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June 1848
Miss Pansy Parkinson had made a most unfortunate discovery. Her betrothed, Mr Vincent Crabbe, had mismanaged his own funds to such a degree that they would only have her dowry on which to live. As opposed to the comfortable lifestyle to which she was accustomed, Miss Parkinson’s married life would be considerably more difficult than she had expected.
Her best friend, Miss Ginevra Weasley, was appalled at the news. “Pansy, you have to do something! You can’t marry Mr Crabbe if he has deceived your father like this!” Her teacup clattered as she set it on the table. “You were close with the Malfoy family in your childhood. Is there no way you could apply to Mr Draco Malfoy for assistance?”
Pansy frowned. She had not been close to Draco since they were both in dresses as children. “At this point, I believe we would require a fresh introduction, and, given the circumstances, I fear his loyalty would go to his friend. They were in the same house at Hogwarts together. Ginny, I must think of something else.”
Ginny’s eyebrows drew together and she stared off into the corner for a moment. This was the moment in which Pansy knew her dear friend was coming up with a brilliant plan to get her out of the marriage contracts. Pansy had already read through the contract herself, trying to find a loophole to break the arrangement. It amazed her that her father could have been so stupid as to allow no way for the Parkinsons to break the contract due to fraud on Mr Crabbe’s part, whereas any fraud on the Parkinsons’ part could be grounds for dissolution at any point, both before and after the marriage vows. Arranged marriages were not supposed to be so disadvantageous for either party.
“I have it!” Ginny smiled widely. “Percy will just have to debauch you! He’s such a rake, he’ll be perfect.”
Pansy stared at her excited friend. “Your brother will ruin me? And what then? I suppose he’ll suddenly become the sort of man who does the honourable thing when he ruins a woman’s reputation?”
Ginny’s eyebrow raised and she sipped her tea again with a smirk. “In this case, I think he is exactly the rake you need.”
Mr Percy Weasley had cultivated his reputation with a care most men devoted to their professions or families or an expensive hobby. He was known as the man upon whom women could rely for a discrete assignation. And, up to an agreed-upon point each time, he was always discreet with meeting these women.
He was happily influenced by the writings of Mrs Wollstonecraft, and a great admirer of her daughter. He held to the mad notion that if a woman desired a life outside the home, she deserved it. Thus, he met with widows and women in unhappy marriages to teach them the necessary skills to live lives of independence from the constraints that shackled them.
By the time they could brew their own Polyjuice, they were ready for whatever level of ruination they particularly desired, and then they could build a new life as a new person as they removed themselves from their previous society.
It had been quite the entertaining decade since his graduation from Hogwarts, but Percy was tiring of the subterfuge. His department head at work had made it clear that, without a wife, it would be difficult to argue for Percy’s promotion. It was absolutely preposterous, but so were the rules of society that made his rakish reputation useful.
Unfortunately, whenever Percy Weasley thought of a wife, his thoughts turned exclusively to Miss Parkinson. Her friendship with Ginny had brought Miss Parkinson into the Weasley family’s spheres approximately five years ago, and Percy had thought of no other woman since making her acquaintance. She was grace and beauty and passion incarnate, and she had an interesting mind, despite how she had been raised to hide it.
He would have tried for her hand years ago if not for her father. Percy was not a member of the same Wizards’ Club as Mr Parkinson, since Gryffindors were not allowed membership in The Xithi Club, so he could not introduce himself there. Furthermore, Mr Parkinson refused to meet his daughter’s friends, would not accept a social call from anyone he did not know, and had turned away from Percy on the street on the occasion that they had happened to meet.
Then, Miss Parkinson’s engagement to Mr Crabbe had been announced. She did not have the air of a woman in love, so Percy held a private sadness for the idea she would not have a loving marriage as she deserved.
It was on a Saturday morning in early June that Ginevra burst into the study. “Percy! We need you!”
Percy turned from the desk where he had been reviewing the progress of his current “friend”, Mrs MacMillan, charming the paper blurry for her privacy. Miss Parkinson was here with Ginevra, her day dress a lovely shade of moss green with embroidered navy fleur-de-lis appearing as polka dots in the dim light of the study.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not taking you to the Adelphi tonight. I don’t care what you heard about à Beckett’s latest. I don’t want to see it. Can’t you get one of those fiances of yours to take you?”
