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21 January 2007 @ 02:41 pm
Mirror, Mirror- Ron/Pansy (NC-17)  
Title: Mirror, Mirror
Author: eonone
Rating: Hard R, if not NC-17
Pairing(s): Ron/Pansy (mentions of Ron/Hermione, Ron/Lavender, Pansy/Draco, and Ron/Hermione/Pansy, if you get really literal.)

Summary: "Each twin had a different theory as to why the small corridor was there. Fred, ever the inventive one, said Filch had designed it to spy on the girls- and boys- as they readied for bed or baths or the like. George suspected it was rarely used, put in place by the Founders to keep a close eye that only Prefects, Captains, or those of the respective gender entered each bathroom. Ron didn't care enough to formulate his own theory as to why the small corridor with the windows adjacent to the mirrors of each bathroom was there. He only cared that it existed."

Warnings: Voyeurism, bondage but not really in a sexual context. Other than that, it's pretty clean.

Author's notes: Written as a smutty_claus gift for twilightsorcery.


In all honesty, he hadn't intended on spying on Pansy Parkinson. Or becoming a pervert. Or anything of the sort. In fact, when the twins had slyly informed him through an Owl booby-trapped with dungbombs that there was a small tunnel that ran between the Prefect Girls' Loo and the Boys', with windows viewing into each, he'd thought of nothing more than even the tiniest glimpse of Hermione's skin for three days- three days which proved necessary in Ron actually working up the nerve to inspect the passage for himself.

True to the twins' word, it did exist, and could be found by pushing past the drapery that hung above the fourth floor staircase- the disused one with the trick step.

Each twin had a different theory as to why the small corridor was there. Fred, ever the inventive one, said Filch had designed it to spy on the girls- and boys- as they readied for bed or baths or the like. George suspected it was rarely used, put in place by the Founders to keep a close eye that only Prefects, Captains, or those of the respective gender entered each bathroom. Ron didn't care enough to formulate his own theory as to why the small corridor with the windows adjacent to the mirrors of each bathroom was there. He only cared that it existed.


After a thorough inspection of the passage and the double-sided mirrors (well, Ron couldn't rightly inspect the other side of the Girls' mirror, but he assumed it worked in the same fashion as the boys') Ron waited quite impatiently in trying to find a time when Hermione would bathe that didn't interfere with Quidditch practice, or sleep, or breakfast. He even wondered if Hermione hadn't abandoned her Time-Turner; the girl seemed to have absolutely no time to do anything but eat, sleep, and study, and yet each time he saw her she was clean and smelled absolutely bloody brilliant.

"Checkmate," Ron said, neglecting his ritual victory jeer in favour of glancing up the stairs to the girls' dorm.

"What's with you?" Harry asked, following Ron's gaze before watching the pieces reset themselves- the ones that weren't still pounding at each other, at least.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, mate," Ron murmured, shaking his head. "Just some wonky idea of the twins'. You seen Hermione round lately?"

"Said she was going to go take a bath about ten minutes ago," Harry shrugged, turning the board when Ron wasn't looking so that he could play white and have the advantage of the first move.

"She... she what?" Ron asked, looking very nearly horrified. "Why'd she tell you?"

Harry arched an eyebrow, pushing forward a center pawn. "Probably because you were in the corner with Lavender."

It took Ron precisely forty-seven seconds to utter a rapid excuse to Harry and shoot down to the little corridor.


To Ron's ultimate chagrin, it wasn't Hermione leaning down over the sinks to inspect her face, her breasts pushed against the counter so that he could barely make out the lacy bottom of her bra beneath the fabric of her oxford. It was Pansy bloody Malfoy's lapdog Parkinson. But, to her credit, she did have a nice rack.

He scowled, leaning back against the other side of the corridor, trying to work out how on earth Hermione was in and out of the bathroom in less than ten minutes and forty-seven seconds. Parkinson, now preening at herself and waving a tiny little comb along her eyebrows, might have had something to do with it. If Hermione wasn't crying, or Pansy wasn't bleeding from her pug nose, neither girl seemed content with the other. And for Godric's sake, could this girl be any more vain? For the entire duration that Ron had been watching, she hadn't torn her gaze from her own face. Ron growled in frustration, turning around to stomp out of the little passageway.

