AU! EWE.

Warnings: mention of suicide, sex-work, and implied sexual content but nothing descriptive or M-rated.

WRITTEN FOR IWSC, SEASON 3

Beauxbatons: Inequality

Year 6

Special Rule: (platonic/romantic pairing) Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson

Word Count: 3380

Mandatory Prompt:

(object) an ill-fitting bra

Additional Prompts:

(word) worse

(event) burglary

Unlocking the door, Pansy entered the house and shut it behind her with a loud thwack. She grimaced as she reached up to tug on her bra strap. It had been annoying her ever since she had got her breasts enlarged, and the bra didn't fit her anymore. She would have bought something more suited for her frame, but according to her manager, the tighter the bra, the more cleavage she'd have. Which meant more customers.

If Pansy had had her way, she would have been married to some rich and dumb pureblood by now, but life—or more importantly, the Ministry—had other plans for her.

When the Golden Trio and the Light won the war against Voldemort six months ago, the Ministry had done their best to uncover all the Death Eaters or the purebloods who had supported the Dark Lord financially. Then, the Ministry began imposing taxes, fines, and confiscating all their assets.

Pansy's family had been one of the unlucky ones who had been stripped of their wealth, and soon after, they had been thrown out on the streets with not even a penny to their name.

Pansy's mother had committed suicide by jumping off a bridge, leaving her husband and daughter to fend for themselves in an unwelcoming world.

None of Pansy's old friends and classmates had wanted anything to do with her—possibly because they were either dealing with the same situation as her or because they really wanted nothing to do with the girl who had tried to give Harry Potter, their Saviour, to the Dark Lord at the first chance she got.

Draco was biding his time away in Azkaban, imprisoned, and Blaise had fled to Italy with his mother.

Pansy's father had done his best to find a rich heiress and marry her, but the woman hadn't wanted anything to do with Pansy. Therefore, Pansy's father had abolished all his rights to Pansy and left her with only his last name. Pansy was abandoned to the will of the streets, hopeless, penniless, and heartbroken.

With one single, almost thoughtless, action, Pansy had forfeited all her privileges, and she had no one else to blame but herself. If only she hadn't tried to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, maybe her life would have been better at the moment.

"Well, life can't get any worse, can it?" Pansy muttered to herself as she looked at the sorry state of her studio flat.

The walls were painted and stained dirty mustard, which was peeling in several places. Pansy's lone mattress lay in the corner, and a fluid-stained, second-hand couch and table—that wobbled every time Pansy touched it—were the only other pieces of furniture in the flat. A single lightbulb—which refused to work—hung overhead from a twisted cord, and moonlight streamed in through the grimy window behind the couch. The neighbourhood children had been playing cricket a few days ago, shattering the windowpane, and Pansy hadn't been able to get it fixed yet. It made her angrier than usual as she didn't have the money to fix mistakes caused by careless children.

Just then, a rat scuttled past her feet towards the little kitchenette on the left, but Pansy didn't even flinch as she would have had in the past. She was used to the rodent infestation in her building.

Pansy kicked off her high heels, hobbled over to the couch, and dropped onto it, pulling her legs up to massage the insoles of her feet. For the millionth time since she had been cast out of the wizarding world, she wished the Ministry hadn't forbidden her from casting any spells.

That was the worst part. Living without magic. Pansy had never liked Muggles, and living like the worst of them only made her loathe them more.

Pansy also hated her jobs; it still amazed her that she required more than one to survive. Her so-called professions. She was practically a prostitute, for Merlin's sake! She spent her days adhering to her manager's rules and pleasing the high-class Muggle men who came looking for some 'fun', and her nights were spent in the local bar as the headliner, dancing and stripping for dodgy Muggles.

Because she was on the petite side, her manager had loaned her some money to get her breasts enlarged, claiming men preferred small women with large 'assets.' Pansy had wanted to hex the man so badly, but unfortunately, she needed the money and had no way of doing magic without alerting the Ministry. She hadn't had the courage to punch him either.

