Entry tags:

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

Taming the Weasleys - 8/11 - Adult - Percy/Hermione, Charlie/Lavender
Title: Taming the Weasleys (8/11)
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: 1866.

Chapter Eight: In Which the Honeymoon Isn't Exactly Perfect

The villa that Hermione had booked for their honeymoon was absolutely gorgeous. The architecture was tasteful and understated, even elegant. Percy could only wish that their wedding had been the same.

There was a slight chill in the evening’s air and Hermione pointed her wand at the hearth. “Make yourself comfortable,” she told Percy as a bright blue flame crackled away. “I’m going to see what food the housekeeper got for us.” She flashed him a grin and gave a quick crack of her whip; Percy tried not to flinch.

It was hard not to give a derisive laugh when she told him to make himself comfortable. At the moment, he was anything but comfortable. He almost felt as though his skin was a couple of sizes too small and that he wanted to rip his way out of it. Or that he needed to wash himself of the memory of Hermione walking down the aisle.

How many husbands would ever think that about their brides? Percy wondered a little vaguely.

As she went through a door that presumably went to the kitchen, Percy scowled at her retreating back. He paused for a moment, then started up the stairs, hoping to find a bathroom. Luckily, the first door he tried lead to a gleaming white bathroom and he quickly locked the door behind him, letting out a long breath.

Sanctuary, if only for a few minutes.

Percy stared at his reflection in the mirror. This was all a dream. A very vivid dream. Possibly even a nightmare. It was most likely the result of a bad piece of cheese or indigestion. Of course, why indigestion would choose to manifest itself as Hermione Granger in a bridal dominatrix outfit was beyond him, but he much preferred this theory to actually facing up to the fact that this was all true.

He gave a hollow laugh and pulled off his glasses. For a moment, he looked at his blurry reflection before he splashed his face with cold water. He wondered whether she’d been able to buy that outfit or if she’d had it specially made. She had probably been planning to embarrass him like this since the proposal.

Closing his eyes, Percy took several deep breaths. When he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t in his bed as he had hoped. He was still in the bathroom. This definitely wasn’t a dream. Patting his face dry, Percy sighed. Maybe it’ll help me relax if I change my clothes. Not only were his formal robes a little itchy, but they were also bringing back horrible memories of the ceremony.

As he went back down the stairs, Percy gripped the banister a little harder than was strictly necessary. I have nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing. He stared in confusion, however, at the spot where they had arrived. “Hermione?” he called, trying not to let his tone get coloured with anger.

She appeared in the doorway that she had gone through, holding two wineglasses. Hermione smiled brightly. “Yes, my darling husband?” She quirked an eyebrow, looking at him as if to challenge her.

Percy tried not to scowl at this mocking, saccharine endearment. She was obviously throwing all the names he had called her at their stag and hen party back at him and, right now, he resented her for it. “Where is my trunk?”

Hermione looked at where her trunk stood by itself in the middle of the foyer. “Well,” she said after a moment. “Are you absolutely sure you brought it with you?”

“Of course I brought it with me! Why on Earth would I forget my trunk, Hermione?”

She shrugged and took a sip from one of the glasses. “I don’t know,” Hermione said airily. “Perhaps you accidentally let go of it during the Portkey.”

That was when Percy knew that she was playing with him. She’d obviously done something to his trunk. He chewed the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to swear; he was determined to remain civil with her, even though she was making that particularly difficult at the moment. “I didn’t. It was definitely here when I went upstairs.”

“Well, it’s not here now.” Hermione eyed him carefully and then shrugged again. “Feel free to borrow my clothes, though.”

“I’d rather walk around naked,” he retorted hotly, although part of him wondered what she had packed in light of her wedding attire.

She grinned a little maliciously. “Suit yourself.”

“Bitch.”

Hermione eyes widened but she said nothing, her jaw clenching. Silently, she set down one of the wineglasses on a decorative table before pulling her wand from goodness-knows-where. She pointed it directly at Percy before calmly and clearly saying, “Petrificus totalus.”

Percy’s body stiffened immediately and he fell backwards, landing on the floor with a hard-sounding thud. Strangely, the fall didn’t hurt as much as Percy had thought it would, although he suspected that it would hurt a lot more later, when (and if) Hermione removed the spell. Hermione walked over to him, her sharp heels clicking loudly and surely on the tiled floor.

She looked down at him, her wand still trained on him. Hermione seemed to sigh before saying, “I am your wife, Percy Weasley. And you will never call me a bitch.” She paused ever so slightly. “Even if I may deserve it.”