Until Parkinson pulled her top over her head, and Ron decided that Harry- and Hermione - could wait.


Unlike Hermione, Parkinson stuck to a fairly consistent schedule. Nine P.M. during the week, give or take four minutes, directly after dinner on Friday nights (in which she acted as if she were in an awful hurry to get somewhere) and ten thirty on Saturday mornings. Not that Ron kept track or anything.

Sometimes she hummed while she posed in front of the vanity, making soft sounds that floated into the corridor and faded into the grey stone walls. She tried on sexy little pouts, and smirks, and winks, and she gazed at herself in her bra and knickers in the full length mirror and twirled around. It wasn't a "look at me I'm Pansy and I know I'm absolutely bloody gorgeous" sort of twirl. It wasn't that at all. She bit her finger and fussed with her hair and poked at her breasts and her thighs, always looking so uncertain.

"Too small," she murmured once, so softly that he could only make it out by staring at her lips and the curious way they worked over the words, while her hands pushed her breasts up and together and let them drop again, scowling. "Too short, too fat." she hissed, turning and twisting her spine to view herself from behind.

It wasn't until after she'd stalked into the baths that Ron realized his face was pressed up against his side of the mirror.

"But you're not," he said, waiting for her to come back to the sinks, hoping she would remove her pink bathrobe and twirl in front of the mirror without her silk knickers and her green push-up bra, but she never did. She simply yanked the damp curls out of her hair and stepped into the trousers of her pajamas and back into the hall.

Ron wouldn't admit to himself that he wanted her to see how beautiful she was more than he wanted to see her naked.


He didn't visit Pansy all the time; between Harry and practicing and Lavender's obsession, some nights he couldn't get away to see her. He managed, though, one Friday, when he watched Parkinson slink out of the Great Hall, to dash down toward the Prefects' bathrooms. The only problem was that he met her there.

"Where are you running to, Won-won?" she asked, carrying a small basket with her bathrobe and her tiny pots and potions tucked inside. Ron spun around and glared at her, face flushed and breathless. She was still fully clothed. There was nothing keeping him from hating her.

"Nowhere!" Ron said, surely showing her, stalking off in the direction that was furthest from her.

"Gryffindor tower's that way," Parkinson said, eying him curiously and gesturing lightly with her shoulder. Ron stopped for a moment, thinking about the small mole she had on her left shoulder, and the pale satin straps of her bra. It must have been a rather long moment, because it was Parkinson making an agitated little "ahem" that startled Ron's attention back onto the real-life not-naked girl in front of him.

"Oh, right," he muttered, darting around her, and she smirked again.

"All you had to say was that Lavender was looking for you. I would have covered for you."

Ron stopped again, frowning lightly. "Yea, you would've told her you I was with Hermione, or something."

"Yes, probably," Parkinson shrugged, and he tore his gaze away from her shoulders before it got stuck there again.

"Bint," he said lamely, crossing his arms.

"Yes, probably," she said again, swishing her hips and murmuring the password to the portrait. "But my family's not poor."

Ron balled his fists and glared at the portrait for nearly a quarter of an hour, trying to come up with something to say back the next time he saw her.

And then he realized he had the password to the girls' bathroom.

It took him forty-six seconds to make it back to Gryffindor tower.


"Ineedyourinvisibilitycloakmate," Ron rambled, yanking Harry into the empty boys' dormitory before Lavender could pounce on him.

"Why?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow before following Ron's anxious gaze toward the common room.

"Oh, sick, Ron. Not under my dad's cloak! Just find an empty classroom or something!"

Ron shook his head violently, placing both his hands on Harry's shoulders. "Not for her! It's for... it's just for. Help your best mate in the whole wide world out? For just one night? Please?"

Harry sighed, glancing at his trunk. Ron knew he was asking a huge favour, but this was important. Surely Harry had to understand the telekinetic naked girl vibe. They were best mates, after all.

"I'll even do your Astronomy work!" Ron offered, raising his eyebrows.

"The Astronomy that's due in two days that you haven't even started yet? Besides, me and Hermione already finished it."

"She helped you? I asked her where Mars was and she told me maybe I ought to look up my own- nevermind. Potions essay? Oh, right, that book." Ron scowled, resting his chin on his fist.

