Jenadamson is best known as a canon shipper, focusing especially on lovely, flangsty H/G fics. She has, however, also written a couple of fics in on of my favorite non-canon ships, Ron/Pansy.
This fic is a wonderful, gloomy psychological drama in which it is not at first at all apparent what is going on. Though mostly gen from Pansy’s point of view, it manages to throw Ron and Pansy together under the worst of circumstances and find an improbable and yet totally believable connection.
It sets up what is almost literally a worst-case-scenario: Voldemort was defeated, and yet the Bad Guys still manage to win. Told in a series of out-of-order flashbacks, this story follows Pansy’s progression from a passive bystander to an avenging angel (of sorts). The theme is justice, and Pansy’s such an interesting character to take it on, since it’s not exactly the ideal that seems most to inspire her in canon, yet her voyage is all the more compelling for that. We’re never quite sure just what it is she’s so angry and obsessed about—there’s a lot to make her upset—but it doesn’t matter. We believe that she’s obsessed, and it’s very clear that she’s hella pissed.
And I love Ron here—that after all he’s lost, after all he’s been through, he has reached a place that at least resembles peace—Zen, as Pansy sees it. There’s an odd symmetry to their relationship that is very satisfying, and very different from most R/P fics.
Excerpt (don’t worry—it’s the opening!):
It ends like this.
A hidden pocket and a gun. One bullet.
By the time she coerces herself past the guards and charms that surround him, he’s reclining in a stately chair. A desk is all that stands between them now. A desk, and ten years of murder and betrayal. Ten years of never being smart enough, or pretty enough, or cruel enough.
His eyes are endless stretches of grey she’ll never finish seeing, and he says her name quietly, as if he’s been expecting her. He doesn’t question how she’s gained access to the Minister’s private chambers, or why she’s decided to pay him a visit, after all this time.
“I’ve come to fulfill my promise,” she tells him anyway, cringing at the awkward and empty rhythm of her voice.