At four o'clock, Pansy made her way to the file room. She found Percy at one of the small research tables in a back corner. Ah. He was in brown tattersall plaid today.
"Hi," she said, sitting down and managing a smile through her nerves. The last time she'd felt this jittery around a man had been her fourth year at Hogwarts when she'd had a crush on Draco.
He smiled at her. The small one, with the dimple. "Hi."
Had his voice always been so low?
"Thanks for coming," he said.
A shiver ran through her, and she fought the urge to close her eyes in bliss; his voice was definitely lower than usual, its pitch strumming her body like a master musician. "Of course," she replied. "I think maybe we were finished talking when Hephzibah interrupted, though."
"Perhaps." A wry smile crossed his face. "I believe we agreed you wouldn't twist my words or misconstrue my politeness, in return for me not treating you like everyone else. Does that sound about right?"
She nodded.
"I don't think we firmly established what me not treating you like everyone else looks like, though."
"No," she breathed. "We didn't. Hephzibah did interrupt that part of the conversation."
He shifted forward slightly in his seat. "Can you explain it to me?" His eyes were like lasers honed in on their target—her—and ready to strike as soon as the command was issued.
She debated what to say; she thought they'd nearly kissed this morning, but what if she'd misread him? What if she'd just seen what she wanted to see? She stared at him. She was pretty sure he currently looked like he wanted to devour her, and that it wasn't merely her imagination.
Her own voice came out lower, husky. "I think you already know what I meant, Percy."
"Can you spell it out for me?" That barely-there smile hovered on his lips. He was toying with her.
She huffed. Grabbing her wand, she transfigured the research table into a small step stool, and rose from her seat to stand on it.
Percy rose as well, and, with the step stool under her, she was eye level with his chin rather than his chest. Be brave, Pansy. She ran her thumb along his jawline, grazing his barely-there stubble. That was all it took, and he bent forward, enveloping her, his lips on hers and his hands at her waist for the first time. He felt divine, his lips like velvet and his hands a warm caress through her dress.
Butterflies rioted through her under his touch, almost but not quite better than an orgasm. Who'd have thought stuffy Percy Weasley would be so skilled with his mouth?
When they pulled apart, breathing a little more heavily than usual, she remarked, "That's what I meant."
His face broke into his sweet grin, and her heart melted just a little more. "I hoped I hadn't misread you."
"No, you didn't," she breathed.
Steps sounded at the front of the room, and Percy quickly cast a Notice-Me-Not charm around them. Then his hands wrapped around her back and pulled her close, and he bent back and kissed her again.
"You're awfully smiley tonight," Daphne remarked.
Pansy had asked Daphne to meet her out for dinner; she was too delighted and flustered to spend the evening home alone. Percy was, apparently, both chivalrous and interested in more than sex, which were endearing and sexually frustrating in equal measure. After a few more heated kisses in the file room, he had pulled away, asked her on a date, and returned to his office.
Thankfully, her work day had been almost over because she hadn't been able to concentrate on anything while her mind continually replayed the feel of his lips on hers.
"I had a good day at work today," she replied.
Daphne gazed at her expectantly, but she deflected. "Any new gossip at Witch Weekly?"
Her friend gave a small frown at her refusal to elaborate, but didn't press her. "Well—" Daphne tapped her nails against her drink glass, thinking. "Oh! Viktor Krum's in town for Bulgaria's match against the Chudley Cannons. Photographers caught him out at lunch today with Hermione Granger—"
Pansy cut in. "Prompting questions of whether she's cheating on Ron Weasley?"
"Exactly! I wouldn't blame her if she did," Daphne said. "I mean, a Weasley, or Victor Krum? That choice seems like a no-brainer."
"I'd have agreed a few weeks ago. But I think at least one Weasley is far more appealing than Viktor Krum now." Pansy took a swig of her martini and gave Daphne a wide smile; she might as well come clean with her friend about her budding feelings for her ginger coworker.
Daphne's jaw dropped. "Are you getting it on with a Weasley?"
"As of this afternoon, yes." Pansy couldn't keep the grin off her face. "I have a date with Percy Weasley tomorrow night."
Daphne burst out laughing. "You're kidding, right? What in Salazar's name got you interested in Percy Weasley?"
"The man rocks a suit like no one's business, Daphne. Plaid ones, three-piece ones, he even has a pocket watch. I don't think I've stopped staring at him for the past three weeks."
"Fair enough; I can appreciate a man in a suit. But isn't he a complete nerd?"
Pansy shook her head, her brown bob swinging back and forth across her chin. "Not anymore. He's grown up, Daph. He's smart and friendly and keeps the whole place running smoothly. And he's rather gorgeous, and very skilled with his tongue."
Daphne's brows rose to her hairline.
"I mean kissing," Pansy clarified. "Unfortunately I don't know what else he can do with his tongue. But maybe I'll find out tomorrow night."
"Ooohhh!" Daphne squealed. "Where are you going?"
"Dinner at Number Seven."
Daphne squealed again.
Number Seven was one of the nicest restaurants in Diagon. Pansy would be lying if she said she wasn't looking forward to showing up there tomorrow night on the arm of an immaculately dressed Percy Weasley.