Ginevra’s mouth went into a straight line, and he saw a bit of their mum in her eyes. She slammed the study door behind them and hissed, “No, Percy. First, this has nothing to do with the theatre. Second, Harry is on the continent, which you know. And, third, this is about Pansy’s fiance!”
Percy swallowed thickly, but managed to keep his countenance steady for whatever this was going to be. He made a gesture of ‘just continue’ to keep his voice from betraying his feelings.
His sister threw herself into one of the upholstered chairs, her legs wide in a most unladylike manner. “Mr Crabbe has turned out to be an extremely unsuitable gentleman, and Pansy’s engagement contract does not allow her to break it without an act of fraud. So, with your reputation, I thought you could do me the favour of ruining my dearest friend.”
He stared at her. “Ginevra, I will not pretend I have not cultivated a certain reputation, but I have never done what you are suggesting to a woman who did not specifically request it of me with her own words.” He found that he did not wish to suffer the scrutiny of his youngest sibling any longer. “I think Miss Parkinson and I should have a private discussion to ascertain what she desires.”
With a flick of his wand, the study door opened again and he gestured for Ginevra to vacate the room. She flounced from the room dramatically, sticking out her tongue at him behind Miss Parkinson’s back. The door slammed again and left Percy alone in the silence of the study with the woman he had never expected to meet alone. He warded the door for sound and unauthorised visitors.
She stared back at him with an enigmatic expression. “Mr Weasley, I’m sorry to intrude. Ginny was quite adamant that I approach you with my problem.”
He shook his head. “It’s quite alright, Miss Parkinson. Please take a seat and tell me your troubles. I will do anything in my power to assist.”
She sat like the proper witch she was. The hands gently twisting in her lap were the only sign of her distress. Her fiance was a scoundrel, her father did not think it necessary to fix the situation, and Ginevra was convinced that, as a notorious rake, Percy would be willing to debauch her publicly. The change in her reputation must occur within the month as the wedding date was already set and the banns were already being read.
Percy had gotten up to pace the room as she told her story. It was as bad as it could be: Her knowledge of the contract was nearly eidetic, proven by her recital of the precise wording. He stood by the fireplace, leaning with his head against his arm, desperately wracking his brain for anything he could do to help Miss Parkinson that did not involve what she was suggesting.
“Mr Weasley, it is not my first choice to plan my own ruin, but I have been considering my options for nearly a week now and I do not have a better idea than this.”
Percy shook his head, still hiding in the crook of his arm as he stared at the low flames of the summer fire. “Did you ever have a string of affection for the scoundrel, your fiance?”
Miss Parkinson let out a note of incredulity that could only be described as a scoff. “I believe my father specifically rejected any potential suitors who might actually suit me in any real way.”
They were silent for a minute, two minutes, three. Percy could think only of how he could be known to ruin her and then carry on his life without marrying her. He had so far prepared women for their change in circumstance over six months or more, but with Miss Parkinson, there was simply no time.
He heard her huff and the rustle of skirts as she rose. The voice that hit him was new, angry, and absolutely intoxicating. “So, you will have every woman who approaches you — Susan Bones, Marietta MacMillan, even Tracy Davis, but not Pansy Parkinson? This should be nothing to you, with how you treat women! You have been the rake who ruined a dozen women! Why will you not do this to help me, Mr Weasley?!”
His head had raised at the naming of his “friends”, and by the time her speech was complete, she had stepped directly into his space so that he could feel the warmth of her body and her magic radiating off her.
Then, Percy Weasley dropped his sense of propriety entirely. His mouth crushed over hers and his hand pulled her tight against him. She let out a little exhalation of surprise until she moulded to his form, one hand on his shoulder and the other fitting perfectly over his forearm as he cradled her elbow. She was perfect, sweet, her lips plush, and her body melted into him.
He came back to himself, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against hers. His hand held her firm, his fingers feeling the elf-fine embroidery of her dress, the boning of her corset, the intake of her breath.
“Miss Parkinson, you are everything to me. I cannot ruin you, because such a thing is not possible. I can only provide the change in your reputation that will suffice as fraud.” He released her and stepped back. “I apologise for my behaviour, it was unbecoming of a proper wizard. As you have requested, I will help you to dissolve your engagement contract. If, when our arrangement has completed, you desire further contact, we may come to a new agreement amenable to both our desires.”
