For a Pound of Flesh

Strolling up and down the gray, fluorescent lit halls of the hospital Hermione's mother was staying in after her knee surgery, Ron hummed to himself and thought of little. Missus Granger was being checked over by a Muggle healer and he, Hermione, and their kids had been shooed out for the examination. For a bit, they'd just sat in the chairs in the little waiting area down the hall from Missus Granger's room. But, then, Rose had asked for the loo and Hermione made the decision that Hugo would go with them to it. Ron had opted out of the trip in favor of a little walkabout to get the blood moving through his legs again.

He understood why Hermione wanted to spend all of the day here, hospitals were cold and uncomfortable enough with company. Having none at all just made a visit just unbearable. Ron would want to do the same if it were his mum at St. Mungo's, he knew, but that didn't mean he had to be happy with sitting down and making chitchat the whole time. A short romp around the floor seemed like a more than acceptable allotment for agreeing to accompany Hermione to see her mother.

Letting his gaze meander over the healer assistants and healers themselves as they darted to and fro from rooms, Ron had to stop suddenly when he caught sight of a familiar, if larger, hard-faced woman. Quickening his step, Ron cut in front of the familiar woman's path and asked, "Excuse me, but, Pansy?"

Her expression wasn't too different from that of a cornered rabbit.

Ron felt an elated smirk pull his lips upward. "Pansy? Pansy Parkinson?"

An angry furrow coming between her brows at his gloating tone, she hissed, "Sorry, no."

When she tried to pass him, Ron blocked her. He was far too excited by this curious development to just let her go on her merry way. "What are you doing here?" he questioned, trying to understand what Pansy Parkinson, of all people, was doing in muggle hospital. What was she even doing in England? The gossip mill of their world had said she'd moved to Australia years ago, after Draco Malfoy dumped her. Looking her up and down, Ron gasped. "Wait, you're dressed like a–"

"Stop!" she begged, a red, mortified flush crawling up her face. Looking down, she whispered, "I'm not – not… I'm not Pansy Parkinson, okay?"

Ron rolled his eyes. He was thick, not daft. Surely she knew she couldn't convince him of something that was true, especially when the evidence was right in front of him. "Yes, you are," he argued.

Irritation danced across her features at his insistence. Briefly, she dropped her gaze to the the dull laminate beneath their feet. Then, she lifted her head again, face determined. "Can you please step aside?" she asked. "I have to check in on a patient in the next room."

"Come on, Parkinson, I know it's you. Don't try and deny it! You don't look that different from when we were kids."

Lips parting into an ugly snarl, she hunched her shoulders in a way that reminded Ron of Crookshanks before he pounced. "Fine! I am Pansy Parkinson!" she conceded. Then, hands going to her wide hips, she growled, "You know what else, Ronald Weasley? I work here and I have a job I need to do! So, move aside!"

It was Ron's turn to blush. As much as he wanted to taunt the haughty Pansy for working in a muggle hospital, he didn't want to get in the way of her job, and, in turn, an innocent patient's health. "Uh, yeah, okay…" he mumbled, stepping aside.

Lifting her nose high in the air, Pansy passed him with a proud and perfunctory, "Hmph!"

Watching her walk away, backside swaying with her every step and shoulders squared, Ron scowled. She should be the last one of them to come out of their confrontation with her head held high! Hands balling into fists, Ron could only glare after her. But, suddenly, a wicked retort came to him. Cupping his mouth, he called, "Hey! Hey, Pansy!"

She paused, trying very hard to be casual as she looked over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed into little more than slits, she asked, "What, Weasley?"

Grinning broadly, he said, "How the mighty have fallen, aye?"

Pansy's lips quirked into a frown that wasn't entirely mean. "I'd watch it, if I were you, Weasley. That pedestal you're on is awfully small and precarious," she told him.

Once again beaten by superior acuity, Ron could only stand there and follow her with his eyes as she disappeared into a patient's room. Deciding it was best to head back to Missus's Granger's room a minute or so later, Ron tried to not let Pansy's last words bother him.

(Yet, even as he lay in bed later that night, he couldn't help but wonder if she knew something he didn't).