"How about five chocolate frogs?"

"Will you check the cards beforehand?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes.

"On my honour, never," Ron said, raising his hand and looking fervently honest.

"Alright," said Harry finally, still looking uncertain, "but you've got to swear that nothing will happen to it," Harry warned, pointing a finger exactly the way Hermione did. Ron nodded again, pushing Harry's finger down and grinning quite stupidly.

"Just leave it towards the top of your trunk next Friday before dinner."

Harry just shook his head and hoped Ron kept his promise about Lavender.


Ron had only had time for a couple of rolls at dinner before he'd dashed to make sure it was clear, then snuck into the girls' bathroom (but only after the portrait had remarked that he was one remarkably disfigured girl). He'd found the perfect hiding (and viewing) place, sitting on the far end of the marble counter where there was no mirror. He knew Pansy would never touch it.

Like clockwork, she hurried in, ordering the portrait not to open to anyone else, even if they had the password. In turn, the portrait warned Pansy about the terribly ugly girl that had gone in before her. Ron held his breath as Pansy gave the bathroom a thorough search, then shook her head and perched herself onto the counter, dumping out her basket with less care than she did other days.

A giggle from the bath made her glare, but she didn't jerk and nearly fall off the counter, as Ron did.

"Shove off Myrtle! This is the girls' loo!" she yelled, running her fingers through her hair and giving her face a quick inspection before pushing quickly off of the ledge and back onto the floor. She dumped her robes quickly and without care, working on the buttons of her blouse while simultaneously checking her watch. Maybe tonight he would figure out where she was running to. Or, a stupid thought persisted, even keep her here.

Her skirt and white cotton stockings and expensive shoes were all littered about the room, but she didn't bother to pose and preen and primp in the full length. In fact, she unclasped her bra and chucked it behind her while she was passing through the door to the bath. Ron wasn't nearly quick enough (nor graceful enough) to scramble off of the counter and catch the door before it closed, or catch any better view than that of Pansy's naked back.


Ron sighed for what must've been the thousandth time that night; for being in such a bloody hurry, Parkinson sure was taking her time in the bath. His arm was cramping up from supporting the weight of his head, and Ron wasn't sure he'd sat still and quiet for this amount of time before- even in the trio's previous invisibility cloak adventures. He couldn't even rifle through her obnoxious basket due to the impending fear of her returning at any moment. Still, he might as well have dragged all her cosmetic creams and potions and thrown them- along with the basket- across the room, and it would have been less incriminating than the gasp of surprise he only half-concealed when the door opened again. It was quite lucky he wasn't allergic to vanilla and strawberries; the scent that followed Pansy out of the bath was so overwhelming that he might have died.

Pansy didn't nearly look so rushed, maybe just a pinch nervous, in the way she kept straightening the towel that Ron happily noted wasn't near long enough for decency, and seemed to have a mind to fall off if it was the last act of its towelly existence. She padded over to the sinks again, and Ron was slightly fascinated with the care she put into putting on her face. It was nearly as complicated as Charms or Potions. He'd only ever seen her take everything off, and now that she was putting everything on, not only did he wonder with more frustration where exactly she was headed off to, but he tried to match the unique markings on each tiny pot or vial to things he'd seen Ginny with. If Ginny owned anything close to this much, he was going to kill her. And hoard all of it and leave it for Hermione to find.

When her face was free of every tiny red spot, and every pore was tiny and each eyebrow perfectly arched and her lips shiny and full and her eyes dark and smudgy, she finally let the ruddy towel drop.

And this time he was fairly sure she heard his gasp. She at least had to have heard his head roll off of his fist and the rest of him fall into the floor.

"Who's there?" she said softly, whipping the towel from out of her hair and wrapping it around her body. Well, at least she thought she'd wrapped it around her body. It wasn't quite tucked and Ron still had a fairly wondrous view of the female anatomy.

The room was deathly quiet; the only sound or movement came from Pansy gently biting her bottom lip (which Ron sorely wished she wouldn't do, because it was absolutely bloody sexy and reminded him too much of Hermione.) Eventually she turned and fumbled through her basket, yanking out a couple of lacy black things. "Myrtle I said bugger off!" she shouted, and Ron caught a glimpse of high-heeled slippers with feathers on the top before she slammed the lid of the basket.

