Damn Draco, damn Blaise, damn the Ministry, and damnation of the worst kind on that Granger chit. If this was how the Ministry dealt with a low level infraction she'd hate to see what they would have done if she'd taken candy from a child. Pansy should have been given an award for making that particular corner of Brighton more appealing rather than having her stripped of her wand for half a year. It wasn't her fault that those Muggles so desperately needed some sort of beauty potion. And it certainly wasn't her fault that there were those unfortunate, piggish side-effects.

Pansy took a slow drag on her cigarette and relished the burn in her nostrils, preferring that sting to the one of self-pity. She shook her now empty glass at the bartender – Abbey or Blabby, whatever that Hufflepuff's name was. The neat whiskey was set in front of her and she narrowed her eyes at it, imaging it was Granger's face she was stubbing out rather than her used cigarette. After all, it was Granger's fault she was drinking in a dingy, smoky bar at 3:38 in the afternoon, a perfect imitation of her mother. Well, not quite a perfect imitation. Pansy had far better taste than to drown herself in the sickly sweet elven wine. No to mention the fact that her mother would die a second time if she'd lived to see the off-brand robes and heels her daughter had been reduced to wearing after the war.

Taking a sip of whiskey, she reached into her purse for her lighter and a new cigarette. She glared at the foul tasting thing before lighting it. Bloody cheapskate. He even cut his cigarettes with cheap tobacco. For a Malfoy one would think he had more discerning taste. She'd stolen the foul things from Draco's coat pockets while he'd been too busy chatting up their waiter last night. Served him right anyways. It was his fault she'd been caught. He'd been told a million times never to cut corners by using dittany. For the potions she was making only asphodel would do; it was the only plant delicate yet powerful enough that would properly set the foundation.

Pansy closed her eyes, pulling at her cigarette, and began to contemplate the pros and cons of various places to hide the little ferret's body. The Thames was always a good choice, though one never could be sure where the nymphs would drag the body. Then again, the squid's lake had always been a proper choice for disposing of things. Nothing ever made its way back to the surface there. She was pretty sure they'd lost a Hufflepuff in the lake her seventh year.

She exhaled and examined the cigarette, scowling as she saw a chip in her nailpolish. Pansy reached for her wand, ready to fix it with a simple spell, before remembering it would do her no good. Damn Granger. That self-righteous bureaucrat might like doing things the Muggle way but it was cruel and unusual to force others to do the same. There was nothing so useless as a witch without her magic.

If she was lucky the whiskey and smoke would kill her before she went crazy. Her friends were certainly no help. Not for the first time in her life, Pansy wondered whether she should have chosen friends with far more loyalty. Not the level of Gryffindor loyalty, of course, or even Hufflepuff loyalty. Then again, at this point anything other than the narcissistic Slytherin self-preservation would be better. Despite being friends with them almost her whole life and knowing them to be nothing more than self-serving brats, Pansy was still surprised at how gleefully they'd watched as she was sentenced. Blaise was more than happy to hide behind Granger's skirts while Draco cried crocodile tears in protest of his own innocence.

She lifted her glass and gave a small toast to her mother before throwing it back. As she winced at the burn, the Hufflepuff set another glass in front of her, courtesy of the gentleman at the end of the bar. Pansy smiled coyly at him and bent her head in thanks, but made no motion to get up. She was never one to say no to a gift of liquor.

"And a shot of firewhiskey," she told the bartender. "Please," she added. As her mother always said, be polite to those who feed you and be even politer to those who serve you alcohol. As Addon (perhaps Abbott? That one sounded correct) set the firewhiskey in front of her, Pansy raised the glass in another toast, this time to Abbot before downing it in one. In for a penny, in for a pound as her mother always told her before tipping the entire bottle of vodka into the Easter punch.

She coughed as the liquid burned a trail down her throat, finally settling down into a warm, comforting puddle in her stomach. Blaise would have praised her newfound ability to stomach firewhiskey, a skill she'd always been lacking. Or at least he would be if he weren't so caught up in his 'business meetings' with Granger. Apparently his shagging partner was a higher priority than his lifelong friends.

Regardless of his taste in women, Pansy would have to have a long talk with him regarding the time he and that swot spent together. If anyone was in desperate need of a lay it was perfect prefect Granger. She'd been wholly in her element at the Wizengamot, spouting off statutes and regulations as if she were still trying to win house points. Or perhaps that was how she got off these days. She certainly wasn't getting off on Zabini that was for damn sure.

Lighting another cigarette and ignoring the pointed stare of the man at the end of the bar, Pansy debated hiding her friends' bodies in the Malfoy dungeons. Surely Aunty Cissa wouldn't notice another two bodies. She hadn't cleaned down there since the last Ministry raid in April. Or perhaps Gringotts? Word through the grapevine was that they'd finally managed to get another dragon down there. Pansy quickly scrapped that idea when she realized she'd have to drag the bodies to the vaults and potentially ruin her manicure. She briefly considered hiding Blaise under Granger's mattress to get her revenge on both of them, but she quickly dismissed that thought with a shudder. The thought of going anywhere that Blaise may have been without pants was enough to drive her to a nunnery.

The door to the bar opened and Pansy squinted as the afternoon sunlight hit her square in the face. She glared into the light and reached for her wand instinctively. When the realization hit that it was locked up somewhere in the Wizengamut she turned away from the light and pouted. She blinked a few times to readjust her eyes to the dim light of the bar. Life really wasn't fair. She'd been reduced to Muggle status and it was all that blond rat's fault. She returned to her own misery and it wasn't until Abbott passed by her to speak with the newcomer that she realized he'd decided to seat two seats down from her. Honestly, some people had no manners when it came to drinking in public. Didn't his mother teach him better?

Pansy blinked a few times to chase away the spots still lingering in her eyes and brought her cigarette up to her lips. A smirk appeared when she realized it was the best way to make sure the stranger kept his distance. She took a long, slow drag and turned her head just enough to blow a cloud of smoke towards him. Her smirk turned into a full smile as she was rewarded with the sound of the stranger coughing.

Now that her space was secure, Pansy began to wonder whether it was possible to vanish someone and what the punishment for doing so would be. Granger would know. She'd also probably know the best place to hide the bodies. With all the running around the Golden Trio did at school they had to have some skeletons in their respective closets, and Pansy would bet money that Granger had the largest collection. No one wound that tight could exist without their share of secrets.

Once her eyes had adjusted fully to the dim light of the bar, Pansy glanced over at the stranger from the corner of her eye. He seemed familiar, but then again everyone lately seemed familiar. She supposed it was the price one paid for opening a shop in a newly renovated Knockturn Alley, one that catered almost exclusively to vain witches and wizards of London. Or perhaps he was just one of Draco's many past conquests and she'd been the one who had to elegantly tell him to fuck off out of their flat.

Her eyes narrowed when she realized he was staring at her, mouth slightly open. Damn this stranger too, then. Who did she have to fuck to be left alone today, Potter?

"Parkinson? Is that you?" he asked. That got her attention.

Pansy plastered a coy smile on her face, glancing at the mirror behind the bar to make sure her lipstick was still in place, and swiveled the bar stool around. She crossed her legs and leaned against the counter in a way that looked damn good on her. She should know; she'd practiced it hundreds of times to find just the right angle to show off her calves.

