Disclaimer: I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to have way more fun with her characters than she'd ever approve of.
Fine Print
by Scribe Teradia
Ron sipped champagne and took another look around the room, wondering how long Hermione expected him to stay for this farce. After six years of panting after her like a lovesick puppy, she'd decided they needed a 'break' and took off for a year to 'find herself'. What she'd found was some snarky Australian wizard that she'd brought home to marry, then expected him to not only be happy about it but to accept Geoff's invitation to be one of the groomsmen. It was a slap in the face, but he'd gone along with it because he'd wanted to show her that he was more mature than she thought he was, that he'd grown up, that he'd changed. Too bad she only had eyes for the groom.
"Not much of a party, is it?"
Ron grimaced, downing the rest of the champagne in his glass before turning and forcing a smile. "Parkinson. What are you doing here?" She looked good, but then that was no surprise; Pansy Parkinson had been a fashion plate even before Hogwarts, and nothing about that had changed. The dark green dress looked good on her, flattering her minimal curves and showcasing her long, shapely legs. He remembered she'd always had great legs, though he'd never admit that he'd secretly admired those legs for years.
"I was invited, just like you." She waved a hand to indicate the gathering, and he noticed that her nails were painted a deep red colour, the same shade as the lipstick on her mouth. Her presence made him uncomfortable in a way Ron didn't like to think about, maybe because he no longer had the boundaries of House rivalry to hide behind, and Pansy was an attractive woman who occasionally found it entertaining to flirt with him. "Wouldn't have expected to see you being so congratulatory, though. What is that, your third glass?"
"Fourth," he replied. Looking away from her proved to be a mistake, as his eyes sought Hermione out of habit and were rewarded with the sight of her kissing her new husband. He grimaced again and moved to set his glass down on the tray of a passing waiter, replacing it with a new one that he drained half of before looking back at Pansy. "Fifth, now."
"How much time are you going to waste wishing you were him?"
Ron's jaw tightened, and he didn't answer her question, instead turning his head to find Harry... kissing Ginny. Augh. "Go away, Parkinson."
"Aren't you tired of always coming in second?" The question made his throat burn, and his free hand slid into the pocket of his robes, curling into a fist. "Second-best is a hell of a place to be, Ron. I should know, I've been there."
His hand tightened, but still he said nothing, because if he started talking he didn't think he'd be able to stop, and he'd rather not make a fool of himself at his ex-girlfriend's wedding. He took a calming breath, let it out, and took another, before he finally felt calm enough to say something. "What do you want, Parkinson?"
She stepped around him, into his line of sight, into his personal space. "Come work for me. For us. NottCo could benefit from someone with your... expertise." Her lips curved in a smirk as she said the words, and the expression was sexy as hell on her.
Ron made a face, shaking his head. "Sorry, I'm allergic to evil."
Her laugh was soft, sultry, and made his trousers feel too tight. Ron was glad the dress robes hung loose over his trousers, because they felt even tighter when she reached into the top of her dress and pulled out a business card. A little voice in his head wondered what else she kept in there, and what he'd have to do to find out. She pressed the card into his hand, reaching up with her other hand to touch his cheek, and in spite of himself he could feel his eyes going wide. "Contrary to popular belief, most of what we do at NottCo is perfectly legal and above-board."
He took hold of her hands and pulled them down, stepping away from her before letting go. "Thanks, but no thanks."
That might have been the end of it, except that Hermione picked that exact moment to turn up on his other side. Ron was surprised that he hadn't noticed her coming over, and when she asked him to dance with her he nodded and let her pull him onto the floor, though he didn't feel the usual thrill at having her close to him again. "What did Pansy want?" she asked.
Ron blinked and looked down at her, frowning. "Offered me a job, why?" All the things that had been left between them, and she skipped over everything to focus on Pansy? It made no sense, but then he'd always felt like he was playing catch-up whenever Hermione was on a tear about something, so really it was just par for the course.
"You aren't going to take it, of course." The way she said it, it wasn't a question, wasn't even really a statement of fact, it was more of an order, and his temper flared to life at the words.
