For a Pound of Flesh
Strolling along the Australian seaside, Ron soaked it all in. The sun, Hugo and Rose darting in and out of the waves, Hermione's sweaty hand in his… He wanted to memorize every detail. This moment now was one of perfection. While Ron hoped Hermione would keep up her new work schedule (home every day by six-thirty, no working at all on Sunday), he knew better than to believe it was permanent. Hermione had a way of getting caught up in things, and the next time something big went through her office, they could very well end up at square one again. Ron loved Hermione (frizzy hair and all), he admired her drive, all the change it had brought to their world and lives, he adored how passionate she was about supporting the underdog…
Yet it was that same nose to the grindstone attitude that was hurting him, them, their children. With Hermione's passions so fixedly on work, Ron didn't know how well he would do at resisting the temptation of another woman now that he had been with Pansy. Ron understood he could be a little slow on the uptake sometimes; but he was not dumb enough to believe if he started another affair it would be as easily hidden as his one with Pansy. With Pansy, both of them had people to protect from the spotlight and it had been easy enough to strike a deal that suited each of them. Ron knew if (when) Hermione found out about his affair, she'd question not just him, not just their relationship, but everything about them – including herself.
Ron didn't want Hermione to question herself or the things she did and had done. They were good things and Ron didn't want her regretting her work because he put himself in situations where manipulative, opportunistic women were all too happy to pounce on him when he was weak and looking for false-closeness. None of that was her fault and he didn't want her to think that she was to blame and try and change herself completely in response.
All Ron wanted was for Hermione to slow down a tad. For her to spend a little more time at home, a little more time with him and the kids permanently. Maybe not nitpick as much about how he was raising their children. 'Nothing Unreasonable,' Ron thought, as he stared at Hermione's face with a scrutinizing glare.
"What's the broody gaze for?" Hermione asked, turning her head to look at him, the barest hint of a smiel on her lips.
Ron's eyes went wide. "Erh…"
"Mummy! Daddy!" Rose shouted, effectively distracting Hermione.
"What, lovely?" Hermione asked when their daughter skidded to a stop before them, hands cupped close to her chest.
Grinning at Hermione as he let go of her hand, Ron crouched down beside their sandy daughter. "What do you have there, Rosie?" he asked.
Opening her hands, she revealed a pretty white shell. "Very nice," he complimented. Looking up, he said, "Hermione, take a look at the shell Rose found. It's pretty, isn't it?"
Squatting down beside him, Hermione nodded very seriously. "Yes, it is. I think that's the best one you've found yet, Rosie. Good job."
Beaming at the praise, Rose said, "I'll save it in my swimsuit."
"Oh, sweetheart–" Hermione began.
Ron put a hand on her arm as Rose dropped it down the front of her one-piece. "That's a fine idea. Just let us know if you'd like us to hold it for you later." Hermione raised an eyebrow as Rose ran off to join Hugo in running at the waves. He shrugged back at her. "It's not hurting anything," Ron said.
Hermione hummed softly. "You're right," she agreed after a moment. "We're on holiday. Why fuss?"
He nodded, glad that Hermione was willing to let Rose be rather than argue about his "dubious" parenting (as had happened in the past). Standing back up, Ron offered a helping-hand to Hermione. With her in his grip once more, he pulled her to her feet and started to ask, "What do you think we should do about–"
"Mister Weasley?"
Ron jolted. Staring into a frighteningly familiar face, Ron felt his blood run cold. "Uh," he mumbled.
Freesia Parkinson grinned. "Mum told me once you could tell who a Weasley was by how many freckles they have. She said it couldn't be you, since, you know, we're in Australia, but I wanted to make sure for myself."
"Ron? Who's this?" Hermione hissed into his ear.
Ron could hardly make his lips create words, let alone force his tongue to move. It felt as if he was under a langlock hex. However, before Freesia could say who she was and reveal his indiscretions, a voice screamed, "FREESIA TRACEY PARKINSON!"
