Entry tags:

fic: taming the weasleys, hermione/percy, lavender/charlie, rating: adult

Taming the Weasleys - 4/11 - Adult - Percy/Hermione
Title: Taming the Weasleys (4/11)
Author: silvernatasha
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Despite their mother's nagging, Charlie and Percy Weasley are perfectly happy being single and have no intention of settling down and getting married. The women in their lives, however, have other ideas.
Ships: Percy/Hermione, Charlie/Lavender, slight Charlie/Angelina, slight Fred/Angelina.
A/N: Written for midsummerfest and loosely based on Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew. View the dramatis personae here.
Word Count: 2049.

Chapter Four: In Which Percy Receives a Proposal

Percy Weasley was a fascinating man. With the right contacts, you could get just about any information that you wanted, and Hermione definitely had the right contacts.

At first, she had had a few doubts about Angelina and Katie’s assertion that Percy was the owner of Playwizard. She knew that the founder of the infamous magazine had retired to a chalet somewhere in the Swiss Alps three years ago, but it was widely assumed that he simply wanted to indulge in a quiet life. The current owner was supposed to be a recluse, but the handover of power was shrouded in secrecy.

It hadn’t taken long for Hermione to confirm that Percy was the owner, though, especially when you knew the right people. That was the most important thing. There was absolutely no point in pursuing him if he wasn’t. No, she needed someone with money and the fact that Percy had considerable clout in the publishing industry was a fantastic bonus.

Hermione sipped her coffee, glancing over at Percy. He was sitting on the other side of the café, browsing through the Daily Prophet. She knew perfectly well that he would most likely be amenable to a business agreement, but the more she watched him (it was research, definitely not stalking), the more that she found herself fascinated by him.

She had been in France for the past few years, but even in what was really only a short amount of time, he seemed to have matured, developing his own style. Perhaps most important of all, he had got rid of his hideous horn-rimmed glasses. Actually, he looked rather handsome now.

Hermione shook her head. No. It was not good to start thinking like that about him. This was strictly business. Except that seemed to be rapidly changing.

All she wanted to do was get this business up and running. In France, she had worked tirelessly helping to establish a new newspaper. Journalism wasn’t something that Hermione had much experience with, unless you counted her manipulation of Rita Skeeter. Still, her moralistic stance had, after the war, attracted the attention of an eccentric ex-pat in France who wanted to challenge the country’s only wizarding newspaper.

She had been understandably worried about taking the job, concerned about moving to another country and completely messing up her life. Still, she’d taken it on a whim, following through on a sudden urge to see more of the world. Of course, for the first six months she’d spent most of her time inside a horribly plain office with minimal natural light and a plant that seemed to take up most of the oxygen.

Somewhere along the line, though, Max Hargrove had somehow come to see her like a daughter. Now that he had passed away, Hermione was even more assured of his eccentricity. He had left her a very large percentage of his sizeable fortune, on one condition. She had to go back to England and buy up ‘that horrible rag’ (Hargrove’s exact words), the Daily Prophet, and publish a front page headline that had something, anything, to do with shrews.

There was one slight problem. And it wasn’t Hargrove’s twisted sense of humour.

She had no money to do it.

How was she supposed to buy a newspaper if she had no money? She only had a year to do it, too, as Hargrove had decided to put a time limit on his ‘little challenge’ (again, those were the exact words that he had put in his will). There was no way that she was going to get a loan big enough from Gringotts - the goblins would just laugh at her. No, she needed at least one major investor.

And Percy Weasley had fallen right into her lap.

Hermione bit her lip. She really didn’t need to be mentally associating Percy with her lap, especially as he had just bent over to pick up a coin and she was getting a nice view of his arse. She took a quick sip of her coffee, trying to stop herself from whimpering or doing something stupid.

This was strictly business. Her pursuit of him was strictly business, yet Hermione was having doubts. How was she supposed to pursue a business relationship when she wanted to get him into bed?

Hermione’s cheeks flushed. Oh dear. Did I really just think that? That’s not good. That’s not good at all. She swallowed, watching as Percy pulled on his cloak and gloves before leaving and stepping out onto a heaving Diagon Alley. With just four days until Christmas, the area was packed with shoppers trying to get all their last-minute shopping done.

Letting out a long breath, Hermione finished the rest of her drink and quickly exited the café, standing on tiptoes to try and spot Percy in the crowd. His shock of red hair was easily visible, and it helped that he was so tall. Hanging back for a moment, Hermione followed him into Flourish and Blotts.

Festive displays were placed all over the shop, signs boasting of pre-Christmas sales and ‘buy one get one free’. Hermione was rather tempted by one display, but she shook her head, reminding herself that she needed to find out what Percy was looking at as part of her plan. She told herself that, if she were going to persuade Percy around to her way of thinking, she first had to understand how he thought.

She snaked her way through the crowd, moving towards the back of the shop. Someone bumped into her, sending her skittering a few paces to the side.

“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry,” an older witch with slightly purple hair told her.

“No, it was entirely my fault,” Hermione apologised with a guilty smile. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.” This was true; she was too busy focusing on Percy to be very aware of the other shoppers.

Carrying on, Hermione tried to spot Percy again, but just ended up walking into another person.

“Not having much luck today, are you, Hermione?”