Facing him, Pansy raised her cigarette to her mouth and took a drag. His eyes were fixated on her mouth and she used his distraction to openly drink him in. A jacket slightly too large with patches on the elbows. Trousers that had seen better days and were covered in potion stains. And trainers. An adult man wearing trainers in the middle of the day. Really? And Draco wondered why Pansy had long ago given up on finding a decent man.

"Yes?" she returned, raising one delicately manicured eyebrow. "Have we met?" That sent him sneering back to his pint. Pansy only rolled her eyes at his behavior. If anyone should be the one to be offended it should be her. Beer, at this time of day?

There was something about the stranger that nagged at her and she used his tantrum to assess him further. Something about that violent shade of red hair seemed familiar. And all those freckles. The only ones she knew that would fit those features this far south had to be a "Weasley?"

He scoffed. "Got it finally, have you?"

Pansy sneered. The whole Weasley lot had been nothing but tossers at school, why would now be any different. She swung back around to face the bar, flirting with the idea of adding one Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor and savior of the Wizarding World, to her ever expanding kill list. Granted, it would take more effort now since he was probably working for the Ministry by now, but plenty of government officials had disappeared in the past.

"Can't say I'm surprised to see you here," he told her frowning. "Malfoy abandon you for another one of his fuck boys again?"

Pansy quickly decided that four bodies were just as easy to hide as three. In for a penny, in for a pound as Gran told her before adding the entire bottle of arsenic to her uncle's Christmas chutney.

"Not since he and Potter started shagging like rabbits," she frowned back at him. Weasley began choking on his lager and ended up spilling the entire pint on himself in his surprise. He spun around to face her, still sputtering, trying to find something intelligible to say. It would probably take him a while.

Pansy took another sip of her own whiskey and smirked at his reaction. Now this was interesting. Apparently Potter had been keeping his torrid love affair secret from his own shadows. Did Granger know? If not, she would soon if Weasley's mouth was anything like it had been. It really shouldn't be a surprise to either of those two considering how Potter lusted after Draco in their final years at Hogwarts. Even the Hufflepuffs had noticed. Then again, Weasley always had the observancy skills of a blind mouse.

"Surprised, Weasley?" she asked, mostly to get a rise out of him.

Somehow, Weasley managed to scowl even deeper at her. He grabbed a handful of napkins from behind the bar and began mopping up the beer he'd spilled down the front of his shirt. "Like you're one to trust. Next you'll tell me you haven't broken any laws lately. Oh wait, you have," he said smirking.

Pansy rolled her eyes. If this was the type of commentary he produced with he'd have to try much harder to keep her interest. "And I see your insults are still as striking as ever. Whatever shall I do to keep from crying all the way home."

She watched him from the corner of her eye as he began to move the beer around on the counter with the wet napkins before being shooed away by Abbott carrying a bar towel. The bartender managed to soak up the majority of the spilled beer before vanishing the rest of it with a wave of her wand. Pansy's hand itched as she watched; it hadn't even been four hours since her sentencing and she was already going through withdrawals. Six months without magic would surely be the death of her.

Abbot dropped the towel in a bucket somewhere before setting a new pint down in front of Weasley, waving off his efforts to pay before leaving to attend another patron. Pansy's eyes narrowed in disgust. Of course he would get free drinks for something he'd done ten years ago while she would forever be sneered at as the Death Eater's daughter. Life was cruel sometimes, especially to the beautiful and tragic.

She sipped at her own drink as the giddiness that always came from drinking firewhiskey began to creep up on her. Pansy pouted. It appeared Weasley was far too intent to brood than entertain her. Her playthings weren't supposed to give up this easily. She racked her mind in an attempt to find something to raise his ire, but Potter and Granger were the only things to come to mind.

"I'm surprised Miss Perfect let you out of your cage," she told him. "Isn't there some sort of warning about keeping trolls out of the sunlight? Or is she too busy with her 'business meetings' to mother you?" Pansy asked, blowing smoke in his direction once more.

Weasley scowled and waved the smoke away. "The fuck should I know. I'm not her bloody keeper."

Pansy gave a small hum at that. "She and Blaise seem rather," she paused for effect, "close lately, don't you think?"

Weasley only snorted. "They've been sleeping together for ages. I'd be surprised if they weren't close."

She raised her eyebrows at that. So Granger told him about Blaise, but Potter was strangely silent. Interesting. Unfortunately, that still left very few topics for Pansy to play with. She decided to go for the direct route instead. As Uncle Vlad used to tell her before Halloween, the direct route is the quickest way to a man's heart. Otherwise you might hit a rib or two on your way in.

"So tell me, what has life been like for one of the most famous Weasley in London? Popping out red-headed children and chasing after 'dark wizards' still?" she asked, using the Muggle form of sarcasm otherwise known as 'air quotes'. Pansy had recently learned about this effective way of connoting disinterest from the Muggles she'd been selling to. The truth was, she really didn't care to know anything more about the so-call 'Golden Trio', she'd learned far more than she ever wanted to know from Blaise and Draco's shagging partners, but she was loathe to give up this opportunity for a bit of entertainment.

Weasley tilted his head and stared at her almost as if he was trying to figure out when this particular snake would strike. Pansy let him look as she took out another of Draco's foul smelling cigarettes and reached for the matches on the counter.

"What are you playing at Parkinson?" he asked after a moment.

"Playing at?" She paused to set the match to the cigarette. No one had ever accused her of playing at anything. "Darling, I may be willing to do anything under the sun, but playing is certainly not something I do. That would imply I don't know what I'm doing," she told him, flicking the match to put it out. "All I'm trying to do is catch up with an old school mate."

Weasley narrowed his eyes at her, clearly not buying her innocent act. "When have we ever been mates? You've always been more keen to throw me and Harry under. I can't even think of a time when you've been civil."

"Oh come now," she said waving away his suspicion as easily as he'd waived away her smoke. "That was merely the folly of my youth. You know how impressionable and scared children are. Especially when death is knocking at the door every day." She drained her glass and motion to Abbott for another. She ignored Weasley's pointed stare.

"How many of those have you had?"

"Not nearly enough," she assured him. A sneer marred her face as she remembered why she was here in the first place. "Especially after what your little friend did today."

Weasley snorted into his drink. "From the way I hear it you bloody well deserved it. I would have had you thrown into Azkaban."

Pansy was offended at his implication that what she did rose to the level of a common murderer. "I'll have you know that what I was doing was a public service. You'd have thought so too if you saw those Muggles. Made Millie look like she belonged on the cover of Witch Weekly." Weasley grinned at that. "Besides, you're far too biased. You've always had a soft spot for Muggles, especially after Granger got her claws into you."

Weasley rolled his eyes. "Yes, because the only reason to care about someone you don't know is because you've been brainwashed by some bird and not because you want the world to be a better place."

"Well, yes." Pansy was struck that anyone could think otherwise. "Caring about other people is the quickest way to a knife in the back. And if you stick your neck out for anyone else eventually someone is going to come along and cut it off," she told him. She swallowed hard as the memories she'd kept at bay began to replay in her mind. "Besides, if you don't have a reason to protect them why care at all? It's not as if they aren't able to take care of themselves."

