Pay attention."

Four bands into the list of sixteen, she began to regret doing this at such a late hour. She hurt, she could barely keep her eyes open, and the group they were listening to now wasn't very good at all. She was about to fumble for her wand when Weasley spoke up. "This band's rubbish. Have none of them ever had lessons?"

Pansy smiled. "Doesn't seem likely, does it. Maybe they skived off theirs as often as I did mine."

Weasley snorted. "What'd you play?"

"Took a few singing lessons as a child, until my teacher told my mum I didn't have the range for it. Actually, I think the phrase was more 'sounds like a yowling cat'. Dumb bint. After that, it was the flute. I begged my father for that one."

"Why?"

Pansy stretched, digging her heels into Weasley's thigh. He winced and nudged her feet with the back of one hand. Was it her fault decently fashionable shoes were so pain-inducing? "I loved the sound." She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how much she had promised to keep up her lessons, and how she had really meant it at the time. When tentative fingers stroked the sole of her left foot, she let her head fall back against the arm rest of the sofa. "What, exactly, are you doing?"

"Nothing." Weasley's voice was embarrassed, as if he'd been caught doing something incredibly shameful, and his hands withdrew. "Sorry."

"Not as sorry as you'll be if you don't keep doing that, you prat. You can't tease a woman who's been in three-inch heels all day with a hint of a foot rub and not deliver. Not if you want to go on without incurring pain, that is. Besides, don't think I don't know you enjoyed getting out of work for the food tasting the other day. Consider this repayment for that outing."

There was a pause as Weasley seemed to be working something out for himself. "Right." He fiddled with something — his wand, she realised a moment later — and changed the music to the next band on the list. Taking her foot properly, he gave an experimental stroke. "I knew you were high-maintenance, Pansy, but this is bloody ridiculous."

"Shut it and rub. Maybe I'll even make sure to pick up that hazelnut fairy cake you liked from Intricate Icings as a thank you for showing up tonight, if you make it good."

"Deal." Weasley began rubbing with a bit more confidence. Ridiculously large hands were definitely a benefit in this case. "So, you play the flute?"

"No. I hated having to practise, and my tutor only let me play scales and ranted about finger positions and transitions and pitch. I don't think I once played anything with a melody. I'd only wanted to play because I loved the sound. It was light and airy and it reminded me of things I loved."

Weasley pressed a spot at her arch and she sighed. He was good at this. And any man who could give a decent foot rub earned himself a brief reprieve from her prickliness and head games. "Like what?"

"Birds. My grandmother used to raise songbirds. I could never play with them or stroke their feathers, but she'd let me sit there and listen for hours while I did my lessons. I think that was why I'd wanted the singing lessons, too — so I could sing back to them." She was talking too much, a consequence of being overtired and Weasley's ministrations relaxing her to a degree she hadn't been in far too long. Fuck, if she'd had a glass or two of wine before he'd shown, she'd probably be treating him to her life story. She made up her mind to keep a bit quieter. "You never had to take music lessons?"

"No." There was another of those awkward pauses. "Never the money."

It really should have occurred to her before she'd asked. Hadn't she been one of those mocking him and the rest of his siblings during their school days for that very thing? Draco'd been the worst, of course, but they'd all done it, and had fun thinking of the best insults. She could think of no reply, but thankfully, Weasley saved her the obligation. "This band's not bad, but they're a bit bland. But it'd be good background music, I guess."

She nodded, eyes still closed. "Good point. Onto the next, if you don't mind?" Weasley obeyed, and they sat there in silence for a while more, listening to the quick tempo but utterly generic lyrics of yet another sub-par band.

When she caught a whiff of skin-warmed sandalwood and honey some time later and felt something settle over her bare legs, she thought nothing of it. When light glinted off the surface of the coffee table and reflected onto her face, she stretched and opened her eyes. Morning.

