From Top to (Cauldron) Bottom
Pairing: Pansy Parkinson x Percy Weasley
Summary: Somehow, she finds herself in a secluded alcove listening to Weasley prattle on about cauldron bottoms, of all things, but worst of all, she thinks she might be enjoying it.
A/N: Other titles I considered for this fic include: “(Cauldron) Bottoms Up”, “A (Cauldron) Bottom Full of Hot Strong Love”, “Started from the (Cauldron) Bottom Now We Here”
Read it on AO3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11551263
They meet at a ministry function at which Percy Weasley is uncharacteristically drunk.
Well, to be fair, at the start of the night he’s as stuffy and impossibly proper as she remembers, but between the free-flowing wine at dinner and the rather excessive amount of brandy in the dessert and the champagne the minister had insisted on toasting with, Percy is a tad flushed and just the tiniest bit dishevelled, red curls falling over his eyes on one side and tie slightly askew.
She has no idea how they ended up sitting next to each other, but between her mother’s careful social calls to her ministry contacts – which she’s sure have taken the form of at least one large “anonymous donation”- and Weasley’s job as assistant to the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, they’ve ended up at a table with six extraordinarily dull but undoubtedly important young ministry employees. She has absolutely zero interest in the controversial new broomstick legislation or Hermione Granger’s absurd house-elf charity – which has somehow received support from the Minister himself – but she also knows, with her father in Azkaban and her own reputation rather badly tarnished - that she’s in desperate need of a fresh start.
So she fakes interest, and nods politely, and sips her wine, and pretends not to notice the fact that she’s had eyes on her all night, and she knows it’s not just because her dress is doing truly incredible things for her cleavage. She tactfully ignores the way two of the ministry employees glance sidelong at each other when she sits down, or the way the rest of them have either summarily ignored her or leaned forward with inane questions that are clearly a horribly transparent excuse to stare at her chest.
The self-important idiots don’t seem to realize that she’s already let go of her prejudices – the important ones anyway, she’s not above thinking she’s better than Granger simply because of that awful bushy hair. But from the vicious “character pieces” that vile cow Skeeter still publishes in the Prophet and the thinly veiled but unmistakably cool reception she’s been receiving all night, it’s clear that the rest of the wizarding world isn’t necessarily ready to do the same.
So she’s taken aback the first time Percy Weasley turns to engage her in conversation. He’s stiff as a board but perfectly polite, blue eyes fixed firmly on her face. She doesn’t really have an opinion on the new requirements for apparition licenses, but he clearly does, and she’s not a Slytherin for nothing.