Harry Potter Short Stories

The Betrothal

"Whaddya want, snake?" Ron growled at Pansy Parkinson. She had cornered him after Potions after Harry had been carted off for the wand weighing ceremony.

Pansy gave a hollow laugh.

"Ronald Weasley, I want ten minutes of your time which could end up with you being wealthy."

"What's the catch?" Ron was interested.

"The catch is having your father draw up a fool-proof betrothal contract in the old pure-blooded way, stating that the bride must be a virgin on her wedding night," said Pansy.

"Betrothal contract? Who for?" Ron goggled.

"You and me, obviously," said Pansy.

"You and me?"

"Please, Weasley, I'd be a compliant wife, have children, keep house, not notice any mistresses you had," said Pansy.

Ron blinked.

"But ... why?" he asked, absently checking out her budding assets.

"Because if I have a surefire betrothal contract to a pureblooded wizard my father won't rape me at Christmas," said Pansy, stung into honesty.

"Your father? But fathers don't do that!" Ron went red.

"Are you really that naive?" hissed Pansy. "You were winding me up about the love bites I had on the train, they weren't from Malfoy, they were from my daddy dearest as he said goodbye to his dear princess."

"Fuck!" said Ron.

"Not yet," said Pansy. "But he said he would at Christmas. We would celebrate Yule in a special way he said, and I knew what he meant. He touches me every night. Please, Weasley, I don't want to belong to a Death Eater in training like most of my house mates, please, I'll do anything you want."

Ronald Weasley was immature, but he wasn't immature enough to have a revelation that this would mean endless blow jobs in broom cupboards; he was, if nothing else, reared to be a gentleman, and he was his father's son even if he was unfortunately all too often also his mother's son too. His ears went red with anger.

"I'll kill him!" he screeched.

"Fine, but get me out of his house first," said Pansy. "And what's more you could be Parkinson-Weasley and have a seat at the Wizengamot when he's dead, and a really solid fortune."

"Bugger the fortune, real men don't behave like that!" shouted Weasley, surprising Pansy. "I'll write to my father right away. Um, will you marry me?"

"Yes, Ronald!" said Pansy, hugging him.

Pansy was quite a well developed girl, if not as much so as Millie Bulstrode and Ron rather enjoyed the experience.

Pansy sighed in relief as she felt him enjoy the experience. She was dreading sleeping with anyone but at least a boy her own age who she could manipulate to enjoy himself and be pleased with her would be better than her own father – or any of the other Slytherin boys. She had tried making up to Draco, but he, too, had revealed too cruel a streak. Ron was merely Gryffindorishly obnoxious, and that could be trained out.

"Look, I'm going to have to explain to Harry and Hermione," said Ron, seriously. "They're my best mates." He had forgotten he had quarrelled with Harry.

Pansy shut her eyes.

The humiliation!

"I don't want the mud ... muggleborn ... laughing at me, nor the boy-who-lived," she said.

"Pansy, mate, the muggles abuse Harry, and Hermione knows about it, but Dumbledore insists he goes back to them," said Ron. "They wouldn't laugh at you. They might help me kill your father, though," he added.