Weasley turned his head and looked at her with pity. She quashed the urge to throw the rest of her drink in his face. Waste not, want not as her mother told her every morning as she mixed in amortentia into her morning tea. His voice was soft as he spoke. "Because they're people too. Their lives are just as valuable as yours or mine. Didn't it ever occur to you that there's more to life than looking pretty and wearing nice clothes?"

Pansy arched her eyebrow at him. "Of course I know that, I'm not that shallow." She took a moment to flick the ash off. "There's also collecting shoes and looking better than the general populace. But it's nice to know you think I'm pretty," she said flippantly in an attempt to throw him from the road he was dangerously close to starting down.

Weasley scowled, seemingly disgusted at her attitude and turned away from her. Under normal circumstances she would have been happy to go back to her drink and ignore him, but the whiskey in her veins and the fire nipping at her cheeks churned his disgust and pity into a gnawing anger. She'd been stared at, whispered about, and scorned by too many people in the ten years after the war and she was tired of being branded the one who tried to hand over Harry Potter to Lord You-Know-Who in a desperate attempt to save more lives and end the violence.

Then again, perhaps her desire to shatter his world of sunshine and roses was too powerful. At the very least she wanted to leave a scratch in his twisted belief that the world and everyone one in it, including her, was something worth saving. It was beliefs like his that got people killed and tortured. Just because he'd been lucky in his youth to escape death shouldn't mean he could come in and judge her life when he knew nothing about it.

"Unlike you, Weasley," she sneered, refusing to let him think the same thoughts about her that everyone else had, "I was never shown the good in everyone. I was taught that there were others who simply weren't worth my time. Unlike you I didn't have a loving family who supported and cared for me; they supported and cared for a megalomaniac and raised their children to think the same. Those I shared a dormitory with were raised in the same fashion, feed lies and half-truths since birth to leave them twisted in the eyes of others. Our eyes were forced wide open when we were nothing but babes in the cradle, forced to see that the monsters under our beds were much preferable to those who dressed up as men. They were ones to fear."

She blinked back the tears of anger and fear and frustration, refusing to let the demons of her past ruin her perfectly applied mask made of mascara and eyeliner and rouge. The glass felt cold in her hand, almost as cold as she'd felt for so many years of her life, and she gripped it so that she didn't float away in her memories.

"You've never had to spend every night at home with your sisters shaking with fear under your bed while you raised a sleepless and trembling wand against a locked door. You never had to guard a door in your own home against those meaning to harm you mind, body, and soul, terrified curses ghosting over your lips at your father for bringing those beasts into your home. Your mother never drank herself to death because she couldn't lift a finger to protect her children against her husband's plans of grandeur. You were never told that you were nothing more than a pawn to your father and that nothing mattered more than the curve of your face, the shape of your hips, and the arch of your neck. You never had to spend sleepless nights with your friends listing the friends and family you would one day have to raise your wand against or be killed," she ground out, the glass finally shattering in her hand and damming the flow of words from her mouth.

Weasley was still staring at her shamelessly, his mouth dangling open wide enough to catch flies, but Pansy didn't give a damn of what he thought of her wishing only that he wouldn't look at her in pity again. She was so tired of the pitiful looks and the scornful hatred she saw looking back at her in the mirror, but more than anything she was tired of the open stares, sneers, and scowls she received on the streets for the mere sin of being born to a family and sorted into a house on the wrong side of history.

Abbott came running over as soon as she saw the blood, her wand waving to vanish the shards of glass and ice. Pansy let her remove the piece of glass that had embedded deep into her hand and watched as the skin stitched itself up, jealous that her skin could so easily be made whole while her soul still lay shattered on the carpet of her father's study.

"You were one of the lucky ones whose path was always made open to your own decisions," she continued softly as Abbot vanished into the back for more towels and a pain potion. "The rest of us were not so lucky. You spit on us every chance you had, demonizing us and excluding us, driving us closer towards what our parents wanted us to become. You taught us the only people to trust not to give us scars were the ones so much likes ourselves, that our words could be used as weapons sharper than any knife. We learned how to tread carefully and weave subtle meaning throughout our words least we attract the wrong sort of attention. And every lesson we were taught reinforced one thing: if you don't use them, you'll be used up yourself," she told him, the bitterness rolling off her tongue as easily as rain off a roof.

She took a last pull off her cigarette before grinding it down in the ashtray. She threw down enough coins to pay for the alcohol and the shattered glass before sliding off the stool and stepping towards the door.

Weasley watched her walk past him, pity and curiosity shining through those blue chips of glass. Her gaze hardened to flint as she realized she'd played the game and lost, spilling her secrets on the counter for Weasley to poke and prod at as he pleased. Pansy smirked at him, trying to tell herself all was not lost.

"But no matter what I do have one thing you and your friends will never have," she told him stopping a foot away from where he sat.

"What, what's that?" Weasley stuttered through a dry mouth.

"Good taste. Perhaps if you stop by, I can even give you a lesson. Though I'm afraid the first step will be to get you out of those horrible clothes." She raked her eyes down his shabbily dressed figure and was rewarded as he flushed crimson and looked away, the pity replaced by something much more familiar to her. "I always did wonder if you would look better without them."

Pansy turned on her heel and headed towards the door. Despite spilling years' worth of therapy inducing trauma in front of a sworn-childhood enemy, she felt lighter than she had in some time. Let him sort through all her problems for her. Perhaps he'd be able to find the closure she was still looking for.

xxxx

Two months later Pansy had all but forgotten her run in with the golden weasel. Ever since her sentence hit the newspapers her mail order business had increased tenfold. Though no one wanted to be caught entering the shop of someone so notoriously hated it certainly hadn't stopped them from buying her products. Though Pansy couldn't argue with the increase in business, Pansy's days at the shop had been full of nothing but reading the papers through twice and watching the dust settle on her shelves.

Currently she was resting her head on the counter of her shop, waiting for her nails to dry and trying her best not to fall asleep from boredom. Every inch of her shop had been cleaned with a rag and soapy water like a common Muggle, each shelf in the shop had been restocked according to its popularity, all mail orders had been filled and dutifully sent out by owl, and, miraculously, the books had been balanced down to the last sickle. Now there was nothing left to clean, move, or brew. Pansy hadn't been this bored since Snape had taken over the DADA class years ago.

The shop bell rang out and Pansy jumped up, eager at the chance of a personal interaction to break up the dull day. She plastered a coy smile on her face and glanced in the mirror, smoothing out any stray hairs, and glided towards the front of the shop. Her smile fell as she recognized who had plucked up the courage to enter her shop.

"Come to play with the suspected Death Eaters again Weasley?" she sneered. Pansy crossed her arms in irritation at Weasley's frown. "Or maybe you've finally come to your senses and realized that freckles have never been in. I've a lovely potion that will wipe them from your face in a snap. Or perhaps you've come to take me up on my offer?" she asked, a flirtatious smile crossing her face.

Weasley shoved his hands into the front pockets of his stained robes. He slouched a bit, his broad shoulders hunching downwards as he tried to make himself smaller. If Pansy didn't know better she'd think he was being far more defensive than needed, but then again she'd never been able to figure out the nature of a man's mind beyond the obvious three necessities.

"Fuck off Parkinson. I'm only here cause Gin and Hermione have been raving about some damned hair potion of yours," he growled. He frowned at the potions lining the shelves. Pansy had no doubt he was clueless as to what any of them did.