She sat up. Weasley's cloak, smelling of wool and that sweet, woody aroma she'd noticed the night before, slipped from her shoulders. It lay neatly over her, covering her legs and feet. He'd draped it over her, then. She looked at the coffee table to find a piece of parchment with a jagged edge that she knew wasn't hers. Picking it up and squinting to bring her eyes into focus, she read what was written there.

Band # 8 is dreadful. But band #14 is quite good — all instrumental. That's my preference, anyhow.

—R

PS: Hope you slept well. Cloak's a bit heavy, but you looked cold.

Pansy bit her lower lip. This might no longer be the game she thought it was.

"All right, Weasley, what's your deal?"

Ron shook himself and glanced at his partner. Michelson was standing over him, looking quite annoyed. Ron realised he'd been crouched in the same position for a while, no longer really doing anything worthwhile.

They'd been at this crime scene for three hours, just two of the ten Aurors assigned to collect evidence and do preliminary investigations. Across the field, it looked like the other two still remaining were wrapping things up. They'd got everything of importance.

"What do you mean?" He stood, and his knees protested. Right. How long had he been hunched over like that, poking at a footprint that was at least a week old?

"You've been stuck in your own head all day, and don't tell me you haven't. Hell of a bad quality for an Auror out in the field. What's got your mind all mucked up? Women?"

"Something like that, yeah," Ron muttered, dusting off his robes.

"Well, what about them? Trying to apologise to one, impress one, or fuck one?"

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Not any of those, really. I haven't angered her, I'll never impress her, and the last is even less likely, really." He sighed. "If you wanted to buy a woman something to show that you appreciate her, what would you get her?"

Michelson considered the question for a moment as they headed back to the others, who were joking around and doing some shoving. "Not your mother or your sister, is it?"

"No."

He nodded. "Lingerie."

Ron had visions of himself handing Pansy a box with something frilly inside, watching her open it, and then having her literally hex his balls off. He winced. "Thanks, but I don't think that's right for this one."

"Son, if you're not going to listen, I'm not going to give any more advice. Now hurry your arse up so we can get back to the office. I'd like to get home and have dinner at a decent hour."

With a sigh, Ron increased his speed. So much for the advice of his elders.

He was still trying to figure out what to get Pansy (because he was fairly sure something was in order) when he was wandering along Diagon Alley later that night. He'd gone to visit George, who was always either at work or out with Angelina (and if he didn't propose soon, Ron thought their mum might just strangle him). It was dusk now, and a few of the shops were closing up. The owner of Flourish and Blotts saw him and waved. Ron waved back; ever since going out with Hermione, the man had recognised him, and still made pleasant conversation whenever Ron had to duck in for something, or ran into him elsewhere.

He stopped walking when he passed the front door of Curio's Cabinet. They had all sorts of things in there. Maybe the shopkeeper could suggest something? At least, something other than lingerie.

The place was stuffed full of things, and Ron had a feeling that if his mum ran a shop of gifts and collectibles, this was what it would look like. It was overwhelming.

He was about to back out of the place when a short, round woman spoke from near his elbow. "Looking for a gift?"

"Uh. Yeah?"

She raised her eyebrows, large round spectacles going up right along with them. "For a young lady, perhaps?"

"Yeah." Though she came up to just about chest-height, Ron got the distinct impression she was looking down on him.

"You've never bought for her before, have you?"

He supposed it was obvious enough. "No."

"Well, then, follow me. We'll see if we can't find something nice."

Ron sighed, gave up, and followed along behind as she led him deeper into the shop. He ducked as they went through a tight hallway, and then through an even narrower staircase, and looked around as she disappeared behind a counter. After a moment, she popped up over the top, now situated on a box or step-ladder of some sort. "Now. Nothing too over-the-top, right? You're not declaring endless, undying love or something?"

"Right. We've just recently started getting to know one another, through a project we both have to work on. I just…" He thought about it. "I just want her to know it's not been awful, spending time with her. I was thinking maybe a sandalwood sachet or something?"

She raised her eyebrows again. "Clearly, you and the young lady are close," she said dryly. "Very well." She rummaged through something behind the counter and pulled out a drawer, setting it on the glass top. "No sandalwood, I'm afraid, but something a young lady might like."

