Happy holidays, 
nic11!
Title: Remember, Remember, The 24th December!
Recipient:nic11
Rating: Soft R
Pairing: Ronald Weasley/Pansy Parkinson
Author’s Notes: EWE, post-Hogwarts, not exactly R but hopefully humorous enough!
Summary: What Ron loathed the most was having to put up with his mother and his girlfriend under the same roof, at the same time – but he is to discover it’s worth trying!
Take this evil grin
and love me for my sins
(Johnny Hollow: Rasputin)
“You must be joking! As if you don’t know that I won’t hear any jokes before breakfast, be they any good or not – and this? This is outrageous!”
Ronald Weasley sighed heavily; he pulled his shoulders backward, straightened his spine, and sighed again. He felt like crouching in a dark corner and waiting for a better day. However, he knew there wouldn’t be a better day – not for what he had to say.
“Pansy –“he tried again. “Please, be reasonable. It’s not like –“
“Indeed! It’s not likely that I would go! And, come to think of it, it’s bloody unlikely I’d listen to you, anyway! I have so many urgent businesses to attend!”
Ron breathed out a third sigh, half suffocated by a mumbled curse. He cursed the name “Ronald Weasley”, but this time, for good reason. It was difficult enough to bear it without this.
“Just, you know, think of it, perhaps?” he tried; he kept trying these days, without even wondering why. He knew that if he ever wanted to be at peace with both his mother and his girlfriend, he’ll have to get them together and then – run, probably. “It’s not that terrible. My mother makes the most delicious stuffed turkey you’ve ever had, and –“
“Ronald Weasley!” (curse, curse, curse) “Did you just use the words most delicious?”
“Um, yes?”
“Interesting.” Pansy stopped by the door, quickly throwing the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “You could have said best – that would sound more like you. Hmmm. Perhaps –“
“Yes?” Ron’s eyes were more than pleading.
“I’ll think about it.”
Once Pansy left, life seemed easier, and lighter. Ron sighed for the fourth time, but now it was a relieved sigh, a sigh he was grateful for. He loved Pansy; he truly did; but it was sometimes very difficult to deal with her temper. Time and time again, she sounded like a dragon with a splint under its nail. If dragons really had nails, Ron couldn’t tell. He should ask Charlie the next time they meet, he thought.
And then reality hit him hard: the next time? (curse, curse, curse)
The next time would mean, of course, the infamous Christmas dinner.
-
“Remember –“
“Remember, the fifth of November – do Muggles say this for some reason?”
“Pansy! I’m trying to make sense!”
“Hey, know what? I’ll ask your father about the rhyme, you said he’s into Muggle stuff, he might know!”
Ron looked at her wearily, but, to his surprise, Pansy was genuinely enthusiastic. That was something to start with, at least. He was quite sure that, besides her past, his mother would disapprove of her a) hair colour, b) nose pierce and c) nail polish. Her past was, thought Ron, the smallest of the problems.
It was ignorable, compared to Pansy’s lipstick – that afternoon it was a dark shade of blue.
-
His palms were sticky; Ron brushed them on his trousers, rubbing heartily. There was a wide grin clinging on his face, and he was perfectly aware of its fake effect, but he didn’t have any other counterattack skills. And honestly, there was no need for such ammo.
Pansy looked quite normal next to Tonks, if truth be told. Invited as Charlie’s friend (while everyone knew exactly what she and Charlie actually were for each other), she bore her usual spiky, multicoloured look. And that was ordinary, but even his own sister looked more out of place than his girlfriend: Ginny wore a new haircut, as short as magic scissors could go; her hair ends were black; she looked pleased and defying.
“Cranberry sauce?”
Ron sniggered when his mother leaned over to ask Pansy whether she’d like some of the side dish she disliked with a passion. Pansy merely arched an eyebrow when she accepted.
This was going to be interesting.
“So tell me”, Pansy launched casually, eyeing Ron’s father, who was starring absently in his empty plate, “what happened on the fifth of November?”
Arthur Weasley raised his head and looked at her intently. Ron was ready to stifle a bout of laughter in his fists, when his ankle started to itch. It was already too late when he figured out that Pansy’s shoeless foot was slowly advancing up his leg. He stiffened.
