For a Pound of Flesh


Ahead of them, Freesia weaved in and out of the waves. Sometimes, she would slosh further into the ocean, then shriek when she didn't manage to get away from an incoming surge of water on time. After failing to get away a couple of times, she ran back to them. Freesia started complaining about how her shorts were now all wet, that there was sand in her swimsuit, and, now, she couldn't possibly go swimming in the hotel's pool. They'd hate it if she brought sand into the pool's clean waters.

"I'll buy you another suit, from the hotel's shop," Pansy promised. "That cute pink one you saw when we were checking in if you like."

Freesia beamed at the offer. "Yes, please Mum!"

"Then it's settled," Pansy said. "Now, go on, go back to the waves. You don't have to worry anymore."

Nodding in agreement, Freesia wasted no time at all in throwing herself at a swelling wave. Switching the bag of sunblock for his kids to his left hand, Ron told Pansy, "You spoil her."

Something like hurt flashed across Pansy's gaze. "You're one to talk. I have no doubts about who the 'fun' parent is in your household."

Ron clucked his tongue. "It's not a bad thing. Well, not that bad of a thing. I mean, from what I've seen of Freesia, she's a good kid. Smart. Confident."

"Brains and confidence are traits all Parkinsons are gifted with," Pansy replied with a lofty air.

He laughed. "But not humility, it seems."

Pansy scowled briefly. Then, with some unease, she whispered, "But that's not all we Parkinsons are born with."

"Oh?"

Fingers brushing down her middle, she said, "We are also born with liar-tongues."

Ron paused. He did not like the turn of this conversation at all. "What are you getting at, Pansy?" he asked warily.

Fleetingly, her hand gripped his. "My room number is 109. When your wife and children are asleep, come see me. We have things to discuss."

His eyes went wide. "Earlier, when you said–"

"Not now," Pansy hissed, pressing sun-warmed hands to his lips to silence him. "Not in front of Freesia."

Ron didn't understand why not in front of Freesia, seeing as this potential baby would be her little brother or sister, but he respected the delicateness of not only the situation but Pansy as well. "I'll knock twice, so you know it's me."

"That's acceptable," she said, before turning her attention once more to her daughter.

-v-v-v-

Nervously, Ron hovered in front of Pansy's door. It was late. Far later than he had any right to be out of his and his family's hotel room. He hoped Hermione didn't wake, she would want to know where he had gone and Ron didn't think a lie about going for a midnight stroll would work very well on her. Staring down the curly, gold numbers nailed to Pansy's door, Ron whispered to soothe himself, "Everything is going to be fine."

Lifting his hand, he knocked twice.

A moment later, the door swung open.

Pansy, in sweats and a dressing robe, snapped, "Are you just going to stand there?"

Ron flushed, more in embarrassment than anger, before shuffling in past Pansy. Closing the door behind him, Pansy turned around to face him and asked, "You do know why I asked you to come, don't you?"

He frowned at her. "I'm not a complete idiot. I did get that you were telling me you lied about being not pregnant earlier. On that note, why?"

Walking past him, she threw herself into a chair, a dark look on her face. "I'm not keeping it, that's why," said Pansy.

Approaching slowly, like she was a potentially dangerous suspect from one of the investigations he did during his time as an Auror, Ron shoved his hands in the pockets of his pajama bottoms, attempting to appear uncaring as one hand gripped his wand. Taking the seat across from her, he asked, "What do you mean you're not keeping it?"

She huffed a breath, though, it seemed more like a stalling method than an indication of annoyance. "I mean, when it's born, I want to adopt it out."

Ron relaxed a little. He'd feared what Pansy meant by "not keeping it" was she planned to have an abortion. Ron would have never agreed to something like that, not when the baby was part him too. "Why's that?" he questioned. "I'd help, where I can, with the baby."

"I'm sure you would," Pansy allowed. "But, you see, you're a Weasley, and even if you aren't living in a mismatched hovel like your parents, you are not rich. Any child of mine should only have the very best in life. Unfortunately, on my salary, and whatever pittance you might be able to give, they will not. Their childhood will pale in comparison to Free's."

"You don't have to be rich, to be happy," Ron hissed, furious that it was a monetary reason of all things that made Pansy want to give away his child.

Pansy plucked at a loose thread of her dressing robe. "No, you don't," she agreed. "But it certainly helps."

Ron scoffed.