Ron peered down at what she'd set out. Glass and ceramic trinkets, perfume atomisers, cheap-looking cosmetic compacts with mirrors charmed to light up softly, jewellery boxes. Not a thing looked like something he could imagine Pansy appreciating. Any of these things would end up shoved at the back of a drawer, if she didn't just flat-out laugh and chuck it in the bin.

He stepped back and sighed. "I don't think so. Not this one, anyway." He turned, ready to apologise and say goodbye, when something caught his eye. "What's this?"

The witch squinted from her place and muttered an Accio. The thing Ron had been admiring flew from its place, hanging off the tip of a lacy umbrella, and landed neatly in her hand. "Jewellery? Why didn't you say so? I have thousands of —"

"I'm not interested in jewellery in general. I just want to know what this is." It was the shape of the thing that had caught his eye.

"Oh, it's actually quite sweet, but definitely older. It's a charm bracelet." She turned it over in her hands and undid the clasp while Ron leaned in for a better look. "Songbirds, see?" They were made of a light-coloured glass or crystal, transparent but with a hint of colour. "They're charmed to sing for the wearer. If she's in a good mood, they'll sing a light, lilting tune. If she's startled, they'll let out a brief chirp. And if she's deeply upset, you'll hear a sad little haunting cry."

Ron debated. It was pretty, in a light, delicate sort of way. Not gaudy. But the charm… He didn't see Pansy as the type to want to broadcast her moods and feelings that way. "It's very nice, but I don't think —"

"Of course, you can always turn the charm off for as long as you like. Not everyone can have birds chirping on their wrist at all hours of the day. Especially not if you're in a quiet place, or a professional environment, which so many women today are. You could let her know she doesn't have to turn it on at all, or she can keep that bit of magic to herself, for when she's all alone."

That did sound like a better option. He bit his lower lip. "How much?"

The woman shrugged. "Honey, this thing has been sitting here since my mother owned the shop. I'd forgotten it was here. Thirty-five Galleons, normally. But I'll let you have it for eight Galleons, twelve Sickles."

It was more than he'd thought to spend on Pansy, but by no means more than he could afford with his salary. Besides, the money he usually set aside for drinks with Harry hadn't been touched in weeks, as Harry was always busy (and now that Ron knew why, he was less likely to push for details when Harry said he had other plans), and he had considerably more than she was asking in that fund alone. He'd accumulated a fair amount over the last two months… which probably said something about his drinking habits, now he thought about it.

"All right. I'll take it."

"Excellent." She offered him a wide smile and redid the clasp. "Will you be needing this gift-wrapped?"

"Yeah, sure."

He left the shop feeling a bit awkward, the box tucked into a pocket in his robes. What if she hated it? What if he was just a bad judge of jewellery, and it really was gaudy and cheap? He sighed. Well, at least he'd thought to get her something, right?

Pansy sat on her sofa and waited. It was half past eight, and she'd been sitting here, trying to sort through the mess in her mind, for nearly an hour. She didn't have much longer to work out the problem, either. He'd be here any moment.

When someone knocked on her front door, she took a deep breath, adjusted the neckline of her robes, and went to open the door. Weasley stood on her porch, looking oddly nervous. "Here," he said, handing over a set of keys. "The Minister said he'd already sent you the accompanying spells you'd need to get into the manor ahead of time, to let the vendors in?"

"Yes. I replied by owl to let him know."

Weasley nodded. "Good. Look, Pansy, I don't mean to take up your time, but I had something —"

She held up a hand. "You're starting to babble, Weasley. Do you have anywhere to be this evening?"

"No. Delivering those keys was the only plan I had for the night. I mean, I'd figured dinner, but nothing solid."

"Good. Then, please, come in. I have Thai takeaway, if you don't mind. I really don't need leftovers sitting around here for tomorrow. I eat far too much of this crap as it is. I really could do with a kitchen-capable house-elf."

Weasley shrugged and stepped through the front door. "Thanks."

