Title: Unsolicited Advice
Rating: PG-13Ron/Pansy (but more Ron/Hermione)
Word count: 699
'Viktor always said -'
Ron looked round at her so fast he appeared to crick his neck. Rubbing it, he said, 'Yeah? What did Vicky say?'
'Ho ho,' said Hermione in a bored voice. 'He said Harry knew how to do stuff even he didn't, and he was in the final year at Durmstrang.'
Ron was looking at Hermione suspiciously.
'You're not still in contact with him, are you?'
'So what if I am?' said Hermione coolly, though her face was a little pink. 'I can have a pen-pal if I -'
'He didn't only want to be your pen-pal,' said Ron accusingly.
The day after this exchange, Ron does some thinking. Someone helps.
Warnings: Um...fifteen-year-old slags?
Author's notes: From kerosinkanister to queenb23more for the teenyfic meme. Prompt was Ron/Pansy, open-ended plot and rating. Sorry I couldn't detach myself from my OTP. :(
"What are you doing, Weasley? Looking for gold?" Ron looked over his shoulder to find a nose—upturned by genetics or snobbery, he couldn't tell which—inches away from his own.
"Shove off, Pansy." Ron's ears flushed from the insult, but he kept his head down, still kicking at the snow-crusted dirt. Every so often, his toes struck the stone wall of the castle, but the dull thump only fueled his anger. Irritated to find her still standing a few feet away, he rolled his eyes. "I said, leave me the hell alone," he said, more forcefully this time.
"It's not like you're doing anything I've got no right to watch," she said, a malicious smile on her lips. She was actually enjoying this.
"Fine," he muttered angrily. He spun around and took a deep breath, closing his eyes as his back slid down the rough stone. The secluded area was usually empty,which was why he'd chosen this spot to calm his anger. He wondered if she'd followed him outside, then grimaced. If she was going to stay, then he would simply ignore her.
She sank down nest to him gracefully and sneered. "What's got you in such a snit?"
"None of your business," he sighed half-heartedly. His voice sounded weary and less vicious than he had intended.
"It's got something to do with Granger," she supplied. It was a statement, not a question, and phrased with so much certainty that Ron's heart began to pound again. He didn't answer, and he avoided her self-satisfied gaze. Pansy lowered her voice invitingly and trailed a finger down his thigh. He flinched, but didn't jerk away.
"She…" He paused. "She has a penfriend."
"And she's shagging him?" Pansy asked bluntly.
"Ugh! No…at least, I don't think so."
"Then what's the problem?"
"She writes to him—sends the bloody tosser letters—all the time—" He broke off abruptly. Spoken aloud, his accusations sounded ridiculous and petty.
"And Granger doesn’t write you letters?" She'd added two more fingers to the one tracing lines down his denim-clad thigh, and he shifted uncomfortably but stayed where he was.
"She doesn't have to. I—we—me and Harry see her every day. But she writes me during the summer, once a wee—eek!" His last word ended in a high-pitched squeak as Pansy's tongue had begun to trace his earlobe. "What—I—no, you can't…"
"Anyone with two eyes and half a brain can see Granger wants you," she murmured, moving her lips to his neck. "And that you want her, too. But if you're too blind—or too stupid, which I suspect is the case—I'd be happy to take care of anything you might…need…"
Ron's mind was so blank with shock that he barely comprehended Pansy's first words. He tried to form some sort of response, but found that he couldn't summon up the energy to speak. Finally, Pansy's mouth had begun to place wet kisses up his jaw and chin. A mental picture of what he knew was about to happen flashed in his mind, and he made a face, pushing her off as he shot to his feet
"I—I've got to go, do some, uh…thing. Something. Inside…in uh, Gryffindor Tower." He scratched his neck awkwardly, and he could feel moisture where Pansy's mouth had been.
"Fine," she said, getting up as well. "Suit yourself." She sighed dramatically, a hint of her usual sarcasm creeping back into her voice, and raised an eyebrow. "Off to polish your broomstick on your own then?" He didn't answer, and ignored her pointed, knowing look. Instead, he walked away, leaving her standing behind him cool and unfazed by what had just happened. She had been about to snog him. He felt a mixture of intrigue and disgust.
Suddenly. Ron stopped and glanced over her shoulder. She was still watching him with a kind of unruffled indifference. "Pansy," he called out. He wasn't sure if she was still within reasonable earshot.
"Yeah?" she replied. She wasn't shouting, but Ron could hear her perfectly.
"Thanks." He turned again, leaving her behind for good this time. It wasn't the snogging he'd been referring to.
He knew she'd understand.