Lifting her gaze to glare at him, Pansy said, "Besides that excellent point, we also have to think about what its future will be like once it's older. It wouldn't be able to know you were its father, seeing as when it got to Hogwarts, it would recognize you from Chocolate Frog cards, textbooks, and the like and realize you're not just 'Daddy', but a war hero. Can you imagine the pressure it would feel to be like you? It will be incredible. Then add in the hatred it will receive for being mine and it will become a warped thing that leads a terribly unhappy life."

Resting his chin on his fists, Ron remarked, "Aren't you pessimistic?"

"The word you are looking for is realistic, dear," Pansy snarked.

Sitting up straight, he said, "Don't call me that. You aren't–"

"–Your wife, I know." A grim smile on her lips, Pansy patted her stomach. "Just the mother of your bastard child."

Disgusted by her attitude, Ron made to get up. Maybe even leave. He couldn't deal with her and this now, if she was going to be a bitch the whole time.

"What are you doing?" Pansy demanded, her hand gripping his sleeve.

Pulling out of her grip, he said, "Leaving."

"Don't you want to know who I wish to adopt it out to?" Pansy asked, voice turning desperate.

Ron sighed. Falling back into his seat, he crossed his arms and glowered at Pansy. He'd stick around just a little longer. But the next time she threw a barb his way, he would go. "Sure, tell me."

"It will go to the family you think will give it the happiest life."

He blinked. "What?" he sputtered. "You – You want me to pick its adoptive family?"

Pansy nodded. "I don't really know too many witches or wizards these days. Certainly none I would willingly hand a child of mine over to, anyway."

He almost felt touched. To trust him with picking the family… "I know a family who has been looking to adopt."

"Oh?" she prompted, eyebrows perking up in interest.

Ron began to drum his fingers along the arm of his chair. "It's my brother, actually. Percy? He was a Head Boy for a bit when we were in school. Now that their daughter, Molly, is getting older, they've been looking into finding another witch or wizard to adopt."

"Why a witch or wizard?"

He gave a half-shrug. "I think they don't care for the idea of bringing up a Muggle child in a world they will never truly belong in. It's bad enough for squibs, you know? They're raised to think they'll go to Hogwarts, become Aurors and Quidditch players, only to find out when they don't get their letter, that those dreams they have will never be. It'd probably be worse for a Muggle, seeing as they'd know from the start they never had a chance of amounting to anything in the world they call home."

Pansy made a thoughtful noise. "For all we know, it could end up being a squib."

"Maybe," Ron acquiesced, "but it also has a good chance of being a witch or wizard, seeing as we're both magical."

She sighed. "I suppose. Your brother, though, really?"

"Our child would be cherished."

Pansy's expression turned thoughtful. "It could come out a ginger," she informed Ron.

He furrowed his brows. "So?"

"It could end up looking a lot like you. Don't you think your brother will wonder about that?"

Ron sighed. "It could also end up looking nothing like me. Is this really what we want to worry about now?"

She pressed her lips into a thin line. "When should we worry about the possibility of it being a mini-you?"

He threw up his hands. "Later! It's so earlier, we don't even know if the baby will make it to being born!"

"Are you wishing my baby dead, Weasel?" Pansy growled, hunching protectively around her middle.

Ron rocketed to his feet. He couldn't believe Pansy! Like he would ever wish one of his children dead! "Stop!" he yelled. "You're putting words in my mouth!"

"You're the one who suggested it might not even make it to the point of being born!" she roared back, finger pointed accusingly at him.

He balled his hands in his thinning hair. "Pansy!" he groaned. "I was just saying. That doesn't mean I want it to happen."

"You could have fooled me," she sniped. "After all, we both know who has more to lose here!"

Ron let his hands fall limply to his side. It irked him how right she was. If it ever got out, that he was the father of Pansy's baby… "Okay," he relented. "You're right about that. I do have more at stake."

Pansy's eyes narrowed in suspicion like she didn't quite believe he would give in so easily without something else to add. "I am," she replied curtly, only the smallest hint of uncertainty present in her tone.

"Like I was saying, though. We're still months away from having to think about what to do about the baby. So, I suggest, for both of our sanities, that we let this rest for the night – maybe the whole holiday. We both know you're pregnant, we both know you aren't–

"–can't

"–keeping it, and that we like the idea of adopting it out to a family that I know. If you ask me, that's a very good start. So, why don't we call it a night?"

Pansy shuffled in her spot, breathing loudly through her nose for a moment, before grumbling, "Fine."

Smiling in relief, Ron leaned in quickly, pressing a hand to her stomach, before drawing back. "Great, g'night you two."

She blinked at him. "Night."