"Do me a favour, as I serve us dinner?" she asked, heading for the kitchen. "Put on some music? You know where the wireless and the recordings are, if there's nothing on that."

"Yeah, okay."

She left Weasley alone, plating enough food for herself, and what she thought might be enough food to keep him relatively happy. That boy could eat. She had no idea what he liked, but as he didn't seem particularly picky most of the time, he could deal with whatever she had on hand.

He seemed grateful enough for the food, if not a bit twitchy. He kept shoving one hand in his pocket, as if worried something in there was going to disappear. Probably another errand for the Minister, or his supervisor. He stood after they had finished. "I could help you clean up before I go, if you like?"

Pansy just raised her eyebrows. Her only regular dinner guest was Draco, and if he ever offered to do such a thing, she'd scream "Polyjuice" and run out the door. "Well, aren't you the gentleman?" she asked, laughing a little. He turned slightly pink. "Don't worry about it, Weasley. Though if you want to set them on the sink, that's fine."

As soon as he was out of the room, she stood and peered after him. She likely wouldn't be seeing much more of him after tonight. Tomorrow was the party, and after that, their ready excuses to be in the same place were going to evaporate. They had used to spend a considerable amount of time with Draco and Potter, but now that she and Weasley were aware of what was going on, the requests for the four of them to meet had been less frequent, probably because they had figured their best friends would understand if they wanted to be alone now and then. Pansy didn't understand, really. It still stung a bit. Stung so much, in fact, that she'd ignored Draco's owl about getting together tonight.

If she wanted to enjoy getting a reaction out of Weasley, tonight was essentially her last shot before things went back to normal.

She whispered a charm her grandmother had taught her ages ago, one she'd used all the time once her rheumatism had progressed past a certain point. The clasp on her necklace unlatched, and the chain slid from around the back of her neck. "Oh no," she said, hand coming up to her neck.

"Something wrong?" Weasley asked, actual concern in his voice. What was he, part Hufflepuff?

"My necklace. It keeps coming undone, and I always have trouble fastening it with my nails done. Do you think you could help?"

Behind her, Weasley shrugged. "I guess so."

Pansy turned her head, flashing a smile. Slowly, deliberately, she reached down and pulled the pendant and chain out from her cleavage, where it had slid when the clasp was released. Weasley twitched as if shocked. "Here."

He took the chain from her delicately, and she saw he'd turned quite pink. "Right." He pinched the clasp between two fingers and opened it before draping it around her chest and bringing it together behind her. His fingers touched the back of her neck, and she shivered. His touch was nervous but full of reverence, as if he couldn't quite believe he was being allowed to touch her bare skin. And Merlin help her, she wondered how he might touch her other places. How might he trail his fingers against her arm, or up her back? She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, warm and moist, and it sent more shivers down her spine.

"Your hands are cold," she said, striving for a casual tone. Would he accept that that was the reason for the goosebumps on her arms?

"Sorry," Weasley murmured, his voice soft in her ear. From here she could smell his after-shave: sandalwood and honey and what she now thought resembled candied citrus peel. She just wanted to breathe it in, let it flood her head and her body until she was full of it, and pull him in and see if he felt or tasted as good as the smell hinted.

Oh, what the fuck was wrong with her?

After a horrified moment, she thought she knew, and she realised that though the thought terrified her, it also exhilarated her in a new way, one she didn't think she wanted to give up. In the back of her mind, she could see Draco's smirk, which dissolved into the genuine, soft smile he'd worn the day she finally confronted him about what she and Weasley had walked in on.

Draco had gone on about Potter, all soppy in a very unappetising way, and she hadn't listened then. What had he said? Something like… one moment you're fine, and you know what you want out of life and you're going about making it happen, no matter how hard it is, and the next moment, you're being shown romance and all these ridiculous things you've always thought were silly, and you find that not only do you not mind it, but you actually want it. You want someone to share these things with, someone know sees who you are and doesn't mind, someone who lets you know you're the centre of their world, and someone full of passion.

She'd laughed at him and called him a Hufflepuff.