Hermione gasped as Ron himself went even more rigid. He was terrified. Was he going to die? Was Pansy going to die? Merlin, what would he do with her daughter? What about Rose and Hugo? Seeing someone die right before their eyes would traumatize them for life! And it would be even worse if it were him!
Kicking up sand as she approached, Pansy Parkinson only had eyes for her daughter. Still yelling as she grabbed ahold of the girl, she gave Freesia a good shake as she continued on her tirade. When her daughter was acceptably cowed, she let go of Freesia and asked, "What on earth made you run off like that, anyway?"
Freesia pointed a shaky finger at Ron. "It's Mister Weasley, Mum!" she explained.
Pansy finally looked his and Hermione's way. At the sight of him, she stiffened. "Isn't that something?" she murmured, coming to wrap her arms protectively around her daughter.
"Hello, Parkinson," Hermione said, obviously attempting to be polite. Especially now that their children had returned to his and Hermione's sides to watch the spectacle that was Pansy and her daughter.
"Weasels," Pansy sneered.
Hermione clucked her tongue, but did not take the bait. As for Ron, he was still too terrified that if he said anything, he would die. "I didn't know you had a daughter," Hermione remarked as she nudged their children behind them (what she was expecting Pansy to do to them, Ron didn't know; there was no way Pansy had a wand on her when wearing a swimsuit like that).
"Well, I do, Missus Nosey," Pansy said. "Now, if you please, get out of our way. We have a very important reservation to make at the other end of the beach."
Ron yanked his children to the left, giving wide passage for Pansy and her daughter. Making a satisfactory noise, Pansy raised her head high in the air and waltzed past them, dragging her confused-face daughter behind her. After watching them disappear into nothing more than specks, Hermione turned back to Ron, a mildly annoyed, but also amused expression on her face.
"Still as rude as always. Though, she's let herself go," Hermione remarked.
Ron frowned. "Aren't you the one who always says not to fixate on someone's physical appearance?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "It was just an observation!" she grumbled. Then, after another moment, she said, "Though, her daughter was a surprise."
"Maybe it's why she came to Australia."
His wife nodded. "That could be," she agreed. "Her daughter looks like she might be just a little younger than Teddy. After what she did, England undoubtedly would have been a horrid place for her to raise a daughter on her own." Tapping her cheek, Hermione turned and stared down the beach. "Though… It's strange that she told her daughter about you, don't you think?"
Ron felt his heartbeat pick up. He needed to think of something fast. "W-Well," Ron stammered. "Maybe Pansy has made a bedtime story out of the what happened at the Final Battle? I mean, we – Pansy and me – grew up on the tale of Harry killing Voldemort as a baby. It's practically classical children's' literature in our world now, so, why wouldn't the Final Battle be a bedtime story now too?"
Hermione's expression turned thoughtful. "You may have a point," she said. "Teddy's been told Harry's story and the story of the battle so many times that he can recite it word for word." A teasing smirk pulling at her lips, Hermione continued, "Given that it was by your freckles her daughter identified you, I'm sure the version Parkinson has been telling her daughter is less than flattering."
He forced a chuckle. "Yeah," he said. "You're probably right."
Taking Hugo's hand, Hermione suggested, "Why don't we head back to the hotel and clean up? It's about lunchtime."
Trembling ever so slightly with relief, Ron grinned broadly. "Let's."
The din of the restaurant nothing more than a blip in the face of her sulking daughter, Pansy settled in for the long haul. They might be here for the whole afternoon, she realized. Perhaps she should ask the waiter for a pot of coffee the next time he came by, her mug was already half-empty. 'No food, though,' she thought to herself. 'I'm still a little queasy from this morning's upset.' Focusing in on her daughter after of absent-mindedly watching the patrons of the pub, she found the look Freesia was wearing to be sigh-worthy. Pansy knew that expression all too well and it was never a good sign for cooperation and agreeableness. Crossing her arms, Pansy leaned back in her seat and said, "Stop looking at me like that. Eat your fish and chips."