Walking toward the door, he called, "When we get back home if you ever have to write me, write to my brother's joke shop. I usually take care of the mail that comes through there, unlike at home, which is more of a free-for-all."

"I'll make sure that I do," Pansy said, coming up behind him to close her hotel room door behind him.


Stirring a spoonful of honey into her tea, Pansy reflected on her conversation with Ron. It had gone better (and worse) than expected. She was relieved that he hadn't protested her decision to put the baby up for adoption too much. If he had, she wasn't quite sure what she would have done. Obliviate him, perhaps? Thankfully, that had never come up. Though, his first choice for her baby's family troubled her.

While she was all for keeping problems in the family, Pansy felt uneasy about the idea. If the child was a ginger, who was to say Ron's brother wouldn't begin to question him about the baby's origins? Or that his brother's wife wouldn't begin to wonder if her husband had an affair and resent her child because of it? These were important scenarios to consider, she thought. Even if her child never saw her again after its birth Pansy wanted to feel secure in knowing it would grow up happy with people who would not let their questions about her child's origin affect how they raised or treated them.

Bringing the tea to her lips, Pansy considered Freesia. It wouldn't be too difficult to hide the pregnancy from her, she thought. The baby would be born before she finished her first year at Hogwarts. Pansy did worry, however, about what she herself would be like once her baby was gone. Giving up a child often took a toll on the mother in mental, emotional, and even physical ways. Freesia was a sharp girl, surely she would notice the changes in Pansy upon coming home from Hogwarts.

Sighing, Pansy massaged her temples and considered an idea that, before now, seemed absolutely blasphemous. Draco was often asking these days for Pansy to allow Freesia to visit him and his family for an extended period of time. He kept talking about how important it was that she bonded with Scorpius, that she learned about what being a Malfoy entailed (even if she did not carry his name). In the past, Pansy had rebuffed his pleas in numerous, polite, impolite, sympathetic, and vicious ways. Freesia was not a Malfoy, and she never would be. Draco had made sure of that when he refused to marry her all those years ago.

But now… Perhaps it wouldn't hurt for Freesia to spend a month or two with her father, to learn about him and his family in length. Pansy chuckled, low and dark. Perhaps Draco would see the truth about his "darling" wife. She doubted Astoria would be happy with Freesia's presence in her home for so long. The reminder of Draco's previous romance, the reminder that Pansy would always have a place in Draco's life, if only because she was the mother of his first child, would wear on her.

Pansy expected Astoria might turn cold toward Freesia after a few days of her being in the home Astoria shared with Draco. Yet Pansy didn't worry for her daughter. She Knew Freesia wouldn't stand for being treated so icily. The moment Freesia grew sick of Astoria's meanness, she would spit fire at her stepmother (Pansy had not spent the last eleven years teaching her daughter to stand up for herself for nothing, after all). If Astoria was anything like her sister, she would not be able to control her temper and would return Freesia's fury.

And her daughter would be an oh so vindictive little thing (because she had learned from the best) and tell Draco. He wouldn't want to believe Freesia, of course, perhaps he'd even ask Scorpius if he'd been there to witness his mother and sister fighting. Maybe, once he learned that Freesia was right, he would attempt to send her back to Pansy. Pansy, of course, would welcome her daughter home with open arms. She was a good mother, and would never let her daughter remain someplace where she was so unwanted. Pansy could then remind Draco that she'd told him all along just what kind of woman his wife was, maybe hint it was now time he started watching her with Scorpius. If she could be so cruel to one of Draco's children, why not the other? Especially after Scorpius had ratted her poor behavior out to him?

Perhaps Draco's watching, his suspicion, and mistrust toward Astoria would drive the woman mad. Maybe Astoria would demand a divorce – or at least a separation. If Pansy were ever so fortunate, their marriage would become ruined beyond repair. Draco would become as unhappy as her.

It was a lovely dream. One she hoped to happen with all her might. Placing a loving hand on her stomach, Pansy said to her baby, "Your big sister changed everything for me then, and you're changing everything for me now. I suppose that's what you two are, hm? Little bundles of change. Good and bad."


Creeping back into his and wife's room he felt his heart drop when Hermione asked in a whisper, "Where did you go?"

"For a walk," he replied while he silently thanked the darkness for its cover. Without it, Hermione would have seen Ron's terrified expression and known instantly he was lying.

Even so, there was a moment of disbelieving silence before Hermione murmured, "At one in the morning?"

Padding toward their bed, Ron replied, "I know. It sounds silly. I just couldn't sleep, though. I thought about watching the telly, but when I clicked it on I got static. I realized I didn't know enough about it then to find a way to get it to go away to watch something interesting, like that Torchwood story you like to catch when you can."