And fuck the world, he was right.

Merlin, she hadn't expected this. Weasley had been someone to tolerate for so long. But somehow, he'd… what? Worked his way into her life, when she'd been so busy trying to make herself present in his, just for a bit of fun. Still, she wondered how long she could keep this up before one of them lost it. When would that Gryffindor courage of his make an appearance, or did he use it all up for work?

"There, I think I've got it," he said finally, his fingers trailing down to her shoulder blades before he broke contact. It was an unnecessary touch. She knew it, and she thought he did, too. But he didn't apologise, and she didn't call him out on it.

"Thank you." Her voice was low and breathy, and it was only half-intentional. She wanted him, she fucking wanted him, and it wasn't all about claiming victory any more. If it had been, she could leave him hot and bothered and ultimately frustrated, and walk away, never looking back. She didn't think she could do that right now.

"Don't mention it."

He opened his mouth to say something else, something she would have bet was a hasty goodbye and a promise to stop pestering her for the evening, as she had a job to prepare for tomorrow, but she cut him off before he could actually say anything. "Fancy a drink?" she asked, too aware of his nearness. She kept her voice as light as possible, wondering if he could hear how it was strained, or detect that new warmth under the words.

"What'd you have in mind?"

"Remember that bottle of Liquore del Prisma we nearly finished the first time you were over?"

"That stuff was brilliant," he said, sounding a little wistful.

"Right. Well, I have enough for one drink each. Thought we might as well share it. Fitting, isn't it? Start it the night before I was offered the party at the Ministry, finish it the night before said party?"

Weasley shrugged. "I suppose I could stay long enough for that."

"Thought you might say that."

He rolled his eyes. "One drink. And don't let me forget before I leave; I have something for you tonight. It's not much, but it's something. Just a little gift of sorts."

Fighting to control some innuendo-filled retort, she retrieved the bottle and two shot glasses, setting them on the coffee table as they situated themselves on the sofa. For the first time, Weasley did not appear to be trying to make himself smaller, so as to better fit in a corner where they would not have to touch. Was he actually taking action, even of the subtle and pathetic variety?

After a quick decision, she sat casually next to him and let her body relax so that their legs were touching. She saw him glance down in surprise, but he still didn't say anything. "Pour?"

He nodded and did as he was told. At least he could take orders. Pansy briefly wondered if that was true of all areas in life. What kind of lover was he? Attentive and giving? Fumbling and awkward? Spontaneous? Methodical? How did he take direction? She tried not to follow that path any further.

"Thank you," she murmured as he handed her one of the glasses. She thought for a moment. "To exploring new things, and finding the courage to examine them fully."

Weasley pursed his lips and nodded, clinking his glass with hers before downing the alcohol. "Brilliant as always. Blackberry. What was yours?"

Pansy closed her eyes and let the taste fill her head. "French vanilla cream, I think." She paused. "What was it you'd wondered?" she asked, trailing one fingernail up the side of Weasley's thigh. "Something about whether or not you taste what the other person does when you kiss?"

Weasley stared at her. "Sounds familiar," he said at last, voice tight.

She picked up the bottle and shook it lightly. "Empty. Who knows when I'll get more, or when you might have another chance to have some?" She fixed him with a stare and parted her lips slightly, wetting them. "Could be never. A great mystery of the universe left unsolved."

Weasley shifted, turning towards her. "That would be a shame." His pupils were wide, eyes a brighter blue than usual. He reached up and tucked a lock of her hair back behind her ear, grazing a light touch along her jaw down her neck.

"It would, wouldn't it?" A voice at the back of her head spoke up. Do something, stop being a wuss, act already it screamed. She felt like screaming along with it.

He leaned forwards suddenly, as if he figured he had a very short window to act before she might change her mind, or he might wake up from some dream. He lifted her chin gently and raised her mouth to his, slipping his tongue into her mouth when she parted her lips.