Hermione blushed furiously, realising that it was Percy. “No, I suppose I’m not.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Weren’t you just in the café just now?”

Swallowing, Hermione blinked. “Yes. Were you there? I didn’t see you,” she lied. “I must have been in a little world of my own.” She offered Percy a smile. “Are you doing some last minute Christmas shopping?” Hermione asked brightly, trying to change the subject.

“I have a few things to pick up,” Percy said with a nod after a moment. “You?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t really know what to get people, so I’ve just really just stuck to the old stand-by of chocolate and gift vouchers.”

There was an uneasy pause for a moment. Percy cleared his throat. “Right. Well, it was nice seeing you, Hermione. I expect I’ll see you on Christmas Eve at The Burrow.”

When he left, Hermione leant against a bookcase, letting out a long breath. He’d flashed her the briefest of smiles before his departure and now that image was fixed in her mind. Oh, dear. What am I getting myself into?

---

Christmas Eve meant that The Burrow was a hub of activity. No-one seemed to sit still for any discernible length of time, Fred’s young son the worst of all. He was zipping from room to room, asking questions about the preparations for Christmas and, most importantly, how long it was until Father Christmas was coming. His enthusiasm was rubbing off on his father and George, the twins apparently discovering a new lease of life.

When she arrived at The Burrow, Hermione was nearly bowled over by the young redhead as he raced out into the garden in a bobble hat and scarf, Fred and George following closely behind him with shouts of “Merry Christmas, Hermione!”

She grinned, stepping into the kitchen. “Good afternoon, Molly. Merry Christmas.” Hermione put her bag of presents and cards down on the kitchen table as she removed her winter cloak.

“Oh, good afternoon, Hermione. Don’t mind the mess. Just a bit busy.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

Leaving the soup to stir itself, Molly pointed with her wand at some candlesticks on the side. “Would you be a dear and take those into the other room? I forgot to give them to Lavender just now.”

Hermione had already picked up the candles and left the room before she registered what Molly had just said. Lavender?

The living room had been magically altered, a long table filling most of the room. It was decked out in red and green, seasonal tunes buzzing from the wireless. “Lavender?” she asked.

The other woman looked up from straightening a fork. “Hermione!” she said with a wide smile. “It’s been ages. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks. Um… I didn’t expect to see you here. Ron didn’t say anything about the two of you…”

Lavender quickly shook her head, looking a little horrified. “Oh, I’m not here with Ron.” She pulled a face, that thought not at all appealing; Hermione held back a laugh. “I’m Charlie’s guest.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Oh. I… I didn’t realise that you were dating Charlie.” That was certainly unexpected.

“I’m not.” Lavender’s voice was a little tight, leading Hermione to suspect that there was a little more to know than she was aware of. Lavender gave a sigh, lifting up a knife to inspect it. “I’m helping Charlie get a first aid training certificate for work. Molly invited me to come for dinner tonight.”

At this, Hermione did laugh. “She’s probably matchmaking.” When Lavender didn’t protest or anything, though, Hermione bit her lip. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Lavender swallowed. “Maybe.” Her voice had pitched up an octave and she cleared her throat, embarrassed. “Please don’t tell anyone,” she begged, setting down the last of the cutlery. Looking at Hermione, she wrung her hands nervously. “I just really like him and this job’s getting me close to him.” She offered a wavering smile.

“I won’t tell.” Hermione couldn’t. She knew it and it shocked her to realise that she could see a similarity between herself and Lavender. Using work to get a man? She’d never imagined that they’d ever have anything like that in common. “Have you seen Percy, by any chance?”

Wrinkling her nose, Lavender said, “I think he’s up in his room. This place was getting a bit noisy for him.”

After setting down the candles, Hermione went upstairs to find her target. The stairs creaked under her feet and Hermione was sure that she heard the banister make a rather strange noise, too.

Biting her lip, Hermione knocked on Percy’s door. There was a moment of quiet and Percy’s voice sounded. “Come in.”

A little hesitantly, Hermione pushed open the door. Percy was lying on his bed, reading. “Hullo, Hermione.”

“Percy. Percy, Percy, Percy.”

He looked up from his book, raising his eyebrows. “Do you like my name or something?”

Hermione perched herself on the end of his bed, forcing Percy to move his feet to make room for her. “It’s a very nice name. Say it right and you could almost be moved by the beauty of it.” She flashed him a smile.

“Moved! How nice.” Percy chose a tone of mild sarcasm. “Would you mind removing yourself from my bed?”

“There’s no need to be so waspish,” Hermione retorted.

Percy smirked, looking highly kissable in Hermione’s opinion. “If I’m a wasp, then you should probably beware my sting.”

“Oh, I will. Especially as you seem to keep your sting in your tongue.” Hermione licked her lips, aware of Percy’s intense gaze.

“You should probably leave.”

“Probably.” Hermione’s fingers toyed innocently with the cuff of Percy’s trousers. “You’re going to be mine,” she told him softly, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Don’t look so sour.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That means I’m going to marry you.” Smiling brightly, Hermione stood up. “Do you want to pick a date for the wedding, or shall I? I’m thinking registry office rather than church.”

Percy’s face quickly turned a dark red. “What?”

Hermione brushed down her skirt and then blew a kiss to him. “I’m going to go and peel some vegetables or something. See you later, sweetheart.”