"Hair potion? Darling, that's almost half of my product. Perhaps your sister meant this best seller?" She picked up a bottle, her fingers deliberately caressing his as she pressed the bottle into his hand. "It's guaranteed to turn any shade of hair a brilliant platinum blond for at least a week, money back guaranteed. It would be perfect for your sister. I hear Potter's into blondes these days," she purred, unable to resist taking the cheap shot. It was obvious to everyone that the youngest Weasley still carried a torch for the Savior of the Wizarding World and according the gossip columns it had created no small amount of strife between them.

Weasley scowled at her and slammed the bottle back on the shelf. Vials rattled together and Pansy reached out to steady them. Pansy narrowed her eyes at him, irritated by his lack of respect for her work.

"You break it, you buy it Weasley. So you might want to be a bit more careful before you go about acting like a bull in a china shop. I doubt you could afford most things in here," she hissed.

"Then just give me the damn hair thing and I'll be on my own bloody way," he snarled back.

Pansy tutted at his lack of manners. If only she had her wand he'd be banished from her shop in a second. Too bad she still had three months, twenty-two days, seven hours, and forty two minutes until she got it back. "I'm afraid I'm all out of that particular potion. And the waiting list is longer than you can imagine." Seeing his frown deepen gave her a small jolt of pleasure she'd been devoid of for a while. "But perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement?"

Weasley narrowed his eyes, no doubt imagining horrible scenarios of carrying bodies, cursing innocent bystanders, and stealing candy from babies. Pansy ignored him and walked back towards the counter. He followed her, still silent, and she began to examine her nails for any chips that may have been caused by Weasley's temper tantrum.

"I'm not getting thrown in Azkaban for you. And I'm refuse to get pulled into your petty politics," he finally told her.

"Ooh, alliteration, how charming. Perhaps you picked something up from hanging around with Granger all these years. Besides, I know better than to ask you to do something that would go against your sterling reputation," she said. Weasley only rolled his eyes. "All I'm asking is for you to put in a good word with the powers that be that I've learned my lesson not to play with Muggles."

He snorted at her request. "Despite what you may have heard, any pull at the Ministry I might have had has been blown to hell after telling Dawlish where he can shove his bloody and twisted version of justice."

If she hadn't had composure beaten into her at such an early age Pansy's jaw might have dropped. Weasley was fired from his dream job? That was certainly one for the front pages. She leaned against the counter, desperate for the whole story. "Details, Weasely, details. Did they kick you out as soon as the resignation papers were signed? Did they strip your memories?"

Weasley coughed and pointedly looked away from her. Pansy glanced down to see that her already low cut top had pulled down far enough to give him more than an eyeful. "They're breasts Weasley. Don't act as if you haven't seen breasts before."

He turned a violent shade of red and turned away from her completely. "The potion, Parkinson. What do I have to do to get bumped up your damn list?"

Pansy pouted. Here she was trying to get details on the juiciest piece of Ministry gossip in a year and he was offended by the sight of her breasts. She was beginning to think that Granger had the right idea about him. "I told you Weasley. Put in a good word at the ministry for me. Besides, what would all those high ranking officials think if they were bumped down for someone I wasn't even schoolmates with?"

Somehow Weasley turned even redder. Pansy could almost the smoke coming from his ears as he tried to think of some sort of compromise. "I'll talk to Hermione but I make no promises."

"And you tell me where your brother gets his supply of dragon heartstrings and unicorn tears," she added as she realized she could get more out of him that way than through Granger. She'd been after Borgin for weeks trying to get his prices down to a reasonable level, but the codgy old bastard refused to yield. And her pathetic attempts at corporate espionage had failed; she still couldn't figure out where that annoying earless twit of a fool got his supply.

Weasley opened his mouth to argue but she cut him off. "Talking to her does me no good. She'd rather snap my wand in half than help me and you know it."

Weasley sighed and leaned against the counter to weigh his options. He drummed his fingers on the counter and she resisted the urge to slam her receipt book down on his fingers. After a minute, he agreed. "But not a word to anyone, especially not George. He'll kill the both of us if he finds out you know. Do you have a quill?" She handed one to him and watched as he scribbled a name and address on a scrap piece of paper in large, childlike letters.

Pansy squinted at the words to make sure she could understand them. Once she'd confirmed the accuracy of what she read she opened her register and placed the scrap under the till. She gave him a coy smile and walked into the back room to collect the necessary potions. As she began to bag them up, she handed him two sheets of instructions.

"Make sure they both read these before using the potion. If they don't read it, I'm not responsible for any hair growth, loss, or change that may occur. And be sure Granger knows that if she tampers with the potion for any reason it will backfire and the results will not be pretty." Pansy paused a moment and pursed her lips. "Actually, go ahead and encourage her to try and figure out the ingredients I've used. It would make the next three months go by so much quicker to imagine her covered in spots."

Weasley scowled as he snatched up the bags and threw down a stack of coins. "It wouldn't kill you to be nice. People might even like you a bit more if you weren't such a callous bitch all the time."

Pansy gave him the most innocent face she could muster. "But, I rather like being a callous bitch. It's much more fun that way."

He only rolled his eyes before storming towards the door.

"Oh, and darling?" Pansy called out to him. To her amusement he stopped and turned back to face her. "My offer still stands you know. I'd just love to get you out of those clothes of yours. I'm sure they'd look far better on my bedroom floor."

The sound of the door slamming was quickly followed by her peals of laughter. He really was quite easy to rile up. If he kept this up she might even look forward to seeing him again.

xxxxx

Pansy sighed and leaned against the wall, taking care not to crush the delicate lace that ran along the side of her dress. She still hadn't figured out how Blaise had managed to convince her to go to this so-called dinner party and not make a scene about it. It was now eight thirty and she'd yet to see anything resembling either a dinner or a party. The entire ballroom was filled with witches and wizards who filled the society columns and Ministry rolls, the very same people who rejoiced as her father committed suicide and her family was stripped of any wealth and prestige it once had.

On a positive note, Granger's taste in wine and ability to pair appetizers was superb. Not that Pansy would ever admit that.

Bored with watching the people around her, Pansy glanced up only to find Draco smirking at her discomfort from across the room. Pansy scowled back, angry that she'd let him apparate her to the hotel before nine. He claimed they needed to arrive early to support Blaise but Pansy wasn't fooled by his sudden altruism. Draco merely wanted to show up early on the off chance Potter showed up before it got too crowded. They hadn't spoken in a week after Draco had done something embarrassingly stupid (so embarrassing he refused to talk about it to her).

Unfortunately, Pansy had been too busy throwing mental daggers at the blond devil that she failed to realize she had company. A small, polite cough was heard at her elbow and Pansy turned, expecting it to be another simpering idiot. She scowled when she realized it was only Granger.

"Pansy, it's so nice of you to come. Blaise hoped you'd be here but he wasn't sure if you would show up," Granger said. Pansy gave her a deprecating smile and hoped the witch would move along quickly. Surely there were more important people here that she needed to speak with. "We're both very happy you were able to make it for the announcement," Granger continued as she fiddled with her glass.

"I'm sure," Pansy replied. The tension between the two was thick enough Pansy could almost reach out and pinch it. It was obvious Granger had no idea what to say to the woman she'd taken magic away from. Pansy relished Granger's nervousness, content to sip her wine and watch the crowd instead of making an attempt at conversation.