She turned back to the mirror, looking around anxiously again before dropping the towel again, although she made certain to keep it next to her feet, and Ron made certain to keep both hands clamped over his mouth and his arse firmly rooted to the floor.

It was... he'd never have expected it from Parkinson, but it was beautiful. Her breasts were small, but they were round and stood high on her chest, with nipples of a very pale pink- the colour of her robes at the Yule Ball. Her stomach was flat, though it rounded just a tiny bit before it went into the flat where her small waist met her hips, and her dark curls formed a perfect triangle- just as preened and polished as the rest of her was. Ron couldn't see how she ever thought her thighs were too big- or anything else. The girl was tiny. And beautiful. And naked. And... she was bending over to put on green knickers so adorned with black lace and tiny bows that he didn't know how on earth it could be comfortable but bugger if he cared.

She adjusted them carefully, doing up the tiny laces down the front, and frowning at the way the globes of her arse didn't completely fit into the back of them. She may have scowled and yanked them down, but he kept silently inching them back up. It might have worked; Pansy eventually gave up and moved to... holy Merlin rolling in his grave. A corset.

The same green and lace and bows, with bones that sucked in her waist and left only a thin ribbon of her pale stomach exposed. Her breasts were pushed up and together, and Ron had to still his hands by sitting on them and leave his mouth to its own devices to keep from jumping up to help her lace the cords.

Everything else went on with little fuss- two black stockings and two green garters that hooked everything together with more tiny bows. By the end of it, he didn't know whether she was Pansy Parkinson or a Slytherin Christmas ornament. But he figured he wouldn't mind her under his tree. Just so long as Hermione was... off... doing something else. He didn't much care.

A few charms and her hair was fixed- up and messy with little tendrils snaking onto her forehead. She was gorgeous. And, he had to remind himself, not getting this sexy for him.

She did another little twirl, this time actually looking pleased with herself. Her lips curved up into a satisfied smirk, and she lifted up on her tiptoes to inspect herself from every angle.

"Yes, he'll like this," she said, grinning at her reflection and yanking her stupid pink robe on, hastily tying it so it covered everything she was wearing underneath. Ron muffled a noise of disappointment, staring helplessly at her ankles, and the silver snake anklet he'd never noticed her wearing before. He would have to have a better plan next time, and have to figure out a way to get Harry to let him use the cloak again, and in the next week's meantime he would have to make Parkinson fall in love with him so that she would let him shag her in the bathroom, and maybe Hermione could even walk in and decide to join...

But all thoughts of next week or shagging or having two girls at once even when he'd never even had one came to a crashing, screeching halt as one of the little bottles slipped from Parkinson's hand and went flying into his leg. He could almost swear that her little serpent anklet hissed at him as it came nearer.


Reflexively, and quite stupidly, he kicked his legs out and scrambled back when she bent to retrieve the bottle; a movement which, after sending the purple glass flying across the room, sent his foot colliding into Pansy's hand.

She swore and yanked back, staring at the air where Ron was sitting with wide eyes. Then- and Ron didn't have time to count the seconds- those eyes narrowed in realization, and she lunged forward and clawed, fingers deftly snatching the invisibility cloak before Ron could stop her. In an instant, the grey liquid fabric of the cloak was puddled next to her, and she looked absolutely livid.

"You! You sick little... you watched me?" Her cheeks flushed scarlet, and Pansy shot a horrified glance back towards the mirror.

Ron looked equally horrified, and instead of giving her the dignity of a response, he scrambled to his feet, tearing towards the portrait. But, shit. Harry's cloak. Ron spun around to go back for it, but Parkinson and the cloak had vanished.

"Pansy!" he said, a little bit desperately, and jumped in front of the portrait to keep her from escaping and running straight to Snape, most likely. He would be stripped of his badge, at the very least, or even... he gulped hard at the thought. Expelled.

Parkinson took that as her cue to punch Ron hard in the throat. He choked and fell, and the portrait opened just enough that she could slip out. Without thinking, Ron's hand shot out, securing around what he guessed was her ankle. A strong yank and a small cry later, the portrait was closed again and Parkinson was on the floor, half covered by the cloak. And then she'd thrown herself on top of him, clawing at his face, despite the fact that he was a great deal larger than she was.