The jobs paid well enough, but she had to pay the Ministry's taxes and other official matters she had never really understood (not that the Ministry made the system easy to understand). The rest of her money disappeared almost magically into necessities like rent, electricity and water bills; she was left with nothing to spend on herself… or her house.

Pansy was still musing on how her life had turned out when she heard a low creaking sound from behind. She turned her head and saw the window slowly sliding up.

A man's hand came in view.

Her heart jumped into her throat, and her hands began to sweat. She shot off the couch and hurried to the kitchenette to grab something to defend herself with. Although she couldn't find anything large enough, she found a small iron pan left behind by the previous owners. Quickly picking it up, she snuck over to the dark corner beside the window and waited with bated breath.

The man placed his hand on the windowsill and heaved himself through. He swayed on his feet, and the scent of alcohol permeated the air around him. Pansy couldn't see his face in the darkness, but she could make out a small mole on the side of his neck.

The man staggered towards the couch and stumbled over his feet. He fell down with a loud thud, and he whispered to himself, "Shh, you'll get caught!"

Pansy frowned at how stupid the drunk burglar was. Who on earth came to steal something but didn't wear gloves? Or, at the very least, hide his face? Either this was the first time the man had broken into a house, or he was just too overconfident in his skills.

As Pansy watched the man from the shadows, she realised it was more likely the former rather than the latter.

The man crawled around in the darkness, headbutting the table and falling over Pansy's heels. Pansy wondered what the man wanted to steal from her. She had nothing to her name, no real possessions, nothing. The only valuable thing she had on her was her expensive—yet ill-fitting—bra. Her dress wasn't even her own; it belonged to one of the women she worked with.

The man hummed under his breath as he rifled through Pansy's purse before he stopped and sat upright, her work ID in his hand. "What in Merlin's name…"

Pansy heard the swear, and her heart fell. Although her address was listed in the Ministry, she had never wanted anyone from the wizarding world to see her pitiful conditions, and now, this wizard—whoever he was—had seen her flat. There was no way she could let him leave.

Quickly formulating a plan, Pansy crept up behind the man, who was still trying to find something—anything, really—valuable in her purse. She swung the saucepan back and was about to whack him upside the head when the man whirled around and looked at her.

The moment she recognised him, her eyes widened. "You?" Pansy blurted out, shocked beyond belief.

Out of everyone in the wizarding world, she had not expected to see Ron Weasley. She absentmindedly reached up to adjust her bra again, grimacing as the underwire poked at her ribcage.

Ron's eyes roved drunkenly over Pansy's form before landing on her chest. A goofy smile formed on his face as he said, "Your breasts remind me of Mount Rushmore. My face should be among them."

And with that terrible pickup line, Ron's fate was sealed.

Pansy swung her pan back and slammed it against Ron's temple. He went down with a loud thud and was out like a light. Pansy scowled down at him and grumbled, "That's what you get for that line, Weasley."

She dropped the pan beside him and wondered what she should do with him. She couldn't Obliviate him, and she couldn't let him leave the flat to tell the rest of his precious friends either. The horror of that situation caused a shiver of fear to run up and down her spine. That would be even worse than death!

Pansy shook her head, trying to get rid of the thoughts that filled her with fear. She decided there was only one thing left for her to do.

When Ron woke up, he found himself sitting on a mattress, his hands tied over his head. There was a shrill ringing in his ears, and his head was pounding as if something heavy had hit it. And his head? Oh, that hurt worse than a Bludger injury.

Ron grunted and tugged on the ropes, trying to flail around to escape his restraints, but he was unable to.

"Oh, good. You're awake," Pansy said. "I was beginning to think I had killed you."

Ron looked up to find her standing a few feet away dressed in a sequined red dress that barely covered her thighs. Her hair was curled and elaborately coiffed, and her smokey black makeup was done to absolute perfection.

"What—" Ron swallowed when Pansy began to move closer to him. "What are you doing?" he cried out, furious at being captured.

A slow and seductive smile formed on Pansy's lips. She slowly straddled his lap, pressing her chest up against him. "What were you doing in my flat?" she purred, running her fingers lightly over his arms.