Freesia continued to glare at Pansy over her plate.
Narrowing her eyes at her daughter, Pansy leaned forward and hissed, "Eat!"
"Why did we have to leave so soon? Mister Weasley's nice," Freesia said.
Pansy scowled. "He was with his family, Freesia."
"If he has a family, why did he spend the night at our flat?" the girl asked.
Rubbing her temples, Pansy shifted her gaze to the beach outside the little window beside them. Outside, there was a mother and son feeding bread to a bunch of birds. They looked as if they didn't have a care in the world. Pansy remembered that feeling. It had been so nice… Now, she was wondering if she shouldn't cut her and her daughter's holiday short. Or change lodgings, anyway.
Not looking at her daughter, Pansy said, "He needed a place to sleep."
"Uh-huh."
Pansy's frown deepened. Had she been this perceptive at eleven? Known so much about the ways of men and women? She didn't think so. Though, the times and world she grew up in were a far cry from that of Freesia's. It really shouldn't be of any surprise to her. Drumming her fingers along the tiled-edge of the table, Pansy asked with an air of false desperateness, "If I let you get that damn rat for Hogwarts, will you stop asking about Mister Weasley?"
Freesia's eyes lit up, mouth curving into an eager smile. "Ye–!" she stopped mid-shout, chin dipping into her chest as her brows furrowed. "I won't be tricked!" she proclaimed. "Daddy asked me what kind of rat I wanted before we left and promised I'd get a big surprise when I came back from our Holiday! I'm already getting Greyback!"
With a groan, Pansy dropped her face into her hands. What did she do now? How did she explain to her daughter that Mister Weasley was half-mistake, half-calculation? Staring at her daughter through her fingers, Pansy asked, "Are you trying to ruin our trip by forcing us to talk about unpleasant things? Because that's what Mister Weasley is to us, an unpleasant thing."
Freesia dropped her gaze to her food. "I liked Mister Weasley."
Pansy reached across the table and laid her hand on her daughter's. "I know, love," she said. "But him and Mum were a one time thing."
Freesia slipped out of her grasp curled in on herself. "I thought maybe he was here on purpose."
"Oh, love…"
Pressing her palms against her eyes, Freesia warbled, "I know a woman doesn't need a man, but I… I kind of was hoping you wanted one and that he'd end up sort of being mine too."
Pansy stared at her daughter. Never in her life had she felt like such a failure. Of course her daughter wanted a man in their lives. What little girl didn't want a father in their life? One who picked them up when they fell, took them to dance practice, made them dinner, was there to chase away monsters after a nightmare?
"I'm sorry," Pansy whispered. "Oh, Free, I'm so sorry."
Letting her hands fall away from her red eyes, Freesia offered a weak smile. "It's okay, Mum. It's not like I ever asked for a Daddy who could live with us."
"But I should have known," Pansy murmured, unwilling to accept her daughter's easy forgiveness.
Freesia reached over and gave one of Pansy's hands a comforting squeeze. "Mummy, it's fine. Really, it's fine. I know I said I wanted one, but that doesn't mean you aren't good enough. You are way more than good enough. You come to all of my dance recitals, buy me the prettiest hair clips, say kiss me goodnight even when I've been bad all day, let me throw slumber parties all the time, and say sorry when you're wrong."
It was Pansy's turn to start crying then. As her daughter soothed her, Pansy couldn't even find it in herself to be embarrassed. Finding out that you had done wrong by your child for almost their entire life and that they still thought the world of you, left one with no other option but to make a disgusting, snotty, scene of oneself.
