Written for the SortingHatDrabs Live Journal Community. We had 48 hours to write a ficlet less than 400 words, Ron/Pansy, and dealing with detention. Disclaimer: (c) 2007 Rabble Rouser/Harmony_bites. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior written permission from the author. This is an amateur nonprofit work, and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by Rowling or any other lawful holder.
Sorting Things Out
When I saw Ron Weasley come through the door to my office, I could tell he was furious from the lovely puce colour from his cheeks to ears. I gave him the smile that made even my Slytherins go ice cold-or so they must given how they freeze. Hufflepuffs seem to go to water given how their knees buckle.
"Mr Weasley, I'll hand it to you for nerve. Even Lucius Malfoy didn't dispute detentions for his son. Yet here you are-"
"It's Christmas hols, and you're not keeping Rosie back to even the score, Parkinson."
"Miss Weasley is serving detention because she and a knot of her cronies snuck into Gryffindor Tower and hexed James Potter, giving him a baboon's arse and a donkey's ears."
"That's why you gave her detention?"
"No, I gave her detention because she was caught. Sloppy of her. Personally, I think she wanted to be caught. She doesn't want to go home for hols. Why might that be?"
The breath went out of him then, and he sank into the chair by my desk with a thunk.
"Her mother and I just filed for divorce and…."
"And," I said softly, "she was sorted into Slytherin and for some reason she thinks that's a disgrace." I stared unblinking at him. "Any reason she should think that?"
He glared back. "None. She's my blood, my family. I don't care what House she's in."
"Tell your cousin Malfada that. Of course, that's so long overdue the account is closed there. So you might want to tell your daughter instead, before it cankers." I wrote out a pass, then handed it over to him. "She can serve the balance of her detention time after the hols. But you shouldn't be here nevertheless. Parents don't interfere at Hogwarts. She's mine, and whatever you might think of Slytherins, we take care of our own."
At his grimace, I sneered at him and said, "if you want to convince your daughter she hasn't grown horns, you might want to work on your expression whenever the word 'Slytherin' is spoken."
I rose then and grabbed my cloak from the back of my chair; he surprised me by helping me put it on.
"You're not what I expected, Parkinson."
"I grew up. Sometimes that happens."
The End.