Shitty Muggle ballads playing in the background, Pansy did her best to concentrate at the task at hand: picking which brand of crisps to purchase. Debating between store-brand and name-brand, Pansy grabbed each from the shelf and eyed the ingredients of both before setting the name-brand back. The store-brand was nearly identical to the name-brand, but it was twenty percent cheaper. Tapping her foot impatiently, she looked left, wondering if she'd have to go see why her daughter was taking so long to pick valentines for her class's exchange.

However, before she could begin to walk in the direction of the seasonal aisle, a voice from behind said, "Hello."

Pansy tensed as she turned. Catching sight of a now all too familiar tall redhead beside her, she began through clenched teeth, "Oh, for the love of–"

But before Pansy could finish her exclamation, Weasley told her, "Hermione tasked me with running to the corner shop for some snacks for our kids. She said it's too expensive to be buying them at the hospital's gift shop."

She pursed her lips. Why did he think Pansy cared? Why was he even talking to her? When she could find no ready answers, Pansy sighed. "She's not wrong," she muttered, glancing sideways, hoping he'd catch the obvious hint she wanted him to leave her alone.

Where was Freesia?

Ron bobbed his head. Eyes meandering over her until they caught sight of Pansy's basket of items hanging at her side, he asked, "So, uh, are you done working or…?"

Pansy was done with this game. This was Ron Weasley, not an old friend! Crossing her arms to the best of her abilities, she hissed, "Weasley, would you just leave me alone?"

Predictably, his face grew red. He whined, "Hey! I was just trying to be polite!"

Glaring at him, Pansy took a step forward and snarled, "I don't care! Shove off!"

"Mum?" Freesia called.

Whirling around, Pansy felt her mouth grow dry. By Salazar! Why did her little girl have to show up now? With Weasley right here! Angrily stalking toward her daughter, she ripped the box of valentines from her hand and threw it in her shopping basket. Then, grabbing her daughter's chin, she forced the girl to meet her smoldering gaze. "Freesia! Why in Merlin's name did you take so long?" she demanded.

Her daughter just stared back at her, eyes wide and petrified. Pansy didn't blame her little girl in the slightest, it wasn't Freesia's fault she was getting yelled at, really. Yes, Pansy hated it when her daughter dawdled, but, normally, Pansy only made a smart remark about Freesia's pokiness. Never before had Pansy been so rough, so furious about it. Then again, never before had Pansy run into one of the magical world's heroes at a Muggle shop either.

"I-I-" Freesia began to stammer.

Saving her from having to come up with an answer, Weasley wheezed, "You have a daughter?"

Looking to the surprised man, Pansy barked, "Weasley, just leave!"

Fingers tugging at the hem of her sleeve, Freesia asked, "Mum, who's he?"

"Never mind you," Pansy said as she took hold of her daughter's wrist. "Let's just get in the queue."

As they passed him by, Pansy knew to tense when she saw the disgruntled frown darken his features. "It was nice to meet you Miss Parkinson!" Weasley called after them, tone sardonic.

Heart hammering away in her chest, Pansy was far from in control when she spun around, shoulders hunched in preparation for a fight, and fingers itching for a wand she'd long since stopped carrying on her. "DON'T TALK TO MY DAUGHTER, YOU FILTHY BLOOD-TRAITOR!" she screamed, drawing all of the store's attention to the three of them.

The box of sweets Weasley had been holding slipped from his stunned fingers and his maw gaped at them, tongue laying leaden and speechless in its confines. Breathing heavily, Pansy slipped her shopping basket from her arm and put it on the ground. Her and her daughter wouldn't ever be coming back to this store, she noted as she hurried them toward the exit.

Glancing behind her all the way home, Pansy only began to breath normally again once they were in the safety of their flat. Leaving her still stunned and mute daughter by the front door, Pansy hurried to the bathroom. Locking the door, she let her shaking knees give way as she slumped down into a heap on the ugly green tiles of the floor. There, she rocked back and forth, back and forth, and back and forth.

At first, Ron had been furious. Who did Pansy think she was? Yelling at him like! Especially when he was trying to be polite! But when his anger began to die, he started to connect the dots and realized why Pansy acted like she had. First, everyone (or, perhaps, almost everyone) believed she had moved to Australia years ago. Second, she worked as a healer's assistant in a muggle hospital. Pansy Parkinson, of all witches. Third, and, maybe, most importantly, she had a daughter. Ron had not only blown what might have been Pansy's cover, he'd found her working in what must be the most degrading place for such a proud pureblood to be and, finally, he discovered her secret: her daughter.