"Please keep it quiet for now," she told Daphne. "I don't know if it'll go anywhere, and I don't want to deal with all the shite I'll get about going out with a Weasley if it ends up fizzling out anyway."
"Floo me Wednesday and let me know how it goes," Daphne made her promise.
Thursday morning, Pansy made her way to the file room to pull research materials on magical transportation regulations. Pansy had flooed Daphne last night, as promised, with a mixed report about her date with Percy.
Dinner at Number Seven had been divine, both the food and the view of the man seated across from her. He had picked her up at her flat at seven o'clock, sporting his tortoiseshell glasses and his nearly black suit with a light gray shirt and no tie. She had pulled him into a kiss almost before the word "Hi" escaped his lips.
He had laughed at her eagerness, but the kiss had ended with them both breathing heavily and with Pansy wishing they could skip dinner altogether. They didn't, though, and as difficult as it had been for Pansy to talk to him before their breakthrough in the file room, conversation between the two of them flowed freely over their meal.
The questions she'd wanted to ask in his office last week, while waiting in awkward silence for their meeting to start, poured out of her over dinner: his career aspirations, which he'd already alluded to (Undersecretary to the Minister), where he purchased his suits (Muggle London), and who he'd been with at Hansen's Pub a few weeks ago (mostly men a year or two ahead of him at Hogwarts, none of whom she knew).
They had lingered so long over dessert that their server had finally indicated they needed to leave to free the table for another reservation. They had walked back to her flat, arm in arm. But when Pansy had invited him in, he had declined. He had left her with a final breathtaking kiss, and an invitation for another date Friday night, and then Apparated away.
She'd barely seen him in the office yesterday; their schedules hadn't crossed. She was feeling rather prickly toward him again this morning, the same earlier feelings of rejection creeping back into her heart.
She was perusing files in the Transportation shelf, looking for Portkey legislation information, when she jumped at the sound of a voice by her ear and a hand on her hip. "Good morning, sunshine."
"Merlin's left nut, Weasley, stop fucking sneaking up on me."
When she turned, a sinful smirk crossed his face, tearing down part of the wall she'd begun mentally building between them. "Language, Miss Parkinson. You promised you wouldn't yell at me anymore," he tutted.
"I did no such thing. I promised I wouldn't presume you were being nice to me only because you had to be. If you insist on startling me, I'll continue to snap at you."
"I suppose you're right, you didn't explicitly agree not to yell at me. I guess I just assumed." He stepped closer, lacing his hands behind her back; his woodsy scent flooded her senses, and a flame lit low in her belly at his touch and his nearness. "You know, I can think of more ways to make you yell than sneaking up on you."
Her heart thudded. Was stuffy Percy Weasley finally throwing some innuendo her way? "Like what?" she breathed.
He didn't answer; instead he pressed his hips forward, backing her against the shelves, and bent down to drag his nose and lips along her neck. The soft waves of his fringe brushed her skin, and she was pretty sure the hardness against her belly wasn't just his belt buckle.
"Why didn't you come into my flat with me Tuesday night?" she breathed as his lips assaulted the skin below her ear.
"It was our first date," he whispered into her neck. "No need to rush things."
"Percy," she whined, as he pushed his hips into her again and dragged his lips along her jaw. She wanted to rush things. She turned her head to meet his lips, dragging him into a kiss.
He pressed closer against her; his thumbs just barely skimmed the sides of her breasts, and that was definitely not just his belt buckle pressing into her waist. Oh, Merlin and Morgana and all the Founders. Feeling him pressed against her like this, crowding her into the stacks behind her, made her want to strip him down in the middle of the aisle.
She brought her hands around to his front, sliding them under the hem of his jacket, to the top of his trousers. When she made to slip her fingers behind his belt, he gently pushed them away. "Not here," he breathed, shifting his hips back.
"Why not?" she whined.
"It's the file room." He said it as if no sane witch or wizard would make out in the file room.
She argued, "We can cast a Notice-Me-Not charm. And a silencing spell."
"No," he laughed. "As much as I'd love to, let's save it for when we're not at work."
"What's the fun in dating a colleague if you don't fool around in the office?" she pouted.
He rolled his eyes, a movement which, given that it occurred behind his tortoiseshell glasses, made her want to manhandle (womanhandle?) him into submission, right here, in the middle of the Merlin-bedamned file room.
"Pansy, we both have political ambitions, and getting caught screwing around in here isn't part of that path."
She wanted to point out, again, that with the right charms, no one would come across them. But he clearly wasn't ready for something so "risque," so she stayed silent and pulled him back into another kiss, sliding her fingers back and forth over the stiffness in his trousers. He moaned into her mouth, and his hands slid down to her bum and squeezed; it was the first time he'd touched her arse, and she stroked him harder in return. After a few more heated moments, she pulled back from their kiss and gave his erection a final firm caress. Then she flounced down the aisle and out of the room without looking back, a self-satisfied smile on her face.
Percy Weasley didn't know it, but he had just started a battle of wits, and that battle was going to end with Pansy shagging him against the file shelves. She didn't know when or how she'd make it happen; all she knew was that she was going to tear down Percy's sense of propriety and immolate his self-restraint. He was going to beg her for debauchery in a deserted aisle of the file room, in the end.