Ron yelped, grabbing her wrists and rolling his weight on top of her to still her, which only served to thoroughly aggravate her.

"Let me go!" she howled, yanking her knee up dangerously close to his Chudley Cannons, enough that he lost grip on one of her hands, which she brought down sharply against his cheek, so hard that it made his teeth rattle. He growled, resisting the urge to throttle her, and she glared up at him, panting softly.

And then Ron had another one of his stupid ideas. If he was going to be expelled and branded as a voyeur for the rest of his life, he was at least going to kiss a girl one more time before every single one he knew stopped talking to him.

So he kissed Parkinson.


Pansy gasped, unintentionally parting her lips just enough to grant Ron's tongue entrance, and when she bit it lightly Ron didn't yank back, as she had intended. He pressed his body closer to hers, tightening his grip on her wrists and pulling them up above her head. She moaned softly, a breathy little "oh" skittering across Ron's mouth.

"Why did you watch me?" she asked, her eyes falling closed as his lips traced a line along her jaw.

"Because you're beautiful." She gasped again- though it might have been a twitch, as Ron really wasn't very good with nonverbal communication- and Ron took the opportunity to kick away the cloak and position himself a little better atop her- just in case she changed her mind and decided to try to kill him again, all his bits and pieces might survive the encounter.

"But I'm not," she said softly, and at that moment, he nearly forgot who she was. Parkinson, with her vials and tiny pots of potions and lotions and the stuff that made her lips so bloody flushed- or had he done that? Parkinson, who was cruel and hateful and never demure unless she wanted something, was certainly not beneath him and turning her face because she thought she wasn't pretty. (Disregarding the unbelievable development that there was, in fact, a girl beneath Ron Weasley, regardless of specifics.)

"Does Ferret tell you that?" Ron asked, the bitterness in his tone, rather than the words themselves startling Pansy so much that she knocked her head against the tile in her struggle to right herself, and she managed to, despite the fact that Ron was still on top of her. He tumbled back from the unexpected force, and before he knew it, she'd clamped something onto his left wrist. Reflexively, his right hand flew to his left in curiosity, and she clamped his right hand in turn.

"What the...?" he managed, eloquently, yanking his hands up to see what the bloody hell she'd put on them. Shiny metal disks connected by a thin chain held tight around each wrist, and just where the bloody hell had they come from? He wasn't allowed to puzzle over it long- she smacked his hands down, then lifted up off the floor and hastily grabbed her basket, wand- and Harry's cloak- before he could right himself off the floor with his hands cuffed.

"Don't ever insult Draco, Weasley. He's more than you'll ever be."

He lunged at her again, but missed, and she kicked him deftly in the worst possible place she could have ever kicked him.

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione found him curled in a tiny ball in the floor of the Girl's bathroom. He'd never been so glad to see her, and she'd never looked so horrified in her life.


Harry and Hermione didn't speak to him the rest of the weekend, and it continued into Double Potions with the Slytherins on Monday. They didn't know what had gone on in the bathroom, but Hermione thought he was the biggest pervert on the planet (and had the password changed) and Harry was furious with him for losing the cloak. Parkinson sat happily curled against Draco's arm and didn't glance back once, not even when Draco made his usual crack about Harry's dead parents.

The week passed in the same vein, his two best friends too disgusted to talk to him, and Parkinson disgusted that he even existed, until Thursday in Herbology, when Neville, his new partner, showed up late and bearing a small scrap of parchment. "Ron-" he said breathlessly, thrusting it toward him- "'s'from Pansy. She said if I didn't make sure you got it, she'd throw Trevor out of the Astronomy Tower." Lavender, who was partnered with Parvati and watching Ron like a hawk, raised an eyebrow and glared at the note. "Thanks, Neville," was all Ron said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder before settling it inside his robe pocket.

When class let out, it took him six seconds to wrench out the note and fumble it open.


If you want your cloak back, meet me outside your common room tonight just after curfew. Bring anyone else, or do anything stupid, and I'll give Draco an early Christmas present- secondhand or not.