Ron felt quite badly about the morning. He really knew he shouldn't, because how was he supposed to know Pansy would be here now? But he did. He especially felt bad about how he treated her daughter. How he reacted to her. Upon reflection, Freesia had looked so excited to see him. As if he'd made her day. Ron hardly ever made anyone's day. Not even customers at George's looked at him like that when he hooked them up with a wicked deal on joke items. Unable to wallow in the guilt any longer, he walked out of his and Hermione's room to see his wife tucking the kids under blankets on the sofa for an afternoon nap. Well, that was done. Was there something else he could do?
He looked around the tiny hotel room. Eyes landing on their beach gear beside the door, an idea coming to him. He asked, "Want me to run to the shop for some more sunblock? Our tube is half-empty and we have three more days here."
Not looking up from petting Hugo's curl's, Hermione nodded. "Please and thank you."
He smiled. "It's no trouble. Besides, you don't get to see the kids looking so angelic everyday."
She looked up at this, mirroring his smile with one of her own. "Isn't that the truth?"
He laughed and grabbed their room card. "I shouldn't be gone too long," he promised.
With half-wave toward him, Hermione turned away. Snaking a book off the coffee table in front of the sofa, she settled herself at their daughter's feet with a sigh and cracked open the hard-back. Shaking his head fondly, Ron left the hotel room. Stuffing his hands in his pocket as he walked down the hall, feeling full of purpose, Ron began to whistle a jaunty tune he'd heard on the Muggle Wireless the other day.
Soon, a piping voice began to belt out the lyrics from behind. Turning around, Ron was once again startled by what he saw.
"Freesia!" he yelped.
The little girl smiled. "Mum's run back to our room for something. We're going to the pool. Where are you going, Mister Weasley?"
Ron wasn't sure how this was happening. It had to be one in a million to start with, that they were here at the same time. To meet again? In the same hotel? One in a billion, surely! "To the corner store," he answered thoughtlessly. "I need to buy some sunblock for my kids."
She seemed to wilt a little. "That lady you were with earlier, that's their Mum, right?"
"Yeah," he answered. "Her name is Hermione."
Freesia narrowed her eyes. "If you're with their mum, why did you spend the night at my mum's?"
Ron ran a hand through his thinning hair. Merlin's name, how did he explain this to a little girl? Should he just try and distract her until her mother could come and take her away? Undecided, Ron began by saying, "Well, Freesia…"
"What do you think you're doing?"
They both jumped. Turning, Ron blinked at the pale-faced countenance of Pansy. "Are you okay?" he asked her. "You look a little–"
"I'm fine. I was just a bit sick."
Unbidden, Ron felt concern well in his chest. Pansy was a bitch, but he hated the thought of her being ill, if only for how it had to be affecting her daughter's holiday. "How long have you been sick?" he asked. "Do you think you caught something on the flight here from England?"
Pansy scowled. "I doubt it. It's been going on even before we left."
Ron raised an eyebrow. Oh, this did not sound good at all. "Is getting sick the only thing that's been happening to you?"
"I don't have to tell you–!"
"Mum's been extra tired lately. She's always falling asleep in the middle of Glee, when we watch. She's gotten a lot of bloody noses too, lately, haven't you?" Freesia listed off, anxiously twisting her fingers in the hem of her cover-up. "Is that bad?"
"Pansy–"
She shook her head fiercely. "No. You hear me? No. I made sure we used a – a –"
"I'm going to the corner store. Why not come with? I'll buy one. Better safe than sorry, wouldn't you say?"
Eyes wide and dilated, Pansy reached for her daughter. "I promised Free I'd take her to the pool. I can't."
Ron took a long, slow inhale. If Pansy refused him again, he was going to start yelling. That would be bad for both of them. Hermione would surely hear and come to investigate. "It won't take more than a few minutes," Ron insisted. "Please."
Pansy pet her daughter's hair, a weary look that leaned toward defeat in her eyes now.
"For both of our peaces of mind," Ron said.
"…Okay."
Exhaling, Ron gestured for them to follow. "Come on, we can walk along the beach."
"Here," Ron said, thrusting the just-bagged pregnancy test at Pansy.