"I might," he replied, congratulating himself for the cool and even tone he used.
"Ron, you can't possibly be thinking about going to work for those people!"
What made the whole thing seem so surreal was that they were still dancing. He let go of her, his jaw tight with anger. "It's not as if that's really your business any more, is it?"
"Ronald." Her eyes flashed with fury at his dismissal, and there was a time he'd have wanted to kiss her breathless at that expression; now it just irritated him.
"We're done, Hermione. Go play house with your new Aussie playmate." He turned his back on her, crossing the room to where Pansy was standing, champagne glass in hand, watching him. "I won't do anything illegal," he told her.
"Of course not," she replied, the smirk back on her face. "Does this mean you've reconsidered my offer?"
"When can I start?"
"Come by my office Monday. Bring your CV."
* * *
By Monday morning, Ron was having second thoughts, and not just because practically everyone he knew had spent Sunday trying to talk him out of his imminent career change. The corporate offices of NottCo were located in the Muggle business district of London, along the waterfront, and the second he entered the lobby he realized he had no idea what he was getting into. Classy and elegant and reeking of wealth and power, right down to the young woman seated behind the desk, it was a far cry from the Ministry's entrance foyer, and he cleared his throat nervously before stepping up to the desk.
"Erm, Ronald Weasley to see Miss Parkinson?" He wasn't at all sure if it was the appropriate thing to do, but this was the first he'd actually been in the building, though various Aurors had been investigating the company for years.
The young woman consulted a parchment, then nodded and waved toward the doors at the far end of the room. "Of course, Mr. Weasley. You'll want the third lift from the end, on the right, it'll take you right up. I'll let her know you're here."
"Thank you." He managed, somehow, not to squeak, but it was a near thing. The lift was large enough to hold a couple dozen people comfortably, the class and elegance extended to its interior, and there were only two buttons, which took him by surprise.
When the lift doors opened to reveal a posh office with a view overlooking the river, Ron knew for sure he was in over his head, especially when he caught sight of Pansy, leaning against the desk and smiling at him. She was wearing a skirt and blazer in matching black, and what he could see of the blouse beneath it was a pale green, and all he could think about in that first thirty seconds was how long it would take to get her out of all of that and bend her over the desk. Her smile widened, and he had the absurd thought that she'd somehow read his mind before she said, "Good morning, Ron."
"Parkinson." To his horror, his voice cracked, and Ron cleared his throat before stepping out of the lift, allowing the doors to close behind him.
She tsked at him, pushing away from the desk and walking toward him, and he was fascinated by the way her hips moved. He knew the swaying was probably due to the three-inch heels she wore, but it didn't make it any less fun to watch her, however wrong he knew it was. "If we're going to be working together, you really should think about calling me Pansy."
"Erm, sure. Pansy." His voice was cracking on every other syllable, and he tried to rein in his libido, but he had a feeling it was a lost cause. "What is it you do here, anyway?"
"Me, in particular?" Her eyes were a golden-green colour, and he was fairly sure he'd never actually seen that shade on a person before, though it was fairly common to cats. Thinking of cats in relation to Pansy proved to be a mistake, though, and he pulled at his collar, trying to loosen it somewhat while still leaving it buttoned. "Or the company?"
"You." He had a fair idea of what the company did, Hermione had been part of the original task force assigned to digging into NottCo's affairs, and he remembered quite vividly her complaining about not finding anything.
"Officially, I'm the Senior Vice-President of NottCo," she replied. She ran a hand down his tie, then gave it a tug, her smile turning into that sexy smirk again. "Which is really just a fancy way of saying I'm Theo's second in command. If you decide to take our offer, to work for us, you'll be reporting directly to me." She smoothed his tie against his shirt, then stepped back to look up at him. "That won't be a problem, will it?"
Her close proximity was scrambling his brain, or maybe that was just the smell of her perfume kicking his hormones into overdrive. Either way, it took him a minute to come up with a suitable reply, "Won't be the first time I've taken orders from a woman."