“Oh. That. It’s a rhyme, right, the one you’re asking about?”
“Indeed”, said Pansy. Getting closer to the table, she leaned her chin on her palms and blinked rapidly. Ron shivered: her foot had reached his knee, and was circling it slowly.
“Well, well. Looks like we have a Muggle history aficionado here.” Ron would have laughed at his father’s enthusiasm, were it not for Pansy’s toes, which were working their way along his thigh. He spent a minute wondering how come was she able to stretch that far without anyone noticing, but then he remembered she could be quite flexible. Years and years of Wizlet – a magical form of ballet – imposed by a half-insane mother seemed to help Pansy in the most unexpected situations. “You know, young lady, just like we have our witches of wizards to be proud of and display on collectible cards, Muggles have their own heroes. In this case, though – son, are you alright?”
No. He wasn’t exactly alright. Pansy’s deft toes had reached a very sensitive spot between his thighs, and were now massaging its very middle. Ron’s jeans were already tight – he had put on some weight in the last few months; and Pansy wouldn’t stop, her toes rolling over, and then starting again. She seemed completely at ease amidst all the people, Ron’s mother in tow, and his father speaking calmly of Guy Fawkes.
Ron, at his turn, was flabbergasted.
“Some water, maybe? You look quite red.”
Pansy smiled her wicked smile, but ushered Mr. Weasley to go on. And on he went, telling the story of the Gunpowder Plot, while Ron felt like he was sitting on a gunpowder barrel himself. Pansy pushed a bit harder, her eyes glimmering devilishly, and he practically jumped off his chair.
“Ron.” Pansy’s voice was dangerously calm. “Everything fine with you, darling?”
-
“I think your mother liked me well enough”, mused Pansy.
He didn’t answer.
“And your father –“she laughed, “– is such a character!”
Something deeper than a sigh was bubbling inside Ron’s chest, waiting for the right moment to burst.
“Not to mention your brother Charlie; he’s quite a laugh!”
Not saying a word, Ron unzipped.
“And then –“
“Pansy.” His voice was quiet and even. “I think Father Christmas will visit your early this year.”
Recipient:
nic11Rating: Soft R
Pairing: Ronald Weasley/Pansy Parkinson
Author’s Notes: EWE, post-Hogwarts, not exactly R but hopefully humorous enough!
Summary: What Ron loathed the most was having to put up with his mother and his girlfriend under the same roof, at the same time – but he is to discover it’s worth trying!
Take this evil grin
and love me for my sins
(Johnny Hollow: Rasputin)
“You must be joking! As if you don’t know that I won’t hear any jokes before breakfast, be they any good or not – and this? This is outrageous!”
Ronald Weasley sighed heavily; he pulled his shoulders backward, straightened his spine, and sighed again. He felt like crouching in a dark corner and waiting for a better day. However, he knew there wouldn’t be a better day – not for what he had to say.
“Pansy –“he tried again. “Please, be reasonable. It’s not like –“
“Indeed! It’s not likely that I would go! And, come to think of it, it’s bloody unlikely I’d listen to you, anyway! I have so many urgent businesses to attend!”
Ron breathed out a third sigh, half suffocated by a mumbled curse. He cursed the name “Ronald Weasley”, but this time, for good reason. It was difficult enough to bear it without this.
“Just, you know, think of it, perhaps?” he tried; he kept trying these days, without even wondering why. He knew that if he ever wanted to be at peace with both his mother and his girlfriend, he’ll have to get them together and then – run, probably. “It’s not that terrible. My mother makes the most delicious stuffed turkey you’ve ever had, and –“
“Ronald Weasley!” (curse, curse, curse) “Did you just use the words most delicious?”
“Um, yes?”
“Interesting.” Pansy stopped by the door, quickly throwing the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “You could have said best – that would sound more like you. Hmmm. Perhaps –“
“Yes?” Ron’s eyes were more than pleading.
“I’ll think about it.”
Once Pansy left, life seemed easier, and lighter. Ron sighed for the fourth time, but now it was a relieved sigh, a sigh he was grateful for. He loved Pansy; he truly did; but it was sometimes very difficult to deal with her temper. Time and time again, she sounded like a dragon with a splint under its nail. If dragons really had nails, Ron couldn’t tell. He should ask Charlie the next time they meet, he thought.