He hadn't been friends with her in school; in fact, Pansy had almost been as much a nemesis to him and his friends as Draco Malfoy once was. Pansy had also been a bigot (possibly still was, too, if the insult she'd shrieked at him was anything to go by) and, even worse, she attempted to sell out Ron's best friend during the Final battle. If anything, she must think he hates her. Which was sort of true. Ron did feel quite a bit of contempt for Pansy still. Despite his distaste for her, however, he couldn't stop the growing respect he felt for her. The way she'd protected her daughter from Ron (even if it wasn't necessary), was both valiant and very Gryffindor-esque. Two things a man like him couldn't help but take notice of and appreciate. Merlin, if it had been Pansy bothering him in a store and trying to talk to his daughter, Ron would have done the exact same thing!

And it was that very reason that had brought him back to the hospital Pansy worked at.

Seeing her approach the healer's assistants' desk, he pushed away from it and greeted softly, "Hi."

Halting, she stared straight at him, knuckles bone-white where they peaked around the clipboard she held in her hands. "What do I need to do to get you to leave me alone?" she demanded. "I can't scream at you here."

Ron chuckled and looked to his feet. "Actually, I wanted to apologize…" he said.

"To me?" she asked, sounding very surprised.

"Look, I've had a couple of days to think about everything and I realized I was in the wrong at the shop," he admitted, lifting his face to meet her gaze. "I wouldn't appreciate someone doing what I did to your daughter with either of my kids," he explained.

Relaxing ever so slightly, Pansy nodded. "Okay," she said.

"Okay is all you have to say?" he asked, surprised. The apology was going a lot better than he expected. He had feared she'd turn up her nose at it or mock him.

An ugly sneer overcame her features. "Oh, I'm sorry, do I need to gush about how wonderful you are for apologizing now?" Pansy questioned, sarcasm lacing her words like poison.

"No!" Ron exclaimed, eyebrows shooting toward his hairline. Why was she getting defensive now?

She crossed her arms and asked, "Then what else are you looking for from me?"

Why did he think he wanted more from her? What more could Ron possibly want from the likes of her, anyway? "Just forget it," he snapped, mood soured. Why ever did he think he ought to apologize to the likes of Pansy Parkinson? Of course she'd be so damn Slytherin-like about it all and believe he had ulterior motives! Of course she couldn't just see that Ron was being a proper adult and trying to right his mistake!

"Fine!" she replied, tone clipped and sharp.

Lifting a hand, he gave a sarcastic wave before stuffing it in his pocket. "Bye, Parkinson."

"Goodbye Weasley, may our paths never cross again," she called after his retreating back.

Not even looking back, Ron returned happily, "Agreed!"

Walking into the examination room that was so small that it might as well be a cubicle, Pansy stopped short at the sight of the mussed up man on the examination table. 'Oh goody,' she thought. Maybe she should just turn around now and ask Katie, who was in the next exam room with one of the doctors, to switch patients with her. But would Pansy really rather help treat a smelly homeless woman versus him? No, she would not. The homeless made her want to throw up.

Sighing, Pansy approached wearily and called, "Weasley?"

His head turned, eyes sparking with recognition at the sight of her. Grinning broadly, he exclaimed "Oh, hey! Hey Parkinson! What're you doin' here?"

Pansy frowned. "I work here, remember?"

His eyebrows furrowed comically as he tapped at his chin. "Uh… N–wait! Yeah! How about that?" he replied with a laugh.

Finally close enough to Weasley to catch a whiff of him, she sighed. Of course. "Are you pissed?" she demanded as she started to look him over for any obvious reason for him to be here.

"Noooo," he drawled.

Pansy let her hands fall to her side as she asked, "They put you in here to dry out, didn't they?"

Shaking his head wildly, Weasley all but shoved his freshly bandaged hand into her face. "My hand's hurt!" he told her. Then, pointing at it with his other, he said, "See? Bandaged an' bloody."