Ron paced outside of Gryffindor for nearly half an hour, and was just about to give up and head inside, when a veil draped over his eyes and he found himself underneath Harry's cloak with Parkinson.

"What on earth are you-"

"Shh." She pressed a finger to his lips, then pushed him up against the wall of the hallway and pressed herself against him. A rough brick jutted out and jabbed him quite unpleasantly in the back, but he wasn't about to complain. Not when she was- oh sweet Merlin. He glanced down, and though the light was dim, and even dimmer underneath the cloak, he could make out the frilly bows of her corset.

"You kiss better than Draco does," she explained softly (though he hadn't asked for an explanation), pressing her small fingers against his chest and working at the buttons of his shirt. "And you make me feel pretty."

Ron's head knocked lightly against the brick, and stars flickered briefly before his eyes. "But- Pansy, we're right outside the Common Room. Lavender or... isn't Snape patrolling tonight?"

Her fingers latched around a nipple and twisted, and she breathed a laugh into his ear. "No one can see us, silly Won-won; we're under your boyfriend's cloak. And if they stumble upon us- why, we're promoting inter-house unity, aren't we?"

He managed something akin to "Mmnuyghn," which seemed to satisfy her, because she smirked and positioned his hands on her corseted breasts, then tugged his head down to kiss her. She was astoundingly better than Lavender, and he even forgot to think about Hermione.

"Why'd you wear this thing?" he groaned, tugging on the intricate laces of her corset. She smirked, nipping at his neck. "So I could see the look on your face." He growled, simply yanking the satin strings, so that something snapped; she gasped, quite prettily, and the bones that constricted her torso loosened enough that he could pull it up over her head. It was all a bit graceless under the cloak, but neither of them particularly cared. The expensive fabric was abandoned on the stone floor, and Ron bent his head to take one nipple in his mouth (an action which elicited a breathy little squeal from Pansy) while his hands explored her other breast and the soft skin of her stomach. Her hands snaked up into his hair and clenched involuntarily when he grazed her nipple with his teeth, and it was a pleasant sort of pressure, not at all what he would have expected from Parkinson.

Then again, he'd never expected this from Parkinson at all. Not to be outdone, her fingers left his hair and trailed lower, slinking down his chest before easily undoing his belt and tugging on his trousers, even though her eyes were lidded and she seemed to be having a fair amount of trouble keeping quiet. She'd obviously had practice at this, but he shoved the thought out of his mind and concentrated on sucking on the spot just below her ear. It would leave a mark- one that Draco would clearly recognize was not his- but she didn't seem overly concerned. She simply tugged more insistently on his trousers and wrapped her hand around his still boxer-clad cock. He bucked involuntarily, and she smirked, squeezing so that he did it again.

"Holy Merlin buggering hell, Parkinson," he gritted, and she raked the nails of her free hand up his chest again.

"You really haven't done this before, have you?" It was obviously hypothetical, given the nature of his reaction, but he gave her a small nod and tried to discern whether or not this pleased her. She hesitated, letting go of his cock, and Ron spun her around so that she was pinned to the wall beneath him (though he paid mind to the jagged brick.) "Don't you dare, Parkinson," he hissed, chewing gently on her earlobe, an action which made her moan and tilt her head to give him better access. "You're going to finish what you started."

She hummed something that sounded vaguely like 'yes', then led his fingers down to her knickers, showing him where to press and pulling the fabric to the side so he had better access. It was very good he had her direction, otherwise he'd have no idea what to do with a writhing, half-naked girl in front of him. Other than get her all-naked, but that seemed like skipping several steps.

"Ron," she murmured, just when he was about to die of impatience, and so softly he barely heard it, "I- I need- fuck! Just fuck me. Please." Ron swallowed, then nodded, unhooking the little bows of her garters with fumbling fingers and shoving down her knickers. She lifted one leg to let them fall to the floor, snaking it up around his waist, and he pushed his trousers and boxers down before lifting Pansy up and pressing her against the wall. Very kindly, Harry's cloak prevented her skin from scraping against it, and Ron briefly wondered what Harry might do if he discovered what they were doing underneath his dad's cloak. He didn't know if Pansy was any worse than Lavender. Probably, given- well, everything she'd ever said. Like Pansy's disconcerting sexpertise, he tried not to think about it.