Blaise caught her eye and she realized that he'd probably been the one to encourage Granger to speak with his friends. Bloody traitor. He motioned to her, obviously wanting her to continue the conversation and mend bridges with his intended. Pansy rolled her eyes in response. Why did she have to make that stupid promise? She should have paid more attention to her grandfather as he warned her against making make promises. Then again, he did always tell her that right before he promised to buy her a new pony after feeding her old one to his dragon.

Pansy cleared her throat as she realized there was no way to get out of this situation. Blaise apparently intended to keep Granger around for much longer than Pansy would like and it would be easier to pretend to be an adult.

"Yes, well. Mending bridges and all that rubbish," she ground out. Granger beamed at her, obviously pleased with her answer, and Pansy was almost blinded by the wide smile.

"That makes me so happy. I was afraid that things would be a bit tense between us after everything," Granger told her. Pansy had to bit her lip to keep from snorting at Granger's understatement of the year. "And I know you're a large part of Blaise's life and I'd hate for me to make things more difficult with his friends. Especially since, well, things are going to change soon. And after all he's been through I don't want him to lose any more of his friends," Granger rambled, beginning to tear up. Pansy took a small step away, trying to put enough distance between the two so that if Granger did start to cry she would at least have some sort of plausible deniability.

"And then there's Draco, and I've been absolutely awful to him. Especially after Harry told me about them being together. I was so dreadful about it, I don't think he or Harry will ever forgive me. And here I was thinking I was above all that, but I've been acting worse than anyone." Granger sniffed and Pansy wondered how bad it would look if she just took off running for the exit now.

"And then, there's how I've treated you, and you've been nothing but kind to me in setting all this up, and I just, I just -"

Out of nowhere, tears began leaking out of Granger's eyes and she began to sob, her words turning into meaningless sounds. Pansy frantically began looking around for Blaise or Potter or anyone who was more qualified to deal with a bawling Granger.

"Please stop crying, Granger. People are staring," Pansy hissed. The last thing she needed was to be seen next to a crying Granger and have the entire thing twisted against her by notorious gossips.

Finding no one to help her in the growing crowd, Pansy pulled the sobbing witch towards the loo for some privacy, throwing elbows and stepping on the toes of those who refused to move out of her way. "Granger, whatever it is I did, I apologize profusely. I don't know what I've done that's so horrible but I promise to never do it, just stop bloody crying," Pansy muttered.

Once they reached the door to the loo, Pansy all but threw Granger through the door. Finding it occupied with two older witches, she grabbed Granger's wand and leveled it at them. Ministry restrictions be damned, this was both their reputations on the line

"If you were smart, and judging by those horrible hand bags I doubt it, you would leave now before you look any worse than you already do."

"Excuse me, but we were here first. And how do we know that you're not planning something horrible for her?" The blonde woman asked with a sneer on her face. Pansy only raised an eyebrow.

When they didn't get the hint to leave, Pansy muttered a few words under her breath and drew a complicated pattern. She watched with some degree of pleasure as scaly chartreuse and pink patches began to grow over the woman's body, the worst of them slowly creeping up her face. Ignoring her shrieks of outrage, Pansy turned to the other woman.

"If you don't want matching scales and a pig snot I suggest you take your friend and leave," she said. When the woman hesitated, Pansy barked "Now." The woman dragged her shrieking friend out the door and Pansy caught a glimpse of the growing crowd outside the door. She waved the wand once more and locked the door behind them. She sighed and threw Granger's wand into the sink as she realized that assault would likely get her wand permanently revoked.

"Thank you for that," Granger mumbled through her tears. Pansy glanced at her and found she was slightly calmer. "I don't think I could handle any more people seeing me cry today. I don't know if I can handle the rest of tonight to be honest."

Granger lowered herself down onto the settee and Pansy braced herself for another emotional outburst. If she was going to keep this up Pansy would need something far stronger than wine. Her fingers itched for the cigarettes she'd left in her coat pocket as she eyed the purses that were left behind. A little petty thievery would pale in comparison to her stunt just now.

"I wouldn't worry about tonight if I were you Granger. Regardless of what happened, you'll be portrayed as a hapless victim being emotionally tortured by your fiancee's jilted ex-lover. And I'm starting to develop an immunity to the nasty little things that damned Skeeter woman calls me," Pansy said as she dug through the bright pink Gucci knock-off. She found nothing of importance other than a bright turquoise handkerchief that she handed to Granger. "I wouldn't be surprised if there's a mob to string me up when I open up shop tomorrow morning."

"Ex-lover? You mean Blaise and you," Granger trailed off as she tried to find an appropriate word.

"Fucked like rabbits?" Pansy supplied, one eyebrow raised at Granger's innocence. Granger bit her lip and looked away as she worried at the handkerchief in her hand. Pansy sighed once more. Draco was right, she was going soft.

"It was years ago, right after the war, and we were both so battered and broken from everything that we sought comfort in the only other people who could stand to be near us. It was purely physical, born of boredom and being ostracized by the magical community at large," she added softly. Pansy thought a lie would be better than the truth. She doubted Granger could take the knowledge that he'd often talk of them running away together to Russia or Panama to settle down in anonymity. And it was certainly best not mention the emerald encrusted ring she still kept in the back of her desk drawer.

Granger was quiet and Pansy took the opportunity to move onto the second purse, this one a violent shade of mauve that failed miserably in its attempt to look like a Louis Vuitton knock-off. Pansy suppressed the urge to cheer at the sight of a lovely malachite cigarette case. She flipped it open to check its contents and sighed in relief when she saw it three cigarettes lying against an even lovelier mother of pearl backing. Now if she could find a matching lighter.

"He proposed last week you know," Granger said. Pansy made a small noise and finally gave up and dumped the purse out, its contents spilling off the counter and onto the floor. She began to shift through the pile as Granger continued. "He was quite lovely about it all. Brought me my favorite flowers, a lovely bottle of wine. He even made dinner."

Pansy rolled her eyes. She knew all too well what Blaise had done; Pansy had spelled the whole thing out for him. She'd even taught him how to cook that particular dish the night before.

"After dinner, he was picking up the dishes one minute and the next he was down on his knee proposing. I was so beside myself that I said yes without even thinking."

Pansy scowled as she was unable to find even a single match. Granger seemed to mistake the object of her displeasure and continued quickly. "I was overjoyed he was asking, don't get me wrong. He makes me exquisitely happy, and I'd like to think I do the same for him, it's just that it all seems a bit sudden it all."

Pansy made a small conversational noise that seemed to appease Granger. She grabbed the first purse and dumped it out on the counter as well.

"We've been seeing each other for two years now, and we've been officially dating for a year and a half. But we've only been public about our relationship for the last six months and I'm not sure how things will be now that everyone knows. It changes once everything knows," Granger added more to herself.

Damn. Still no lighter or matches. Pansy turned towards Granger and the varnish from the wand in the sink winked at her like a temptress. Knowing that Granger would not stop talking until she said her piece, Pansy reached for the wand.

"Perhaps its more the fact that my parents knew each other for so long before settling down. You might find it silly, but I've always thought that we'd be married a few years down the line." Pansy listened half-heartedly as she placed the cigarette between her lips. She mumbled the simple spell to set the tip of Granger's wand alight and was about to touch it to the tip of the cigarette when Granger continued talking.

