A/N: This story is dedicated to the admin mods on Fb's Dark Arts Society - the lovely Talon, Klawdee, and Brianna - whose Free-For-All Friday polka dot prompt today inspired me to make the Percy/Pansy naughty note exchange aesthetic that went on to inspire this story, and to HwaetWeGardena, whose fancast of Taylor LaShae in Dark Daddy WHO? inspired me to go with Pansy in polka dots for the art, and to meditationsinemergencies, frumpologist, and photon zero-infinity who asked for a fic when I posted the polka dot pretty.
I don't know when I'll finish the story or how many chapters it will be, and the story is unbeta'd.
"Percy Weasley, I swear to Merlin, if you don't get the fuck out of my way, I will wandlessly castrate you." Pansy was already running behind schedule, and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot was going to chastise her again if she didn't return five minutes ago with the files he requested. Weasley had been blocking the entrance to the aisle she needed while he stood there reading a scroll, oblivious to her presence; after waiting thirty seconds longer than she wanted, she had no patience to make nice with him on a harried first morning at her new job.
The red-headed wizard turned with a frown. "I'm sorry, you are…?"
She huffed. Who did he think he was, pretending not to know her name?
"Pansy Parkinson."
"Ah, yes. Garrison's new legislative assistant. He said you'd be starting today." He looked down at her from behind his glasses. "I don't appreciate your language nor your tone, Miss Parkinson. You'd do well to speak in a manner more befitting your station as a Wizengamot staff member."
"I"ll speak how I want, Weasley. You're in my way. I need these files now." You'd think the threat of castration would have induced him to move out of the way. Maybe he didn't have anything to castrate; he was a Weasley. Her eyes flicked down, unwittingly; his thighs filled his tailored trousers out well and indicated that, indeed, there was something to castrate in between. She dragged her eyes back up and pulled out her wand, making to prod him with it.
His hand immediately circled her wand with a firm grip and held it still, several inches from his chest, which was directly at her eye level and currently covered in an off-white shirt, perfectly fitted, and amber-colored tie, expertly knotted.
She tried to pull it back, but his grip didn't budge.
"Miss Parkinson, I'm happy to move aside if you can behave respectfully. But swearing and waving your wand at people to get what you want won't be tolerated here. And shouldn't be tolerated anywhere," he added as an aside.
"Give me my wand back," she hissed.
He tutted. "I'm sorry, but it looks like you'll need to wait until I'm finished." He stepped back and pulled her wand out of her hand as he did, then waved her own wand toward her, erecting an invisible barrier between them.
She was left standing at the aisle's entrance, without her wand, fuming, as Percy Weasley's backside retreated down the corridor.
The traitorous thought crossed her mind that his backside looked rather delectable inside his navy trousers.
Pansy's first day on the job continued downhill. The Chief Warlock, Garrison Elwood, had castigated her for not bringing the files to him when requested, and she had spilled tomato sauce on both her paperwork and her blouse while rushing through lunch at her desk. It wouldn't have been a problem had she had her wand to clean it up, but it was still in Percy's possession, and she was too proud to apologize to him for her behavior this morning, which was, she could admit now, out of line. She tended to revert to her old ways when she was stressed, and insulting a Weasley was a natural reaction after being rebuked by her boss for being behind schedule only two hours into her first day at work.
She sighed while she rubbed a wet rag against her blouse in the kitchen. The water was only spreading the stain, not removing it. The clack of shoes sounded in the doorway, echoing brightly across the stone floor, and Pansy looked up from her wet shirt to find Percy entering the kitchen. He nodded at her briefly and moved to the cupboards, pulling out a plate and some flatware. He was tall; not as tall as Ron Weasley and his twin brothers had been, but he didn't have to stretch to reach the top shelf of the cupboard.
She watched him, debating whether to ask for her wand back, or better yet, apologize. But he was gone as quickly as he came, inclining his head toward her, with a polite "Miss Parkinson" in acknowledgement, as he left the room.
Muttering under her breath, she threw the rag into a bin and returned to her desk. The next several hours ticked by in a blur, Garrison piling on research tasks and sending her on all manner of errands, which she had to run with an ugly blotch on her shirt. Finally, at ten minutes til five o'clock, necessity overtook pride, and she made her way to Percy's office.
His door was open, and she knocked on the door jamb, the sound of it loud in the otherwise empty hallway. Percy looked up from his desk and fixed her with a bland smile. "Miss Parkinson, come in. What can I do for you?"
She took several steps into his office, one hand self-consciously hovering in front of the stain on her blouse. "I came to apologize for this morning, and to ask for my wand back."
He stared at her from behind his glasses for a moment, his expression inscrutable, and she fought the urge to fidget.
"I was stressed; my morning wasn't going well, and I took it out on you," she said. Damn him for drawing excuses out of her; she didn't need to explain herself to him. "I'm sorry."
He nodded and stood, drawing her wand from the holster on his thigh. "Please don't do it again. I accept your apology, Miss Parkinson."
He held her wand out, over his desk, forcing her to come farther into the room to take it from him. The scent of cedar with a hint of citrus hit her, enveloping her like a cashmere sweater on an autumn day. She took her wand, her fingers wrapping around the familiar handle, which was warm from being nestled in his holster against his leg. She swallowed at the unusual sensation of someone else's body heat on her wand. She glanced at his holster, where his own wand handle poked from the top.
"Elm?" she asked, inclining her chin toward his thigh.
"Yes. Like yours."
That explained why he was able to use her wand so easily this morning. But elm wands preferred sophisticated owners, typically Purebloods, and produced elegant charms and spells. "Sophisticated" and "Weasley" didn't go together, regardless of the Pureblood pedigree. She eyed the man in front of her, with his debonair red waves, well-tailored suit, and stylish tortoiseshell glasses, and she gathered that, perhaps in Percy's case— "I suppose your wand chose you well."
"Indeed it did. Have a good evening, Miss Parkinson." He returned to his seat, clearly dismissing her.
"Thank you, you as well," she uttered.
He bent his head back over his papers, and she hastened from the room, her cheeks warm and her thoughts muddled.
It wasn't until she made it home a half hour later that she realized she'd been so distracted, she'd forgotten to remove the stain from her blouse. Cursing Percy Weasley for the debacle that was her first day, she vanished the stain and hurled the shirt into the laundry bin. She would make dinner in her black lace bra tonight, out of pure spite toward tomato sauce, asshat bosses, and elm-wand-toting assistants to the Undersecretary for the Minister. If her subconscious mind wondered how she might look when seen through clear blue eyes hidden behind tortoiseshell glasses, well, her conscious mind refused to acknowledge it.