Reaching for a pair of gloves, Pansy pulled them on before she gingerly gripped Weasley's injured hand in her own for inspection."You're pissed and your hand's mangled? What did you hit? A wall?" she asked as she took in how most of the blood that stained the bandages was around his knuckles rather than toward his wrist or on the underside of his hand.

"Hitta window of someone's car," he told her. "It broke."

"I bet it did," Pansy mumbled as she went over her clipboard for Weasley. It seemed they wanted her to explain how to used the topical antibiotics they gave him for his hand and how to change the bandages. Weasley didn't need any of that. Once he sobered up, he could buy the necessary salves to fix it all himself. Instead, Pansy put the chart on the hook by the door and crossed her arms. "I'm surprised you're here at all. How did you end up at the hospital?" she asked.

"One of those yellow cars with the checkered stripe brought me!" he proclaimed, sounding almost proud of the feat.

Rolling her eyes, Pansy clarified by asking, "No, how'd you end up in the area?"

"Hermione an' I were at her mum's and we were fightin'. She kicked me out an' told me to go back home. I didn't. I went to a pub instead."

"This happened today?" Pansy questioned with a raised eyebrow.

It was Weasley's turn to roll his eyes as he sneered, "Duh, Parkinson."

Giving the injured hand a none too gentle squeeze, Pansy hissed, "Watch it, Weasel."

He made a plaintive noise and whispered, "I think she wants a divorce."

Pansy, for a moment, was left speechless. What was she supposed to say? I'm sorry Weasley? She wasn't sorry. No, in fact, she was rather glad it was now the brave, can-do-no-wrong, beloved, hero of the wizarding world that was in turbulence rather than her. If they were at a pub together, she'd have laughed in Weasley's face. But they weren't. They were at the hospital where she was expected to be polite, kind and sympathetic to patients (even if she hated their guts). So, Pansy did her best to make him feel better by saying, "You should thank your lucky stars, she always was a shrew."

Unfortunately, this had the opposite affect of what she had hoped on Weasley. Instead, he scowled."Oi! Shut up! That's my wife you're talkin' about!"

Ducking out of the way as he began to flail his hands around, Pansy argued, "I'm not wrong, though!"

"Take it back! Take it back!" he howled.

Worried that the racket Weasley was calling would draw the attention of doctors and nurses on either side of their room, Pansy shoved her hands over the man's face. "Okay! fine!" Pansy snapped. With fake saccharine and sincerity, she said, "Missus Weasley isn't a shrew."

Weasley nodded, falling silent for a few minutes.

Feeling confident that she could now take her hands from his lips, Pansy was pained to realize she couldn't quite bring herself to. His breath felt so warm on her skin; it made her want to lean in for even more. It was funny, Pansy thought. Usually, she could kill any desire and attraction she felt for her patients by simply reminding herself they were filthy muggles. Weasley, though, was a wizard just like her and pureblood to boot. It made her shiver in excitement. How long had she gone without touching a wizard in such an intimate fashion? Almost six years now…

Gently removing her hands from his face, Weasley whispered, "Ya know, I think she's been seein' someone else. There's this smarmy Italian guy in her department at the Ministry an' he and her have worked late together a lot these past couple months."

Pansy, again, was at a loss. At least this was a situation she could empathize with, though. Breaking up with someone was just an all around rotten business. Especially when you could see it coming, but knew there was nothing you could do to change it. "That's… I'm sorry to hear that, Weasley," she said.

Thinking back to her last boyfriend (and only one), Draco, she grudgingly allowed herself to admit, "At least Draco had the decency to break things off before he went out looking for a woman who was more 'compatible' with the 'new' him." Pulling herself up beside him on the examination table then, Pansy groused, "What a load of shite that was. Astoria is a little prude, not more progressive. It's a shame Draco wouldn't even look at her sister. Just because Daphne never had any qualms about snogging whoever she could get to follow her into empty classrooms doesn't mean she's a whore."

"Ha! Ha!" Weasley laughed.

A smiling ghosting across her own lips, Pansy asked, "Think that's amusing, do you? I'm sure you'll guffaw even more at what I can tell you about the Patil twins." Letting their knees knock together, she took private pleasure in their shared warmth as she told Weasley, "Our families knew each other a bit growing up. Did you know Padma's first kiss was with her cousin? She was ten and he twelve at the time. Isn't that just pathetic?"