"And I certainly didn't expect to be pregnant while I was walking down the aisle," Granger added absentmindedly. A second later her eyes went wide and her jaw fell open as she realized she'd spoken out loud.

The cigarette fell from Pansy's lips as she processed what Granger had said. There were very few times in her life that Pansy was surprised almost to the point of speechlessness. The first was when she'd performed her first accidental magic and found herself on the wrong side of Honeydukes' glass windows well after closing time. The most recent was when she'd caught Potter shagging Draco in her bed, a sight she hadn't been able to remove from her mind even with an oblivate spell.

But this moment outranked them all, now and in the future.

The two woman stared at each other, unsure of how to proceed in light of such a revelation.

"How far along?" Pansy asked, her voice low to keep the crowd outside from hearing.

"The doctors think three months."

"Does Blaise now?"

Granger's face turned a sallow gray. "No," she whispered and the tears began to flow from her eyes once more, this time from fear rather than a misplaced sense of guilt.

Pansy drew a large breath and let it out as she brought her hand towards her face. The gods must be having a grand time with her tonight. She had no business consoling anyone let alone a crying pregnant woman engaged to her ex-almost-fiancé. "Is there a reason why you haven't told him?" she asked through a clenched jaw, praying that she wouldn't become complicit in an ongoing affair.

"I'm afraid he won't want them," Granger answered. She picked at the handkerchief's embroidery. "He never has anything good to say about his own parents. And he always talks about how horrible his own childhood was and how he never wants another child to go through that."

Pansy sighed in relief and let her hand fall away from her face. "Thank Morgana," she muttered. "I was worried that you were going to say it was someone else's." The look Granger shot her would have killed a lesser witch. "Look, Granger. I've known Blaise for far longer than someone my age should admit to. I can assure you that he desperately wants to be a father someday despite his own being worse than a common rat. And I know he'll be a damned good father."

Granger sniffed again and wiped at her eyes with the stolen handkerchief. "You think so?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "I know so. Now come on. We should probably get you cleaned up before they send in a team of Auror's in here to put me in handcuffs."

Granger smiled at that and Pansy reached for the wand once more. A few simple spells had her hair looking far better than it did when Granger first arrived.

"Perhaps I should hire you to do this for me next time," she joked lightly.

"Darling, I doubt you could afford me," Pansy drawled as she applied the mascara. "Don't move. I might take your eye out applying the eyeliner if you do," she warned before leaning towards Granger's face. "Besides, once you marry Blaise I'm more than happy to take him for all he's worth."

Granger gave a genuine laugh at that. Pansy finished and turned Granger's head to look for any flaws or missed areas. Finding none, she stepped back to let Granger look at herself in the mirror. "I think you're ready for your close up Ms. Deville."

Granger glanced at Pansy before looking at herself in the mirror. "How on earth do you know about that?"

Pansy waved the question away with the cigarette case and tucked it into her bra. Granger raised an eyebrow but surprisingly said nothing. "Draco loves those old movies. He made me buy him a TV and one of those CRV's last year for Christmas."

"VCR's," Granger corrected absently. She adjusted her dress and turned towards Pansy. "Am I presentable?"

Pansy stepped back to appraise her. Oddly enough she was enjoying this private moment with an otherwise hated witch. "You're missing something," she decided. She began to leaf through the junk on the counter, picking up one sapphire earring and looking for its mate.

"Are you looking for this?" Granger asked from where she'd begun looking under the sink.

Pansy grinned and handed her the earring she was holding. She watched as the brunette began to put the first earring on. "I have to admit I'm impressed. I never that you of all people would participate in petty theft."

Granger met her gaze in the mirror and smirked. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Pansy." She paused as she moved to put the second earring in. "Besides, that awful woman you gave the scales to works with me in the Ministry and she is the biggest bitch I've ever met. Even Umbridge would have nightmares, I'm sure of it."

Pansy laughed and looked at Granger one more time. "I think you're ready to face the world now." She stepped towards the door but was stopped as Granger took her hand.

"Pansy, I just wanted to say thank you. Again. You've been much nicer than I could have ever hoped for. Telling me the best people to use for tonight, picking out this dress for me, this," Granger waved towards her face. "And I've been absolutely horrible to you these past few months. I've been so stuck in the past thinking that you were the same girl you were at school who bullied me and everyone else. I just wanted to apologize to you, I've been letting my prejudices keep me from moving on from old wounds that really shouldn't matter anymore. It hadn't occurred to me until Ron told me about your childhood and –"

Pansy narrowed her eyes. "What exactly did Weasley say about that?"

Granger's eyes went wide as she realized she'd gone too far. "Just that it must have been hard for you and Draco to grow up in the environment you had. That's all I meant."

Pansy pulled her hand away from Granger her gut churning as she realized this had all been a ruse to get on her good side. "Let's get one thing straight, Granger. I do not need your pity nor do I need your false praise. What I did just now was to save my reputation, not yours. I don't give a damn about what you think of me. And I damn sure don't need you butting into my life to boost your own image as the savior who forgave the Death Eater's child. Things have finally begun settling down and I refuse to let you stir it all up again just so you can feel better about yourself," she said, for once letting her anger shine through her mask.

Granger fell silent and if Pansy had a soul she knew she would feel guilty about taking Granger's kindness and stomping all over it. She took a second to compose her face back to its natural scowl and pulled the door open. As she suspected a crowd had gathered around the bathroom door, no doubt wanting to see the bloodshed first hand. Pansy began to shove her way through the throng and made sure to step on as many toes as possible. She ignored Granger's pleas to wait as she made her way towards the ballroom.

Wanting nothing more than to find Draco and leave, Pansy didn't realize how packed it had gotten in the ten minutes or so she'd been in the bathroom. After ten minutes of searching, she finally found Draco in the corner speaking with one of his old clients. She placed her hand on the crook of his elbow and leaned up to whisper in his ear. "Take me home now and I won't castrate you with my pruning shears."

Draco only smirked. "Come now, Pansy. We've only just arrived. It would be rude to leave now. Have you met Wilkins? He has some very interesting ideas and has been dying to meet you."

Pansy smiled tightly and shook the man's hand. If she didn't need Draco to apparate home she would have punched him in the gut and stalked off. As it was, it took her ten minutes to extricate herself from the boring and boorish man who wanted to convince her to sell her shop and all of her formulas to him for a ridiculously low price.

"It's been lovely to meet you, but I'm afraid I'm supposed to meet someone." Pansy suppressed a shudder as Wilkins stooped to plant a sloppy kiss on the back of her hand. She turned to Draco and wiped her hand against his suit jacket. "Darling if you need me I'll be at the bar." Draco nodded and went back to his conversation with Wilkins, no doubt talking of some underhanded scheme to defraud old ladies.

She stalked out of the ballroom, snatching a flute of champagne and downing it before she ever made it to the exit. She stopped only once on the way to pick up a book of matches in the lobby and made her way towards the bar. As she entered, red-hair and a crooked nose at the end of the bar caught her attention and she smiled. The night was looking up already.

Pansy settled on a chair one seat away from the man and watched as he ate peanuts and stared vacantly at the football match playing at the bar. It wasn't until she ordered a vodka tonic that the man realized he had company.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here Parkinson?" Weasley asked, almost falling from his seat in surprise.