Then, Percy Weasley sat at his desk and drew up a schedule for the bare minimum Miss Parkinson would need to become an independent witch. He had never seen her more stunned as he explained the curriculum and his actual purpose for keeping company with witches. He sent her on her way with both Vindications by Mrs Wollstonecraft charmed to appear as Shakespeare’s Sonnets and Samuel Johnson poems.
When she had gone, Percy lay his head on the desk and touched his lips.
What had he done?
Miss Pansy Parkinson spent her every waking moment for the next three weeks forcing magical knowledge into her brain. The practical instruction was chaperoned by Ginny, but it barely mattered. Pansy could feel that despite her wanton desire to feel Mr Percy Weasley press against her again, there would be no repetition of those actions.
Ginny was absolutely no help in learning, constantly winking at her and making lewd gestures. During one particularly complicated potions lesson, Mr Weasley finally gave her some parchment to write to Mr Potter, just to force an occupation apart from pestering them.
Pansy found herself watching him as they worked, not just to copy his wandwork or potions techniques, but the expression of his brow, the set of his jaw, and the fluidity of his motion. He was the type of wizard she had really been raised to marry — proper and respectful. Somehow as important as his countenance, it was clear that Mr Percy Weasley could support a wife, and Pansy found it immensely confusing that he had not yet chosen someone suitable from his prior “friends”.
At the end of three weeks of tutelage, Pansy was set to attend a Chopin concert in the private residence of Lord and Lady Prewett. As the Weasley matriarch was formerly a Prewett, the Weasley children could easily gain an invitation, which they extended to Pansy. The trio planned the choreography in the carriage on the way to the concert, and then it was up to each of them to play their part.
Pansy had never been particularly fond of drinking, but tonight, she began slurring her words over her first cup of punch. She spilled her second cup down the front of her dress when she rose to enthusiastically ovate Mr Chopin after the first mazurka. She excused herself and found Percy (as he had finally insisted she call him for verisimilitude) in the upstairs hall, waiting to pull her into the small drawing room.
In the drawing room, they remained in character. They must immediately appear to be having an assignation, and so everything occurred with Percy holding Pansy by the waist, his face hovering so close to her shoulder that she could feel his controlled breaths against her bare decolletage.
She pulled up her skirt and petticoats, then pushed down one of her two sets of knickers and placed Percy’s hand just so to hold her skirts where they bunched around her hips. She was amazed that anyone could believe this was real, but from the perspective of the door into the room, it would appear that Miss Pansy Parkinson was taking no small pleasure from the fingers of Mr Percy Weasley.
After five minutes of their pose, Pansy grew restless. She had never been a particularly patient person, and the close quarters of the scene began to make her think of Percy’s words after kissing her.
If she desired further contact, they could come to a new agreement amenable to both their desires.
She desired further contact with a fervour she did not recognise in herself. She wanted this to be finished so she could get to the next part, whatever that was.
Pansy laughed aloud in a silly way she thought would carry the idea of debauchery into the hall so they could be found. Percy flinched and looked up at her sharply.
“Miss Par—Pansy, what on earth?”
But, Pansy heard the sound of the door latch and pressed his face into her neck, throwing her head back and letting out a throaty laugh. “Oh, Percy!”
With the gasp from the door, the apparent lovers knew they had been caught, but the needs of the scene required them to stay in character.
“Mr Weasley! Miss Parkinson! For shame!” Pansy blinked lazily and then her eyes widened at the sight of the elder Miss Greengrass with her hand over her mouth in horror. “Mrs Prewett must be informed at once.”
Then, Ginny appeared over Miss Greengrass’s shoulder with first a grin, then a yelp of indignation. “Percy! How could you! My most intimate friend!”
While Miss Greengrass went to fetch their hosts and spread the disgrace, Pansy put herself back together with Ginny’s help.
In the hall, she was dismissed with the promise that she would never be allowed back to Prewitt House. Percy walked home, while the carriage dropped off Pansy at her father’s immodest townhouse.