Weasley's face twisted into one of disgust. "That's not funny! That's–It's–Yuck!" he spat. "I'dda never kissed any of my cousins. Not even if you paid me!"

Pansy sighed loudly. She should have known he would think it was abhorrent. "Why am I not surprised?" she asked in a sarcastic drawl.

"'Cause you know I got morals, unlike you," Weasley mumbled as he dropped his head onto her shoulder.

Pansy jumped at the surprisingly friendly touch. She knew she should shove him away; this was Weasley, after all. He was trash. The antithesis to everything she believed in. And, even more importantly, a patient. Yet… Sighing, she began to run her hand through his hair. "I don't think anything's all that wrong with it, honestly. It's just amusing to me that her cousin was her first kiss. You would think she could have done better than that. She's not hideous," she explained to Weasley.

Shifting them a little so his head rolled down to lay atop her chest, she began to scratch at the spot behind his ear. It was where Draco had always enjoyed being touched most. Looking down at Weasley, she asked, "Is it really that disgusting? Us purebloods have been marrying cousins and spawning heirs and heiresses with them for years. Though… You Weasleys are the black sheep of our kind, aren't you? What exactly do you teach your children? The opposite of what decent witches and wizards consider to be appropriate behavior?"

Weasley rolled his head around so that their gazes met. "I teach my kids everyone's human, not just witches an' wizards like them," he informed Pansy in a patronizing tone. Then, almost like he was actually curious, he inquired, "What do you teach your kid?"

Pansy had to look away from Weasley's surpisingly tantalizing blue eyes as she said, "What I was taught growing up. I make sure Free knows she's better than the girls she goes to school with, she's better than her teachers, our neighbors, and my coworkers, because, unlike them, she can do magic."

"People must hate you two," Weasley mumbled.

Pansy laughed, thinking about how often her daughter was invited to others students' homes and the way children cried when Freesia didn't invite them to her birthday party. Grinning proudly, she said, "Quite the contrary."

"Oh really?" he asked, disbelieving and studying her closely for falsehoods.

Letting her grin grow ever wider, Pansy informed Weasley, "Just because we know we are superior doesn't mean we flaunt it at every chance we have. Why would we? We're on top and everyone can tell just by the way we walk."

He smiled. "You sure are full of yourself."

Pansy brushed back Weasley's bangs and let her grin soften into a smile akin to his own. "So are you," she murmured. "Or, have you fallen off that pedestal of yours?" she asked in a whisper.

"Hey, are you superior in bed too?"

Startled by the question, Pansy sputtered, "What kind of question is that!"

A sad little frown starting at the corner of his lips, he said, "The kind a smashed, jilted, vengeful husband asks."

Pansy bit her lip. This was Ronald Weasley. He was trash by pureblood standards, a blood-traitor, and, on top of that, a Mudblood-fucker. It was thanks to him and his blasphemous beliefs that she was now forced to work in the Muggle world. It may have not been his fault she became pregnant, but it sure had been his and his damn people's fault she couldn't get a job after her parents kicked her out of her family's home. No one would hire her, the girl who had wanted to sell out Harry Potter to the Dark Lord for the safety of Hogwarts.

It was on the tip of Pansy's tongue to tell Weasley to bugger off, that she was not so far fallen that she'd fuck the likes of him, but, then, she began to think seriously about what having sex with Weasley would mean. He would come to his senses when he sobered up and realize what he'd done. He'd be ashamed, horrified, and scared. He'd want their affair to be kept quiet and pretend it never happened. Pansy was willing to bet he would do just about anything for her to buy her silence. A list of endless demands scrolling in front of her mind's eye, Pansy shivered in anticipation for what was to come.

"Oh, why not?" she said, trying to sound as if she was making her decision on a whim, rather than with the calculation that she had. Moving to straddle Weasley, she whispered into his ear, "This better be amazing, Weasley. I haven't shagged since Draco married his little goody-goody of a wife."

Thoughts on this odd pair fic? I got to say, it was quite a bit of fun. Perhaps even more so than Horace Slughorn and Aurora Sinistra. Though, I do fret a little about Ron scenes. He's not a character I empathize with easily and I fear he might come off as a little OOC. What do you all think?

Thank you guys for reading and pretty please review :)