"Let me go, Parkinson! I'm not telling you anything!" Ron barked, wriggling around in an attempt to push her away.

Pansy pressed her lips to the shell of his ear and whispered, "Tell me, Ron… and I might reward you for it."

Ron's mind was awhirl with inappropriate images, but he shook his head to clear it. This was the same Pansy who had made his life a living hell. I shouldn't be attracted to her! "I'm not telling you anything!"

Pansy, for her part, didn't stiffen. Instead, she hummed and reached her hands up to run her fingers through his hair. Tugging on his strands, she bit his earlobe, causing Ron to gasp audibly at the sensation. In her soft lilting voice, she whispered, "Do you want me to call the Muggle Aurors?"

A whimper escaped Ron's lips when Pansy dragged her nose down the side of his neck. He didn't feel her smirk, but he did feel her nails gently grazing his shoulders. "Fine... You tried to… to hand Harry to Vol… Voldemort," he said, his chest heaving as all sorts of emotions coursed through him. "I thought it'd be a good idea to—"

"To what? Break into my house? Steal something?" Pansy asked, suddenly pulling away and scowling at him. The sight immediately put Ron at ease as it was something he was used to seeing; it was the seductive look on her face that had put him on edge.

"Wreck it, actually..." If his hands had been free, he would have scratched the back of his neck, but he just awkwardly gestured with his tied hands.

"What did you learn from this little… outing of yours?" Pansy's voice was saccharine-sweet once again, and Ron swallowed the lump in his throat when she leaned forward. He didn't know what she was up to, but he had a feeling it wasn't anything good… for him.

Ron remembered the pathetic condition of her flat and blurted out, "That you're even more broke than we used to be?"

Pansy scowled, glaring at him defensively. "I can't let you tell anyone what you saw. I'll need an Oath from you before I let you go."

"Isn't that a bit… unnecessary?" Ron didn't see the need to give her an Oath. Her secret wasn't that big, was it? Wait, yes, it was. If he'd been back at Hogwarts, he would have definitely wanted to spread the gossip about her financial status. But he wasn't. He was more mature now.

"Either you give me your Oath, or you stay here tied up for the rest of your life," Pansy threatened, and then, her tone became almost playful as she dragged her finger slowly down his cheek. "Maybe you'd like that, huh, Weasley?"

Ron inhaled sharply before he said, "How about a compromise? You tell me how you ended up like… this… and I'll make the Oath."

Pansy pursed her lips, obviously disgruntled by the option, but she nodded. "Very well."

She began to regale him with her woeful tale, and Ron listened, exclaiming and crying out in protest every few seconds.

Ron didn't say anything after she was done. Instead, he simply gave her his Oath to not tell anyone about her situation, and when Pansy untied him, he left without another word.

After revealing her secret, a burden was lifted off Pansy's shoulders, and she was able to breathe in relief. She had never told anyone about her parents' actions, and though it was Ron Weasley she had revealed her secrets to, she felt surprisingly better. And she hadn't cried through her story either, which was a big plus in her books.

Despite the Oath, Pansy was still on edge for the rest of the week. She kept on looking over her shoulder to see if she was being followed, searching for signs that Weasley had broken his promise. On a subconscious level, she was aware that he would lose his magic if he revealed her secret to anyone, but Pansy didn't trust anyone.

It was only two weeks after the 'Incident'—as she liked to call it—that Pansy found herself walking down the street towards her flat, returning from work.

That damn bra was pinching at her skin again, and she wanted nothing more than to whip it off and tear it into shreds. But unfortunately, it was one of her few bras that her manager actually liked. Pansy gritted her teeth as she subtly tried to stop the blasted thing from riding up.

She entered her building and walked up the stairs to her flat. The moment she unlocked her door, a scream of terror escaped her lips. For in the middle of her flat stood Ron Weasley holding an armload of shopping bags. He dropped them at her scream and whirled around to face her.

"It's just me!" he cried, running over to her. "Stop screaming!"

Pansy screamed louder just to spite him. Ron placed his hand on her mouth and scowled. She scowled back at him and pulled away. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"Your window is still broken," he admitted, running his fingers through his hair. "Anyway, I'm here with a few things for your flat, and..."

