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Percy Weasley had always considered things in life to be right or wrong, good or bad, black— or white. There was no in-between, there were no shades, there was no grey. Things simply were, or they weren’t. In the past, he'd mistaken black for white, and he’d stood on the side of wrong. He was prideful, and it had cost him dearly, but in the end, he landed with the good and stood tall with his family, which— if you believed his mother, was all that mattered.
In Pansy Parkinson, Percy had found the exception to his rule. Everything about her was grey. From her stormy eyes to her sparkling silver slip dress— from her loyalties to her morals. Pansy Parkinson was every shade of grey there was, and Percy wanted to possess them all.
He watched her from across the room; dripping with confidence and allure. Of all the places he’d ever expected to see her again, his little sister’s wedding was not one of them— yet, there she stood, swathed in the attentions of many and perfectly at ease pretending he didn’t exist. Her glossy black hair barely tickled her shoulder blades in the same way that her dress barely reached her knees. Her stilettos could have been the blade they were named for. Every step she took led her away from him and that— that was a knife to the heart. A small snake made entirely of silver coiled itself around her upper arm, and Percy could swear that it locked eyes with him, that it beckoned to him, that it bewitched him to follow her when she excused herself from the party.
Pansy was waiting for him just outside the marquee, only a wall of canvas to separate them from the other guests. The silver snake tasted the air appreciatively as he drew near and the smoke from her cigarette weaved through the night’s sky like a serpent on the wind. Its lazy tendrils swirled around him, bringing him closer to her until he could smell the perfume on her neck. She dropped the cigarette to the dirt and used the toe of her shoe to grind out the flame. Percy ignored the itch to vanish it away.
“Aren’t you going to say hello, Percy?” She asked, releasing the last of the smoke from her lungs.
Percy tried to keep his hands from her, but the grey called to him, begging to be acknowledged. Percy gripped her hips and pulled her toward him, closing the gap. Pansy snaked her hands into his hair and pulled him down to meet her in a ferocious kiss. Biting his lower lip and drawing blood, Pansy broke away and stepped back.
“I dislike waking up alone, Percy,” she warned, “don’t do it again.”
“I thought it was just a one-time thing?” He said, swiping at his lip.
With a smirk, Pansy rejoined the party.
Percy coveted the grey, and in the end, he’d drown in all of her shades.