As his eyes were the only part of his body that Percy could seem to move, he glared at her. It was the sort of glare that he usually reserved for the twins or Ginny when they were being particularly annoying. Right now, though, Hermione was more deserving of this glare than his siblings had ever been.

After a moment, Hermione lowered her wand. “I’m going to let you think about that while I go and make some dinner. I’m thinking pasta and… something. We are in Italy, after all. And when in Rome… Although, I suppose ‘when in Padua’ would be more accurate.”

Hermione looked thoughtful. “I wonder if there are any cookbooks here. Of course, they’d probably be in Italian.” She smiled, making Percy shiver a little. “Nothing like a bit of a challenge.”

---

Hermione had rather helpfully propped Percy’s immobile form up against the wall. She wasn’t letting him eat, though. Instead, he was forced to watch her eat. He hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, either, so by now he was more than a little hungry.

If he could move his hand, he would have been clenching his fist. It really didn’t help that pasta in any way, shape or form was a great love of his. And there she was, his wench of a wife, eating something that smelled so delicious and he was so hungry…

“You know,” Hermione said, spearing a piece of pasta on her fork, “you were wrong about me.”

Percy was, of course, silent. He hoped that his eyes were speaking volumes.

“I didn’t marry you for your money.” She leant back in her seat, smoothing the silk that fell over her legs. At some point, she had changed in a silk dressing-gown-kimono-type-thing, and Percy had to admit that he had been trying to work out what she was wearing under it. If she were wearing anything at all. At this point, a little nudity wouldn’t surprise him at all.

“I’m not going to deny that I was pursuing you for your money,” she added, giving him a slightly sharp look. Hermione paused, taking a sip of wine.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, I’ve been in France working for the rather eccentric Max Hargrove. When he died, he left me a rather sizeable percentage of his fortune.” She took another mouthful of pasta, chewing with a thoughtful look on her face. “Anyway, I can’t get any of that money until I buy the Daily Prophet and publish a front page headline that has something to do shrews.”

She shrugged. “He had a very peculiar sense of humour.”

Percy was starting to wonder where this was going; Hermione continued.

“I was pursuing you as a business partner. But before I got involved with you in business, I wanted to find out more about you. So I… did some research. Followed you a little.” Blushing, she took a hasty sip of her drink. “And the more I watched you, the more I started to get interested in you. Romantically.”

For the first time that day, as she looked at him, Percy saw genuine vulnerability on her face.

Hermione’s gaze fell down to her plate and she prodded at her pasta with her fork. “I… I didn’t mean to propose. It was just… I don’t know where it came from. And I didn’t know how to take it back.” She gave a small shrug. “And then you announced it at dinner and… it all kind of snowballed from there. Neither of us could take it back.”

She flashed him a sheepish grin. “I suppose we’re both as stubborn as each other. I wonder what that means for our relationship?” Hermione sighed. “I don’t love you, Percy. Don’t think I do, anyway. I could, though. Since I found out that I was a witch, I’ve discovered that anything can happen.”

Finishing a bite of pasta, Hermione studied Percy for a moment. “I don’t want anything from you, Percy. We could actually be really good together. Maybe. Um… yeah. Actually, I do want something. And I don’t mean your money. I’ll find another way around that. What I want is your respect.”

That wasn’t what Percy thought she’d say. If anything, he’d imagined that she might ask for an annulment, perhaps even for the money she needed. Respect wasn’t what he had expected. And he wasn’t sure if he could give it after the wedding.

“At the party, you made me feel so useless and insignificant. I haven’t felt like that since I was eleven.” She gave him a wry, humourless smile. “Actually, I think that was Ron’s fault. Must be a special ability that the Weasleys have.”

She finished her food and got up from her seat, the silky gown swishing around her legs. When she walked over to Percy, he felt a moment of panic, especially when she started to touch him. With a smile, though, she took his wand from his pocket. “I’m going to look after this for a while. I’m sure you understand. Hope you do.”

As Percy couldn’t move, he could only hear her move towards the door. She paused and Percy heard, to his surprise, the counter curse. He gave a groan as his body was released, limbs aching from being in the same position for a long time.

“By the way,” Hermione said softly as Percy tentatively flexed his fingers. “My wedding ‘dress’? It was a fancy dress outfit from a hen party I went to a couple of years ago. Just wanted to…” She seemed to falter. “I just wanted to show you that you shouldn’t take me for granted.”

Percy turned awkwardly, looking at her.

“Besides,” Hermione said with the slightest hint of a smile, “I actually prefer to be a little more submissive in the bedroom. Just so you know.”