Her first thought — that Lavender bint was right about his kissing skill — was replaced by the taste of blackberries, crisp and sweet on her tongue. It was a bit faint, but it was unmistakable. She'd scarcely had time to appreciate it when Weasley went to pull back and end the kiss.

She wasn't having any of that. He was undoubtedly going to stammer an apology, and she didn't want to hear anything of the sort. Either he was sorry he'd kissed her or he wasn't. And as fucking ridiculous as it was, she wasn't sorry he had. Not in the least.

She reached up and grabbed him by the front of his robes, first keeping him close, then slowly pulling him down atop her as she lay back on the sofa. She'd actually grown attracted to him in the last few weeks, so slowly she'd barely noticed, but there was no denying it now. He wasn't the greatest looking bloke she'd ever been with, but he did seem intent on treating her well, and that counted for a hell of a lot, really. Plus, he seemed perfectly willing to take a measure of her abuse — something Draco had told her she'd be lucky to ever find.

When they finally did break apart this time, Weasley propping himself up above her, he laughed shakily. "Mystery solved, I think."

"It does appear that way." She ran a hand through her hair, removing the few slight tangles there. "Also, colour me impressed, Weasley. I'd always figured Lavender Brown was prone to exaggeration. It seems she was right about at least one thing."

Weasley grinned like an idiot, face flushed. "Yeah?"

She hooked a hand around the back of his neck. "Yeah." She pulled him down once more, taking his weight atop her. It'd been too long since she'd been with a man, and this felt nothing like those short little flings, a one-night excursion that sometimes went a few days, but never lasted the week. Maybe it was the difference between fucking the type of men she usually met versus fucking a Gryffindor. Or maybe it was just having a shot with someone who wanted her, who had wanted her for a while, and who didn't seem willing to give it up so easily, now he had it.

Moving slowly, she undid a few more buttons on his uniform, sliding her hand into his robes until she found the skin of his chest. She ran her fingers up and down his torso for a moment, until he seemed to take the hint. He dipped his head, blowing lightly into her ear, and heat ran through her. Very gently, he put a hand on one of her breasts and gave a light squeeze. She felt him shudder above her and grinned. If he was impressed with that, he was in for a world of amazement.

"Hold on," she whispered, shoving him up enough that she could reposition herself. When he'd backed up on his knees, she loosened the top of her own robes, letting the material slide off her shoulders and exposing most of her breasts.

Weasley just boggled at her for a moment before a massive grin lit up his face like a kid at Christmas. "Fuck me," he whispered, his voice full of awe.

"I plan to," she said, smirking at his expression. "But a bit of this kind of fun first, hm?"

This time, she was the one to push him down onto the sofa. She nudged his legs apart and knelt between his thighs. "You know, this started out as just a game," she murmured, removing his uniform from his shoulders and giving a quick, light bite to one nipple. "I saw the way you stared at my tits, and thought it might be fun to have a bit of fun with you."

"Oh?" Weasley didn't look as if he was particularly hurt by this fact. Then again, he wasn't quite as dumb as he sometimes appeared.

"Yeah. I have to admit, this isn't the way I saw things going. But it doesn't look as if you're going to complain at the new direction."

"Can't imagine why I would," he said with a small laugh. She grinned and rubbed the heel of her hand down his torso and his groin. He was already hard. She palmed his erection and gave a light little squeeze, watching his eyes roll back into his head.

"Good boy," she said softly. Crawling farther up the sofa, she straddled his hips and leaned forwards, her breasts hovering above him. He reached up and cupped one, running a thumb over her nipple. She shivered. Fuck, he already had her wet. She wanted to strip him the rest of the way down, lower herself onto him, and ride him until he fucking lost his mind. It might not take long, by the looks of it. "This might be a night you never forget."

"Already hit that point, Pansy. Suggested right about the time you didn't shove me away when I kissed you, and confirmed when you just squeezed my cock."

She smiled broadly. "Good. Now shut up."

Weasley laughed and sat up awkwardly, moving them both until he was sitting up on the sofa in a nearly normal position, and she was straddling his lap, facing the wall. She ground her hips against him and listened to him moan. That was more like it.