In any other situation, she would have been annoyed by his brusqueness, but right now, she just took it. Pansy only cared about finding out if she was really pregnant. Looking to her daughter, who was now sucking on a giant lollypop that Ron had bought for her, she said, "You wait here with Mister Weasley, okay?"
The rainbow candy made a popping noise as it was pulled out of her small mouth. "Yes, Mum."
Nodding, she shared one last grim look with Ron before ducking into the ladies' room. Standing in front of a mirror a moment, she just stared at her pallid face and shaking form. It was enough to bring on the now familiar nausea. Merlin, could she? Could she really be pregnant? What the Hell was she going to do with the baby?
She knew, no matter what, Ron would help. He was a valiant Gryffindor, after all. A good father, too. Well, she assumed he must be. From her (vast) experience as a parent who made chit-chat with other parents, and a nurse to many parents, only good ones spoke so fondly of their children. Despite the lists of pros that came with having Ron as the father, Pansy was also well aware of the fact he didn't have the money to buy their child the best nanny or education available like Draco did for Freesia. He was a Weasley and had two other children already.
She would have to talk it over with him if she was pregnant. After she lied about not being pregnant in front of her daughter, anyway. There was little hope for her keeping it, Pansy was sure of that much. It could very well come out a ginger, after all. Her grandmother had been one. Everyone knew those things could skip generations and Weasley traits were strong from what she had seen. Sending a ginger Parkinson to Hogwarts would raise a plethora of questions that could very well come back to bite her and Ron in the arse.
Questions that could kill them.
'Yes,' she thought, 'It will have to go.' If her and Ron didn't decide to kill it now, maybe they could quietly give it away to a couple he knew that wanted a baby. At least she would know then that it was being raised as a proper, "modern" witch or wizard who'd never face the ridicule Freesia surely would once her lineage was discovered. Pansy would also be able to rest easy knowing Ron could check up on it now and again. He'd make sure it was well cared for. Happy. Loved. Everything she could ever want for a child of hers. Brushing a thoughtful hand down her stomach, Pansy was reminded of when she was pregnant with Freesia.
It had been ever so lucky she ran into Tracey Davis, the bleeding-heart of Slytherin, after a day of fruitless job and house-searching. After hearing her pathetic story, Tracey had gotten her in contact with her disowned uncle, who was living in the Muggle world with his Muggle wife, who was a nurse. The couple, just as soft as their niece, had been happy to let her stay with them until Freesia was born and then some. Tracey's aunt then helped her get a job in a hospital and found her a place to stay that fit within the price-range for homes Draco had given Pansy.
Pansy had found all of the kindness they showed her quite disgusting and suspicious. Like her, Tracey and her uncle were both byproducts of Slytherin's cutthroat politics. They should have taken advantage of her situation like a proper Slytherin. Yet they hadn't. In the end, Pansy had felt it was only right to show her gratitude to them by naming her daughter after Tracey, and asking Tracey's uncle and aunt if they would be Freesia's legal guardian should anything happen to her. They had been pleased with her offering and Pansy was able to sleep comfortably at night knowing Freesia would be taken care of should she die.
In retrospect, everything had gone swimmingly with Freesia. It had been awful, getting kicked out of her home, disowned by her parents, and rejected by Draco, but it had been wonderful too. She'd found an independence so few women of her standing ever did. And while her life had been by no means perfect these past eleven years, they had been pleasant. Now, though, things were about to change.
Gathering what little courage she had together, Pansy nodded at her reflection. She could do this. Pansy walked into one of the loo's several empty stalls and locked it. Undoing her zipper, pulling down her shorts and knickers, she sat down on the toilet and pulled the pregnancy tester out of the box. Following the box's directions to a 'T', Pansy only stood up from the toilet when the stick's indicator turned pink.
'Oh…'
It's been a while. Thoughts? How did you enjoy the chapter? The developments in it? Too predictable? Too cliché? Or did you enjoy it and like how it was done?
Thanks for reading :)