She laughed, and it was the most gorgeous thing he'd heard in weeks. There was no pretense to her laughter, nothing fake or phony, with her eyes half-closed and her head tilted back, and something inside of him snapped and he leaned down and kissed her.
Her laughter cut off abruptly, and for a moment he thought he'd made a terrible mistake, but then she was sliding her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him and kissing him back, and he knew he'd sign anything he had to if it meant he could do this more often. The heels added enough height that he didn't have to bend too far to kiss her, and the she was warm and soft against him, her lips parting against his, inviting him to deepen the kiss. She tasted of cinnamon and coffee, smelled of something fragrantly floral, and when she rocked her hips against his he groaned into her mouth.
It was with reluctance that he finally let go of her, panting, and he almost lost control all over again when he looked at her: eyes wide and slightly glassy with desire, cheeks flushed, looking precisely as though she'd just been thoroughly kissed. "What," he began, only to have his voice crack mid-word. He cleared his throat and tried again, "What is it you're wanting me to do?"
"Other than bend me over the desk and fuck me?" The breathless tone of her voice combined with her words had him reaching for her again with a growl. Her hands tangled in his hair as his mouth descended on hers, teeth and tongues clashing wildly, and his hands slid down her back to cup her backside, lifting and pulling her closer.
"Fuck, Pansy," he groaned, wrenching his mouth away from hers as she ground her hips against him.
"I sure as hell hope so, Ron," she purred in reply, her breath warm against his ear. Her fingers undid his tie, then worked on the buttons of his shirt, fingernails just barely grazing the skin of his chest. "But first, there's the matter of your contract."
"C-contract?" Ron was having trouble forming words, his head was swimming with the smell of her perfume and the feel of her hands on his skin. "What contract?"
"It's a standard employment contract," she replied, and his hips jerked in response to her wickedly purring voice. "Just a tiny formality, in the grand scheme of things, but I'm afraid I really must insist." Her teeth grazed the side of his neck, and his eyes closed as he moaned.
"Where do I sign?" Any second thoughts he'd had were gone, swept away by the haze of lust she induced in his head, and frankly he couldn't be happier.
She took his hand, tugging him toward the desk, and he opened his eyes again, noticing for the first time the parchment on the desk. He knew he should read it, knew he shouldn't trust her, had sat through countless lectures about contracts and binding spells, but he'd already made up his mind that he wanted her, and if signing a scrap of parchment would make it happen, he was game. Even the delicate silver knife sitting next to the thing didn't register as a Bad Thing, even though it was a sure sign that he was in too deep. "Do you want to read it?" she asked, picking up the blade with fingers that he could still practically feel on his skin.
"No." He barely felt the prick of the knife as it nicked his palm, and he pressed his hand against the pachment, his other hand fisting in her hair and pulling her to him for another kiss. She moaned into his mouth, her fingernails scratching at his chest in her frantic haste to finish undressing him, and he wasted no time in testing the strength of her garments. The sound of fabric tearing was music to his ears, followed rapidly by her desk being hastily cleared with a broad sweep of his arm. She was every bit as soft beneath her clothes as he'd imagined, and as much as he wanted to explore every inch of that softness with his hands and mouth, he'd been too long without a woman's touch, and he could smell that she was ready for him, had felt the dampness of her knickers when he'd ripped them off.
He bent her backwards over the desk, his hands on her thighs, and groaned as he entered her with a hard thrust of his hips. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her fingernails scratching at his arms, and she bared her teeth at him in challenge. His hands slid up to her hips, holding her in place, and he grinned in satisfaction at the sound of her breath being driven out of her with the force of his movements. Pansy was a strong woman, sexy and powerful and a consummate professional, and the fact that he could draw such gasps and whimpers and moans from her was almost as pleasurable as the feel of her around him, slick and wet and just tight enough to make every stroke bliss. It wasn't long before she was crying out his name, arching off the desk and clenching around him, and he came with a shout, catching himself with one hand so he didn't collapse completely atop her, his head against her shoulder.