She didn't know how long it was until he cleared his throat and muttered "bed?", but by that point, her hair was a mess again, her lips felt swollen, and if she didn't get him between her legs soon, she was likely to throw a fit.

She nearly dragged him off to the bedroom, the one place in her flat he'd never been before. The blankets were still a mess from when she'd got up this morning, but neither of them seemed to care. She tore off the rest of his clothes, not even caring that the last button on his Auror uniform went flying somewhere, and shoved him onto the mattress.

Standing before him, she undid the last fasteners on her robes and slipped them off, letting them puddle on the floor at her feet. All she was wearing was a small, lacy pair of dark green knickers. "Oh sweet Merlin," he sighed, looking her up and down as if his very life depended upon memorising every detail.

She smiled widely. Fuck, he was good for her ego.

They were tangled amongst the blankets only moments later, one of his hands threaded through her hair. After a bit of squirming, he finally slid one hand between her thighs. She let out a shuddering sigh when one finger slipped into her and found her clit. About fucking time. The whole world went bright and she pulled him closer. She wanted to close this distance, remove it entirely.

He had incredibly nimble fingers, really, and had she been able to form a coherent sentence, she might have told him so. Instead she threw one leg over his hip and scooted closer. She could feel his cock pressed up against her. A few inches lower, and he'd be inside her. The thought sent her mind spinning. It'd been far too long since she'd taken a lover that wasn't charmed to vibrate.

Eventually, he pulled his hand away. "On your back," he murmured into her ear, and she moved without protest. She hid disappointment that he might be one of the unimaginative ones who only did missionary.

When he dropped to the edge of the bed and spread her legs before giving one of her inner thighs a light nibble, she held her breath. Oh, please let him be —

She didn't get any further in the thought before she felt his tongue press against her clit, wet and just a little cooler than she was down there. She gasped in a way that was nearly a snort, not even caring if it made her sound like a pug. Weasley apparently didn't care. He just looked up at her and grinned before dipping his head again and resuming his task.

She was rapidly approaching orgasm, and Weasley was squirming against the bed in an interesting way that told her he was getting off on this in at least some measure, when there was a loud crashing behind them. Before she could even sit up, she heard a familiar yet very distressed voice call out, "Oh, sweet Merlin, my eyes!" before another yelped a surprised "Ron?"

Pansy pulled the nearest blanket around her and shrieked. At her feet, Weasley managed to bellow "get the fuck out of here!" There was clamouring behind her, and after a short moment, the bedroom door slammed shut. Pansy looked down at him and started giggling. Weasley just looked at her with his eyebrows high into his hairline before he joined her. After a moment, he climbed onto the bed with her and gave her left breast a gentle squeeze.

"How do you suppose Draco and Potter felt, getting a dose of their own medicine?" she asked, still giggling.

Weasley snorted. "You didn't even see the looks on their faces. Almost worth being walked in on. But why'd they show up tonight of all nights?"

Pansy laughed a bit harder. "I ignored Draco's invitation for drinks. I don't suppose he liked it much."

Weasley shook his head. "Fucking figures. Way to ruin the mood." He pulled her close and ran one hand up and down her back. The room smelled of sex, their sweat, and the sandalwood he wore.

Pansy shook her head. Part of her wanted to stay here forever. "Well, at least now we know we have the rest of the night without interruption. I, for one, think we could use the time well."

Weasley favoured her with a ridiculous soppy grin. "Yeah?"

She nodded and let him kiss her. "Yeah. One thing you'll learn about me, Weasley: once I have something I want in my grasp, I'm not likely to let it go."

He brushed her hair out of her face and nipped at her jaw. "I'll keep you to that."

She grinned. "You're a Gryffindor. I know you will, you predictably noble git."

With a light smack on her arse, Weasley raised his eyebrows. "We're not quite as predictable as you think."

"Oh?" She looked at him shrewdly. "Prove it." As if he hadn't just done that very thing.

His eyes lit up at the challenge. And he did prove it.

More than once.