The next three days were torturous, only partially from her mother’s hexing at her father’s direction. Through the pain of her punishment, she thought only of how she would be sent away, how she could live a different sort of life with the magic Percy had taught her. She thought of the philosophy that said she was deserving of rights and a place in the world.
From her elf-maid, Pansy knew that Percy had defeated Mr Crabbe in a duel and refused to perform the final blow. She also knew that he had called on her father after the duel and whatever was said was behind a privacy ward. From her window, she had seen Percy leaving, his auburn hair shining in the sun before he covered it with his tophat. She had not paid enough attention to his hair when she had the chance. It was lovely and thick, cut close at the back and sides with fashionable sideburns.
It was as she watched him retreat into the distance of the street that she fully realised it.
Pansy loved Percy.
She could not say when it had come to her, but she was entirely smitten with him.
At the end of the third day after her ruin, she was called into her father’s study. Percy was there, stone-faced and darkly sober in a way Pansy was not sure she had actually seen.
“Pansy, you have brought more trouble to me than you were ever worth with your behaviour this week. I would be well within my rights to send you away and never speak of you again. But, this wizard,” here he gestured to Percy with gritted teeth, “has done the honourable thing in drawing up a new contract for your hand. Completely ridiculous, considering his station and breeding, but you are now a beggar and you may not be a chooser.”
Percy made a small sound of clearing his throat and looked pointedly at Mr Parkinson.
“Ah, yes, how could I forget why you insisted on reddening my door again, Weasley.” Her father’s gaze turned back to Pansy. His voice took on a light and sarcastic tone. “Mr Weasley here would like your verbal agreement to the terms of the contract, and your earnest desire for its existence.”
Pansy stared between her father and Percy. “Mr Weasley, what is the meaning of this?”
He cleared his throat again and looked past her, subtly refusing to meet her eye. “Miss Parkinson, I merely intended to ask for your earnest answer to the question, what do you now desire for your future life? Will you accept my proposal of marriage?”
It took but the space of a breath for her answer. “You. I desire my future life to be with you. I accept.”
Percy nodded, his eye finally meeting hers with a pierce of blue. “Thank you, Miss Parkinson.” He turned back to her father. “Sir, I believe with that, I will sign, and as soon as I can procure the special licence, I expect that Miss Parkinson will be ready to depart?”
Her father simply made a wave of his hand. He was tired of this. He did not understand people, and he especially did not understand Pansy.
With her dismissal, she returned to her rooms and began packing with her elf-maid’s help. She could barely think of what her new life would be when the necessary piece of paper was procured. She could think only of removing all traces of herself from this life.
The next morning, she received the terms of the contract, signed by her father and Percy. The terms expressed Percy’s philosophy of equality between the sexes. She had never read a contract like it.
Later that day, Pansy entered the carriage with her mother. It was a silent ride to the church, and Pansy found that she had nothing whatsoever to say to her.
The ceremony was blessedly short, performed by a member of the Wizengamot who was known for discretion. The golden bands twined around their fingers, hands, wrists, all to bind their actions and intentions together. Really it had just made Pansy think of those sweet, brief moments of Percy holding her skirts up in the drawing room.
As the incantation faded and the bonds faded into their skin, Pansy looked into Percy’s eyes. He was smiling, genuinely, for the first time she could remember. He had smirked, given a wry smile, the raise of one side of his mouth at one of Ginny’s jokes, but never with his whole face as he did now.
His hand never left hers again for the next hour of their wedding luncheon. It gave her strength in a way she had never expected. Percy loved her. He had never had to say it. She could feel it in his deference and his manner, and the way he looked at her with true joy in his eye. She could feel it in the gentle back and forth of his thumb on her knuckles as she accepted the congratulations of their very closest friends and family. She could feel it in the way each and every one of his brothers shook his hand, clapped him on the back, and said how they wished him continued happiness.
After luncheon, they apparated to the cottage on the coast where they would spend their honeymoon. Percy steadied her with a strong arm around her waist as she recovered from the journey. She looked up into his eyes, reflecting the blue of the ocean and kissed him.
It was even better than their first kiss, warmer, sweeter, the give and take of their mouths warming her even further than the bright sun.
Percy lifted her from the apparition spot and carried her into the house, and with the swish of his wand, the door closed behind them as Pansy Weasley took her husband to do his marital duty.