"Language, Weasley," she chastised. "What would Granger think if she heard you speaking like that at her very own engagement party?"

"What she thinks is no longer my problem anymore," Weasley told her evenly. He brought another handful of peanuts up to his mouth and looked at the game again. "Besides, she's been wound so tight lately I'm surprised she hasn't pulled a muscle," he muttered.

Pansy pulled the cigarette case out of her bra and readjusted. Weasley's hand paused as he went for another handful of peanuts and she knew he'd seen. "Enjoy it while you can Weasley. I doubt it will last," she told him as she lit her cigarette.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Pansy smiled and blew the smoke out of her nostrils. "Only that the wedding will have to be sooner than expected." Weasley narrowed his eyes at her and she remembered how much fun it was to keep secrets. He continued to stare at her and she rolled her eyes. "Oh, come now Weasley. I haven't had a secret this good in years; I'm certainly not spilling the beans twenty minutes after I heard it. Besides, even you'll be able to tell in three months."

Weasley leaned against the counter and stared at it, probably trying to guess at what she knew. Pansy took the opportunity to study him, watching his lips move as he muttered under his breath. He'd grown up rather nicely in the years since they'd graduated and she had to admit he filled out his suit nicely, though he did need to work on that Windsor knot. Perhaps there was hope for him after all.

His voice cut through her observation. "She can't be pregnant. Right?" He asked almost incredulously. Pansy merely tapped her nose before bringing the stolen cigarette to her lips.

"She's pregnant?" he yelled. Several people turned to stare and he hunched over into himself. "She's pregnant," he repeated in a normal voice.

"If she asks, you didn't hear that from me," Pansy told him. "And don't go spreading that around before she says anything. Blaise doesn't know yet."

Weasley looked at her in surprise. "How the bloody hell did you find out before he did? I thought you two hated each other. You didn't slip anything into her drink did you?"

Pansy rolled her eyes at his suspicion. "Yes, I slipped something in her drink so that I can go have a family reunion in Azkaban," she told him wryly. She flicked the ash into the tray before continuing. "Granger had a bit of a melt down and let it slip in the bathroom is all. You'd be surprised what those hormones will do to a woman."

Poor Weasley still looked a bit shaken by the news and she wondered whether it was more that she'd found out before he did. He threw back what was left of his pint and raised his hand for another.

"Bloody fucking hell. I knew they were serious but I didn't think they were that serious."

"They're planning on a wizarding marriage Weasley. How is that not to the level of seriousness of having a child with someone?"

He waved his arms around as he tried to come up with the words. "It's, well, it's more serious. You can be married to someone and still hate them for all their worth, but if you have a kid with someone. Well, there's at least eighteen bloody years of your life that you're chained to them. Then there's all the holidays after that. And you'll have to make decisions together. If you get married and find out you can't stand each other you just move into separate shitty apartments and agree to look the other way on things that might make your mother cry if she knew."

"You seemed to have thought about this a bit," Pansy said, more content to leave the question hanging than to ask it.

"Blaise isn't the first bloke to have thought about buying her ring."

"Hm. She's not the first to have received a ring from Blaise, either." Weasley glanced at her but she refused to give him any more information.

"Merlin's balls," he cursed after a moment. "Do you know what the worst of it is? I'm going to be surrounded by bloody silver and green. Monday it will all be maroon and gold, then on Tuesday you've found that the dish towels turned green with a silver edge, then by Saturday, boom. The whole flat's gone Slytherin."

Pansy snorted at his single mindedness. "I'm sure it would be quite an upgrade." Weasley scowled at her. "Besides, that's only the best outcome."

"Oh? Then what's the worst?"

"I could be sleeping on maroon and gold sheets before Sunday," she told him, raising her drink in a salute before bringing it to her lips. He laughed and she felt something in her chest move at the sound.

"I'll drink to that," he said, toasting her and giving a wink.

She bit down a smile and shook her head at his behavior. "Careful Weasley. If I didn't know any better I'd say you were trying to flirt with me," she teased.

He rolled his eyes and Pansy saw a flush creeping from the back of neck. "If I was trying to flirt with you, you'd know it. Or have you forgotten that I make a damn bloody fool of myself around women?"

Pansy snorted at that. "I'd rather avoid a repeat of the second-hand embarrassment you subjected all of us to at Hogwarts, thank you," she said good naturedly.

Weasley laughed once more and they both turned their attention to the football match, happy to let the years lie between them. Clapping came from down the hall and Pansy could only assume Blaise had announced their engagement. It was followed closely by a round of cooing and more applause. Granger must have pulled on her big girl pants and shared her secret. Weasley glanced towards the hallway but didn't comment.

At the first commercial break Weasley broke the silence between them. "Parkinson, can I ask you something?"

Pansy raised an eyebrow. This wasn't the first time that question had been put to her like that. In her experience there were only four possible answers and it was easier to just lay all her cards on the table.

"No, I never did what Nott claims I did on the Quidditch Pitch or anywhere else. Even that is far too depraved for my tastes. Yes, the ministry did take everything but a haunted mirror and yes I was the one to find my father the next morning. It was bloody and gruesome and yes, peroxide will take the blood out of cashmere. All the recipes I use are my own invention and no, I did not steal them from you or anyone else and no I will not sell them to you. And yes, they are real, despite Draco's claims. People are always surprised at what a little lifting tape can do for one's figure."

Weasley blinked owlishly. Pansy realized too late that she'd misread the situation and drank deeply to keep herself from talking again.

"What? That's, no. Nothing like that. And what does Nott have to do with anything? What does he, wait, no. I don't even want to know." Weasley glanced down at her chest and looked away once he realized that he was looking. "And I'm sure that Draco has no idea what he's talking about in that realm anyways," he muttered. He cleared his throat. "No, what I wanted to ask was why you're so insistent on taking off my clothes."

Pansy smirked at his phrasing and watched as his brain caught up with his mouth. He flushed an ever deeper shade of red as he tried to correct himself. "No, I mean why do you keep wanting to get me naked?" A strangled noise came from the back of his throat and Pansy didn't even try to hide her laughter. If he wasn't so red she might even call his reaction cute.

"I know what you're trying to say, darling," she told him as she patted his hand. "There's no need for you to twist your knickers about like that over me." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the red slowly draining from his face. Pansy waited a moment before she striking. "Besides, if they get too twisted it will make it that much harder on me to get them off of you."

Weasley scolwed at her and he turned a violent shade of puce. Pansy almost fell off her stool laughing.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up," he mumbled into his drink.

"But you make it so easy," she told him. She wiped a tear from her eye before continuing. "As for your question, I like a challenge every now and then. And you may just be my biggest challenge to date."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"Calm down Weasley. It's not an insult. All I mean is that the way you normally dress is so thrown together it would be a challenge to be able to find something halfway respectable that you'd actually wear it on an everyday basis. Besides," she added as she stubbed out her cigarette, "you might require far more refinement and beautification than even I have at my disposal." Pansy gazed longingly at the case and wished there was more than one cigarette left.

"Yes, because that what every bloke wants. To be beautiful," Weasley snorted and took a drink. "No self-respecting man wants to be seen as beautiful. It would ruin his image."