Instead, he kissed Pansy again, and in one motion, pushed himself inside of her. "Holy fuck, Weasley," she groaned, the sound of her voice so keening that he had to try and picture McGonagall naked to keep from ending the night early.

And then the portrait door swung open, which proved a thousand times more effective.


"Won-won?" came Lavender's voice, and Pansy sank her nails into Ron's shoulders to keep him from pulling out of her or doing something equally stupid. Her body tensed as she turned to watch Lavender's movements- all of her tensed, and Ron had to bite the inside of his cheek to stifle a groan. Parvati followed Lavender out of the portrait, quite sulkily, with her arms crossed.

"I saw him out here," Parvati said, glancing around at various points in the darkness. "I was running late from a consultation with Professor Trelawney, and when I got back he was out here, pacing." Pansy's fingers twitched into Ron's skin, and a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and itched like mad.

"You went for a consultation without me?" Lavender squeaked, sounding hurt. Parvati dropped her arms and shrugged. "If you were there, it would have upset the balance of the Unknown." Pansy rolled her eyes and glared impatiently at the ceiling.

"I've never gone without you before!" Lavender protested, but Parvati was already standing before the portrait again.

"Look, he's not out here. He probably went to bed while you weren't paying attention." Ron held back a snort. There wasn't a moment of the day that Lavender wasn't paying attention. Still, she nodded slowly, moving to join Parvati. Then, all of a sudden, she stopped- staring straight at the spot of wall Ron and Pansy were huddled against. Ron's breath hitched, and Pansy clamped her fingers against his mouth as if she didn't trust him. There was only- two, maybe three seconds of silence, but it was the loudest silence Ron had ever heard in his life.

"But what if-" Lavender started, and it was very lucky that Parvati spoke just as Pansy let out an involuntary hiss of breath.

"You're not on about Parkinson again, are you?" Parvati sighed, clamping her hand around Lavender's wrist and tugging her back toward the aggravated portrait. "She's a slag, he'd never touch her. Now come on, you're going to get us caught."

The portrait swung open and let them pass, Parvati practically shoving Lavender forward so that it could close behind them.

Pansy and Ron stayed still for a moment longer, to make sure they were safe, then Ron finally let go of the breath he'd been holding. "Pans-" he muttered, but she shook her head forcefully and panted softly, wiggling against him and tangling her fingers in his hair again. "Parvati's a frigid bint. But Ron, if you don't bloody move, I'm going to die, and then I'm going to kill you, and then you're going to die, too."

He didn't need further encouragement. He readjusted his hold on her hips and pulled out enough to aggravate her, then slammed back in, which made her chew on her lip and moan and curse under her breath the filthiest, sexiest, most wondrous words he'd ever heard. He did it again, and again- feeling an indescribable sense of triumph at the little mewls every thrust elicited. Her head rested against his shoulder as she rode him and tried to cling to the waves that rolled through her body at the feel of him. He shifted his grip again and ordered Pansy to support some of her own weight on his shoulders, then he moved one hand in between them to flick her clit.

"You're beautiful, Pansy Parkinson. Don't you bloody forget it."

She sank her teeth into his shoulder to muffle her scream, and they both came undone together.


The next morning, Harry found his Invisibility Cloak at the top of his trunk, smelling faintly of strawberries, with a note tucked in from Ron.


Y'know that wonky idea of the twins? Not so wonky at all, turns out.

-Ron (your best friend who you should start talking to again if you want the entire story and bloody hell mate is it a good one.)"

blondesimone: applauseblondesimone on January 21st, 2007 11:46 pm (UTC)
Whoa, that was pretty hot. I love how you stayed true to Ron's character and had him think about Hermione often. Though we both know he'd be happier with Pansy.

Now, in order to explain why Hermione was never present for a bathroom scene, you need to write a fic with her spending all that time with Draco! Hehe.
Eonone: Little Dogeonone on January 22nd, 2007 06:13 am (UTC)
Thank you! Writing Ron without explaining Hermione out of it is like forgetting a chunk of the story. And who wouldn't be happier with Pansy? She's definitely one of my favorite characters to write. While I don't know if I can pull of Draco/Hermione, I'm not against some femmeslash...