Pansy's fingers sifted through his hair, stroked his neck and shoulders and back, and finally touched his face, gently. "Welcome to NottCo," she murmured, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "I always knew you'd be a valuable corporate asset." One hand moved to pinch his backside, and he growled, raising up enough to look down at her. She leaned up and kissed him, her lips curved in a smile against his. "Shall we go break in your desk next?"
* * *
Ron settled into his new role as NottCo's head of security remarkably easy. He had no illusions that what he had with Pansy was anything other than incredible sex, but after so long of not even having that with Hermione, it was a welcome change. While he was not a part of the inner circle of the people who ran the company, he was still aware, on a daily basis, that he was not just another expendable name on a desk, and for the first time in his life he found himself doing something that felt worthwhile at the end of the day.
He should have known Hermione wouldn't let it last.
Six months into her marriage, she walked in on her new husband bare-arsed with Ron's older brother Charlie, according to Ginny, who apparently felt it was her job to fill Ron in on the news. The inevitable scandal led to an even more inevitable and terrifically messy divorce, and two weeks after that Harry called Ron to let him know that Hermione had reopoened the NottCo file and was headed that way.
He found her in Pansy's office, prim and prissy as ever in her Auror's robes, her face flushed with temper. Pansy was seated in her desk chair, looking mildly amused and absolutely fuckable in her trim and fashionable skirt suit. Ron made a subtle adjustment to his stride as he crossed the room to stand next to her. "Is there a problem, Miss Granger?"
"Stay out of this, Ronald," she snapped at him, though she didn't look away from Pansy. "It's none of your business."
"First of all, Miss Granger, you may address me as Mr. Weasley, so long as you're here in an official capacity." That got her attention, and Ron had to fight to hide a smirk at her shocked expression. "Secondly, I have to inform you that it is my business, as head of security here at NottCo, and Miss Parkinson's personal bodyguard."
"Bodyguard?" Hermione scoffed. "You?"
"We're done, Granger," Pansy said, waving a dismissive hand. Ron rested his hand on her shoulder briefly, a possessive gesture that had Hermione's eyes widening further before he dropped his hand and stepped around the desk.
"Unless you have a writ - and I'm assuming you don't because you'd have produced it by now - I suggest you leave." Ron folded his arms over her chest and allowed himself the smirk. "Come back without one, and I really will throw you out of the building."
"You wouldn't dare," she hissed, taking a step back.
"Feel free to test that theory," he replied blandly, still smirking. "Now get out. Miss Parkinson has clients to see."
She huffed in anger, but she left, and he waited for the door to close before turning back to Pansy, who made a come-hither gesture to beckon him closer. "Merlin, that was fucking hot, watching you stand up to her like that," she purred, standing up and leaning over the desk to allow him a glimpse down her blouse.
He was across the room and around her desk in three steps, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her against him. "Felt good, too. But not as good as you do."
Her hands tugged his shirt free of his trousers and then slid beneath it, her fingers finding and toying with his nipples. "I'll feel even better bent over the desk."
Ron groaned, his hips bucking against her. "I'm supposed to have a meeting in five minutes."
"Not any more," she murmured, into his ear, nipping at his earlobe before turning and pressing a button on her desk. "Millie, clear my schedule for the afternoon, and that of Mr. Weasley."
"You can do that?" he asked, surprised. "Just like that?"
"Part of your contract," she replied, turning back to him and winding her arms around his waist. "In the fine print, clause thirteen. You're my very own corporate asset." He wasn't entirely sure what to make of that, but then she leaned up to kiss the side of his neck and purred, "Take me home, Ron. And then take me." Corporate asset, Pansy's property... he was pretty sure he could live with that.
The End
Author's Note: SerapimeRising made a request for an evil Ron/Pansy, and here it is. I rather like the idea of Pansy corrupting Ron to 'the dark side', and I'm reusing the idea of Theo's corporation as overall force for evil that I've used in previous fics because it works. Love it? Hate it? Review and tell me why!!