White-hot fury coursed through Pansy as the buffoon kept on talking about the groceries he had picked up and the clothes he had bought for her. Pansy lost her composure and roared, "How dare you think I'm a charity case in need of your help? Do you think I'm a damsel in distress? You can take your pity and shove it up your ar—"

"I don't think you're a charity case," he said, interrupting her. His face turned red as he raised his voice a little. "I know how it feels to be poor—when you can't afford anything, and—"

"You're still pitying me, and I will not be pitied by the likes of you," Pansy snapped, storming over to him. She poked him in the chest and snarled, "Just because you found out my secret doesn't mean we're the best of friends and will be skipping off into the sunset holding hands!"

Ron's eyes widened at her words, and his face reddened even more. "I was just trying to help you—"

"I don't need your help," Pansy growled, poking his chest after every word. "My life sucks, but I don't need you to come in here and be the hero and make my life even worse! I'd rather eat a toad!"

"Well, I'd rather kiss you," Ron snapped. And suddenly, without any warning, he grabbed her waist, yanked her up against his chest, and kissed her.

It wasn't a soft kiss at all. It was all teeth and tongues and harsh smacks of their lips. Pansy furiously tugged on his hair, attempting to pull him closer, and Ron relented to her demands. Their breaths mingled, and Pansy could smell a hint of Firewhisky on his breath. He seemed to have been drinking again.

Pansy didn't care. It had been so long since someone—who wasn't paying her—had kissed her with such passion, and she was going to make the most of it.

Ron's hands tightened around her waist, and he dragged her up against his torso, agonisingly slow. Pansy let out a throaty moan when his kisses became even more hurried and desperate.

Soon, they were falling backwards onto Pansy's mattress, and Ron's hands were tugging on her bra. The moment he was about to unlatch the hook, Pansy was hit with the realisation that she was undeserving of his attention.

She shoved him away, and at first, Ron didn't understand. But when Pansy rolled away from him and sat upright, her arm covering her chest, Ron understood something was wrong.

When he prompted her, Pansy lowered her gaze and whispered, "We can't do this. I may be an escort and a stripper, but I draw the line at being someone's other woman. I have no time for drama and—"

"Who said anything about you being the other woman? Are you talking about Hermione?" Ron asked, bewildered. When Pansy nodded shakily, he said, "She and I are just friends. She's more interested in dating intellectual men who she says can have actual conversations with her… Do you think I would be here with you if I didn't genuinely want to be?"

"I don't know…" Pansy trailed off when Ron cupped her face and kissed her. He seemed more confident than ever before, and Pansy was ashamed to say that she liked it. It felt so forbidden.

"I think it's unfair of the Ministry to punish you for crimes you didn't even commit. It was your father's fault for supporting the Death Eaters, but he left you alone to fend for yourself… In these past few months, I've done a lot of growing up after… Fred's death… and I know the Ministry messed up. Again. And because I can't tell anyone due to the Oath, I can't stand up for you out there. But at least, I can show you that I care, right?"

"But why would you want to? I mocked you, taunted you… I even tried to hand Potter over—"

"Because I don't believe you're evil. The past is in the past, and I know you're not as… insensitive as you pretend to be." He looked like he really believed what he was saying, and Pansy wondered when he had matured so much. The Ron Weasley she knew back at Hogwarts would have laughed, mocked, jeered, and ridiculed her for her conditions. The Ron Weasley she knew would never have dared to kiss her.

"You don't think I'm a… charity case?"

"If you want, you can pay me back," Ron said with a light shrug. His eyes shone with something Pansy couldn't name.

"I… I don't have any money," she whispered, ashamed.

"This isn't about payment. Just let me be your friend. But if you want to include a couple of kisses from time to time, I wouldn't mind," Ron whispered, stroking her cheek. "And maybe… one day, I'll buy you a better bra. Because that thing has to be killing you!"

Pansy couldn't help but giggle and wrap her arms around his shoulders. As Ron's lips met hers, Pansy thought, 'Maybe this is the point where my life takes a turn for the better.'