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "What a charmingly antiquated notion," she noted dryly. She sipped at her drink and studied him, trying to find the best way to explain. "I suppose you'll say next that women only dress up to get a man's attention." He opened her mouth and she raised a hand to stop him. "Unlike you the rest of us like to put out best foot forward. Like your friend Potter."

Weasley made a face. "What are you on about? Harry dresses the same as I do."

"You haven't noticed him dressing up lately?"

Weasley rolled his head to the side and thought about it. "Now that you mention it, he has been doing laundry more."

"See. How else is a man to attract attention?"

Weasley grinned. "His charmingly personality and Chudley Cannon poster collection?"

Pansy scoffed. She reached for the cigarette case and book of matches for strength. If he was this backwards she might have to call in back up. "Please, darling. Humans are the only species where the female dresses up and flits about. All the other creatures have it straight. The males have their plumage, their gifts, and their houses that they built for their mate." She lit her cigarette before continuing. "It's only human males, muggle and wizard, that are too lazy to get off their arses and do something worthwhile. Instead they've decided it's better to tell women they're unattractive and need to do better to get the attention of some cretin who only wears sweatpants and hasn't exercised in five years." She paused a moment to take a long drag of her cigarette. "Quite ingenious really. You would have thought it would have occurred to a woman first."

Weasley chuckled at that and Pansy felt as if she should be offended. "And what's so funny?"

"You. You're on and on about how men should be the ones to gussy up while you make a living selling beauty potions and make up." Weasley grabbed a large handful of peanuts and began eating them one by one.

Pansy smiled at that and he shifted uncomfortably. "Darling, what I do is merely bring out one's inner beauty. I don't do it for the men in the least. I do it for those who want to feel better about how they look. It gives them confidence that they might not have."

Weasley snorted at that. "Then you must be the most confident women there is with all that makeup on."

"And what's wrong with wearing makeup, Weasley?"

"Nothing. Just don't think I've ever seen your real face is all."

"Not many people have," she muttered. "But that's neither here nor there. My point is that there is one thing that all the men who are splashed across Witch Weekly and voted into popularity have one thing in common."

Weasley smirked at her and Pansy realized her error too late. "Their wand?" he asked lecherously.

Pansy made a face at him. "Don't be crass. No, what they have is a refined sense of taste. Or at least they have one after the people paid to dress them halfway decently get done with them."

"Of which you're one, I'd presume."

"Naturally. Why do you think I have so many high profile customers? Your friend Oliver Wood, for example."

Weasley's eyes bugged out at that. "Wood? He goes to your shop? I'm having a hard time believing that. All he wears is old robes and Quidditch jerseys."

"Believe it darling," Pansy told him, pausing to take a drink. "He was one of the first to request me. Of course he balked at my suggestions at first, but then again they all do. The amount of plaid that man had in his closet was nauseating."

"He is Scottish."

"Being Scottish is one thing. This was something altogether. You'd think the man was trying to become the modern day William Wallace with that much plaid. I ended up having to tie him to a chair so I can send his clothes to be donated. Not that I minded," she added, glancing at Weasley to see his reaction. To her disappointment he didn't respond. Pansy sighed and continued her story. "When he finally stopped fighting me and looked at what I'd brought for him to try on, he finally came around to see things my way."

"And what way was that?" Weasley asked. He was still suspicious but she could tell he was showing some interest. Now she just had to set the hook.

"Quality will always win out over quantity. I brought him something better than those old jean and polyester robes he was so fond of. And no plaid. Well, no visible plaid that is. "

Unimpressed, Weasley snorted. "Doesn't sound that much better than what he had been wearing."

"Really? Then why did the powers that be vote him one of the most well-dressed men on the Quidditch Pitch three years running?"

Weasley rolled his eyes at that. "He's a Quidditch player. Why should he care about being the best-dressed? It's not going to make him a better keeper."

Pansy paused and looked at him. "You're absolutely missing the point darling. He should care about being the best-dressed because like it or not his image is half his value to his team. Did you know that in those three years female attendance at his games tripled and jersey's with his number sold out within a week of that article coming out. Like it or not, but clothes do make the man."

Weasley was quiet at that. Despite his apparent qualms about clothing in general he certainly couldn't argue with those numbers.

"It's really not that hard if you have a good foundation to work with," she continued in an effort to drive her point home. "And I dare say you might even pass as presentable if you dressed like this more often. It's almost as if you were a real adult. All you would need is a push in the right direction."

"Ha. You'd probably push me right off a bloody cliff if I let you," he responded, but there was no heat in his words.

Pansy paused to look him up and down, almost enjoying the view. Despite filling it out nicely, his suit was off the rack and his shoes needed a bit of polish. "I'm being serious. If this suit is anything to go by there is some potential there. Granted, those shoes have seen better days and a bespoke suit would look much better on your frame, but you clearly have an eye for what a well-cut suit is supposed to look like and your tie does wonders for your eyes."

Weasley shifted and glanced at her before looking away in what Pansy could only assume was embarrassment at her open assessment of him.

"All you would need is a good tailor, some new slacks, and a repellant charm on some new robes and you'd be miles above where you are now." She paused as she remembered his muddy trainers and stained robes. "And perhaps a good incinerator as well."

He scoffed at that and took a drink of his now warm ale. "Thanks but no thanks Parkinson. I've already had too many women trying to tell me I look like a bloody mess. I don't need to add another to the list."

"Yes, but have any of those women been me? Or were they all like Granger?" His silence told her everything. "Because if they were all one Granger after another I think I'd have to give you an award for fending them off that mousy look for so long." Pansy glanced towards the entrance of the bar and saw Draco waving towards her. She lifted her glass in a toast and quickly finished it.

"I'd love to stay and chat more darling, but I'm afraid my ride's here," she told Weasley as she stubbed out her cigarette. He glanced towards the door and Potter hesitated a moment before waving at him. Weasley nodded back. Apparently he'd come round to the idea of those two together. "You could always join us. I'm sure Potter will appreciate the company," she offered.

"You three go on. Hermione will kill me if I left this early. Besides, I should probably get back to my own date before she tracks me down," he told her. He refused to meet her eyes as he laid down some of the Muggle paper money.

Pansy quickly pasted on an indifferent smile to hide the irritation that crept up on her from his words. "You do know it's bad form to accompany a woman only to abandon her to the wolves."

Weasley only shrugged and glanced back at football match. "Even if the company at the bar is better?"

Pansy smirked at the compliment. "Doubly so, I'm afraid." She slid off the stool and replaced the cigarette case before sauntering towards the door. She paused at the end of the bar, determined to try one last time. She waited until Weasley had begun to finish off his pint before calling out to him.

"If your date tonight doesn't work out I'm more than happy to help you strip out of those clothes and into something more comfortable."

She smirked as Weasley choked on his ale and spilt it down his lovely suit. Draco's laughter and Weasley's cursing followed her through the doorway. Dreadful not to have been able to save the suit, though. Perhaps that would teach him to properly set a water-repellant charm.

xxxxx

I absolutely adore the idea of Pansy and Ron together, snarking away in a corner. I have no idea how this ship even got into my head, but ever since it has it's grown roots and refused to leave. And since I've updated Crispers and am halfway into the next chapter, I don't fell near as guilty for posting this one.

As always, please let me know what you think and thanks for reading!