Humming, softly, Hermione brought her knees up to her chest and rested her arms on them casually as she said, "Rosie figured it out within fifteen minutes of us being in the room. Ask her in the morning to show you how to work the telly."

"I will." Slipping beneath the covers, Ron asked, "What are you doing up anyway? I didn't wake you when I came back, did I?"

Turning her head, He could just barely see Hermione's lips lift into a smile. "Oh no," she replied. "I've been awake for nearly half an hour now."

"What for? Couldn't sleep either?" Ron pressed.

There was a beat of silence before Hermione sighed. "I got a call from Gianni," she said.

"No!" Ron hissed. He knew exactly where this conversation was going to go. "No, Hermione! We're on holiday!"

Hermione's hand made a grab for his in the dark. Ron jerked back. "Ron, he wouldn't have called unless it was very important. If I don't go back, the bill we've been working on for the past year might not go through and we'll be back to square one."

Ron felt his shoulders sag. He knew that tone far too well. There was no changing his wife's mind. "What about the kids?" he asked. "They'll hate having to end our holiday early."

"Oh, Ron. Only I have to go," murmured Hermione. "You and the kids stay here and have fun. Who knows, I might even be able to come back in a couple of days!"

He doubted she'd be back in a couple of days. Things never went that well. Ron and the kids wouldn't see her again until they were back in England. "And if you can't come back before we're supposed to go home?" Ron demanded.

"The department has already agreed that as soon as the bill is passed, I'll have another week of holiday time I can use right away."

He huffed loudly. After a moment of silence, however, Ron hesitantly reached across the bed to bring Hermione into his arms. "Have you given any thought to switching departments? Like I asked? To one that's not so demanding?"

She went stiff in his hold. "I like my job," she said.

Ron let her go. "It was just a question."

"…I have. But every time I do, I think about all the good I'm doing in the one I work for now and I can't bring myself to start looking for a new job."

At least she was being honest, Ron thought. She could have lied. Hermione could have said yes, and told him she was having poor luck with her search for a new job or said she will and then never actually look. Laying down, Ron gently pulled Hermione on top of him and settled her head beneath his chin. "I love you," he whispered.

Hermione kissed his chin. "Oh, Ron. I love you too. I promise things will get better once this bill passes."

"Okay," he said. "But you're still the one who has to tell Rosie and Hugo in the morning that you're going back to work."

Hermione sighed into his neck. "That's fair."


Pansy looked up from her breakfast at the sound of crying. Beside her, Freesia murmured, "It's Mister Weasley and his kids."

Her daughter was, of course, right. Ron stood in the doorway, looking frazzled with a crying toddler on his hip and a fuming four-year-old at his side. 'What had upset them so?' she wondered. Pansy clucked her tongue and scanned the room. Ron's shrew of a wife was nowhere in sight. How annoying. One cranky child was grating enough, she could only imagine what two would be like.

"Can we invite them over for breakfast?" Freesia asked.

Pansy turned a nonplussed look on her daughter. "No. He has a wife to eat with."

Free scowled. "Then why's she not with him?"

"I don't know, maybe she's doing her hair," Pansy replied exasperated.

Her daughter scoffed. "No way," she said, "yesterday her hair was a poofy mess. If she cared about her hair at all, she would have never walked around like that on the beach where all of those people are."

Pansy laughed. 'Clever girl,' she thought with no small amount of pride. "Alright," she relented. "Go ask. If he says no, though, I want no pouting out of you. I warned you about his wife."

Freesia beamed. Bounding toward Ron and his children, she asked if he would like to join her and Pansy. The pinched skin around Ron's eyes eased as he nodded vigorously. Pansy sat up a little straighter, looking around the dining hall once more. Where was Ron's wife? What was he trying to do to them? Get them and their baby killed?

Before she could become truly irate, though, Ron was in the seat beside her. He smiled at Pansy. "Thanks for inviting us. Hermione had to leave for work and the kids are a little upset…"

"A little?" Pansy murmured with a raised eyebrow.

He shrugged sheepishly. "You know, Freesia's pretty good with little kids," Ron said, tipping his head in the direction of the children. Ron's daughter and son were trailing after Freesia at the buffet, letting her put food on the plates they held as she spoke seriously about the options available to them.

"She's a people-person," Pansy replied.

Ron nodded. "That's a good trait."