And then reality hit him hard: the next time? (curse, curse, curse)
The next time would mean, of course, the infamous Christmas dinner.
-
“Remember –“
“Remember, the fifth of November – do Muggles say this for some reason?”
“Pansy! I’m trying to make sense!”
“Hey, know what? I’ll ask your father about the rhyme, you said he’s into Muggle stuff, he might know!”
Ron looked at her wearily, but, to his surprise, Pansy was genuinely enthusiastic. That was something to start with, at least. He was quite sure that, besides her past, his mother would disapprove of her a) hair colour, b) nose pierce and c) nail polish. Her past was, thought Ron, the smallest of the problems.
It was ignorable, compared to Pansy’s lipstick – that afternoon it was a dark shade of blue.
-
His palms were sticky; Ron brushed them on his trousers, rubbing heartily. There was a wide grin clinging on his face, and he was perfectly aware of its fake effect, but he didn’t have any other counterattack skills. And honestly, there was no need for such ammo.
Pansy looked quite normal next to Tonks, if truth be told. Invited as Charlie’s friend (while everyone knew exactly what she and Charlie actually were for each other), she bore her usual spiky, multicoloured look. And that was ordinary, but even his own sister looked more out of place than his girlfriend: Ginny wore a new haircut, as short as magic scissors could go; her hair ends were black; she looked pleased and defying.
“Cranberry sauce?”
Ron sniggered when his mother leaned over to ask Pansy whether she’d like some of the side dish she disliked with a passion. Pansy merely arched an eyebrow when she accepted.
This was going to be interesting.
“So tell me”, Pansy launched casually, eyeing Ron’s father, who was starring absently in his empty plate, “what happened on the fifth of November?”
Arthur Weasley raised his head and looked at her intently. Ron was ready to stifle a bout of laughter in his fists, when his ankle started to itch. It was already too late when he figured out that Pansy’s shoeless foot was slowly advancing up his leg. He stiffened.
“Oh. That. It’s a rhyme, right, the one you’re asking about?”
“Indeed”, said Pansy. Getting closer to the table, she leaned her chin on her palms and blinked rapidly. Ron shivered: her foot had reached his knee, and was circling it slowly.
“Well, well. Looks like we have a Muggle history aficionado here.” Ron would have laughed at his father’s enthusiasm, were it not for Pansy’s toes, which were working their way along his thigh. He spent a minute wondering how come was she able to stretch that far without anyone noticing, but then he remembered she could be quite flexible. Years and years of Wizlet – a magical form of ballet – imposed by a half-insane mother seemed to help Pansy in the most unexpected situations. “You know, young lady, just like we have our witches of wizards to be proud of and display on collectible cards, Muggles have their own heroes. In this case, though – son, are you alright?”
No. He wasn’t exactly alright. Pansy’s deft toes had reached a very sensitive spot between his thighs, and were now massaging its very middle. Ron’s jeans were already tight – he had put on some weight in the last few months; and Pansy wouldn’t stop, her toes rolling over, and then starting again. She seemed completely at ease amidst all the people, Ron’s mother in tow, and his father speaking calmly of Guy Fawkes.
Ron, at his turn, was flabbergasted.
“Some water, maybe? You look quite red.”
Pansy smiled her wicked smile, but ushered Mr. Weasley to go on. And on he went, telling the story of the Gunpowder Plot, while Ron felt like he was sitting on a gunpowder barrel himself. Pansy pushed a bit harder, her eyes glimmering devilishly, and he practically jumped off his chair.
“Ron.” Pansy’s voice was dangerously calm. “Everything fine with you, darling?”
-
“I think your mother liked me well enough”, mused Pansy.
He didn’t answer.
“And your father –“she laughed, “– is such a character!”
Something deeper than a sigh was bubbling inside Ron’s chest, waiting for the right moment to burst.
“Not to mention your brother Charlie; he’s quite a laugh!”
Not saying a word, Ron unzipped.
“And then –“
“Pansy.” His voice was quiet and even. “I think Father Christmas will visit your early this year.”