Pansy tried not to smile too much at the compliment. Ron was a Weasley, after all. He was far beneath her and her daughter and his compliments were as worth as much as a bouquet of hand-picked weeds. "So, your wife left you?"

The man's expression darkened. "Yeah," he said. "Was urgent that she get back according to Gianni."

She couldn't help herself. His tone was simply too sad for her to not offer some kind of condolence. "I'm sorry."

Ron scoffed. "No, you're not."

"I am!" Pansy insisted, affronted at his easy dismissal of her sympathy. If she hadn't meant it, she wouldn't have said it!

He eyed her for a long moment. "What are you and Freesia doing today?"

"There's a little art museum in town. I thought Freesia might like to see it."

Ron nodded, eyes once more on the children. Freesia had taken Ron's little boy's plate from him. It was filled the brim with sausage and fruit. She wondered how in Merlin's name her daughter expected the toddler to finish all of that. As for Ron's little girl, she had her plate held close to her chest. It held a tower of pancakes that she had no hope of finishing either. Pansy sighed. It was one thing to indulge, but to be so wasteful? She would have to have a little talk with Free later.

"Do you mind if we join you?"

Pansy turned her attention back to Ron. "What?" she asked.

"Do you mind if my kids and I come with you and Freesia to the museum? They could use a day out of the sun. Despite all the sunblock I've been slathering on them, they're still a little red on their shoulders and noses."

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "What are you playing at here, Weasel?"

Ron seemed surprised by her question. "Nothing!" he replied. "I just want to do something fun with my kids, to get their mind off Hermione being gone. A museum sounds as good distraction as any."

Pansy crossed her arms and legs. She couldn't believe this man. Was he truly so dumb? Or was he just mental? "Don't you think your children will tell your wife about a day at the museum with Pansy Parkinson and her daughter?"

He scowled. "I'm not going to tell them you're Pansy Parkinson. You're just the lady with the fun daughter who invited us along to the museum."

"What will your wife think about you spending a day out with a woman who isn't her?" Pansy hissed.

Ron looked away. "It doesn't matter, because if she complains, she'll be a hypocrite."

"A hypocrite about what?" Pansy asked, intrigued. She was becoming far more interested in uncovering the cracks in the shrew and Ron's marriage than resisting his company at this point.

He ran a hand through his hair, flashing a smile toward his children as they began to walk toward their table. "If she gets upset, then she'll be no better than me when I got angry about how much time she and Gianni spend alone."

Pansy hummed her understanding but said no more about it as Free sat down in the chair beside her. Looking at her daughter's plate of eggs and toast, she said, "Is that going to be enough? We'll be having a late lunch, darling."

The girl smiled. "Yes. If I'm still hungry, I'll just take a bite from Rosie or Hugo's plates!"

Ron's children smiled. "You can have some now if you want," Rose offered, eager to share with Freesia, who appeared to have become her new idol in their short time together.

"Thanks, Rosie," Freesia said, snagging a pancake off the little girl's plate with her fork.

This caused Rose's smile to widen as she giggled into her hands. Pansy felt her lips twitch into a grin. She was nearly as cute as Freesia was at her age.

"Children, your dad and I were talking and thought that maybe you would like to come with me and Freesia to an art museum today." Ron's mouth fell open, his shock at her easy offer evident. However, that surprise quickly faded and gratitude took its place. Pansy pretended not to notice as she looked between his son and daughter. "You do know what an art museum is, don't you?"

Rose bobbed her head as Hugo said, "Yeah. Gots lots of pit'ures."

"That's right," Pansy praised.

Eagerly, Freesia added in, "They also have other stuff! Like statues and vases! I bet you'd both really like it. Mum says this one's a modern art museum and that stuff is always wicked!"

The pair needed no more convincing. "I wanna go!" Rose exclaimed. Looking to her father, she frowned severely and repeated, "I wanna go, Daddy."

"Then we'll go," Ron replied, amusement clear. Then, nudging her plate, he said, "But, first, breakfast."

Rose needed no further prompting. As she tucked in, her father turned his attention back to Pansy. "Thanks," he said.

She had to smother a smile behind a carefully placed hand. "There's no need for that, I didn't invite you along because you asked. I'm doing this for Freesia. As you can see, she quite adores your brats."

For a moment, Ron appeared uncertain, then, he laughed half-amused, half-bewildered. As for Pansy, she looked away and suppressed the snicker bubbling up her throat. Who knew a Weasley could have such a contagious laugh?


So, what did you guys think of this chapter? Did you enjoy it? Was there anything you didn't care for or thought could use some work?

Thank you so much for reading an please let me know what you think :)