She looked at him from the green satin armchair next to the window. His handsome body was hit by the faintest rays of the moonlight, but she didn’t need her eyes to see him through the dark. She knew where his muscles and his bones were; she knew where he liked to be touched when they had sex; she knew what made him moan. Above all she knew what made him come, spilling his hot seed inside of her.

What Pansy Parkinson didn’t know was how to moan and come herself. She’d had sex with Draco Malfoy for too long to be turned on by his rude and rough hands which touched her body without much grace, claiming every inch of her flesh as if it was his property. She screamed, oh yes, she screamed a lot; but never from pleasure. Sometimes, when he bit her bony hips a bit too eagerly, her eyes had filled with tears that threatened to stream down her cheeks and ruin her perfect make up. Like that first time he had taken her. Like that moment that he had taken her virginity.

The blond Slytherin wasn’t gentle; taking her wherever he wanted and whenever he felt like it. An empty classroom, the Slytherin common room, the dungeons, the corridors, the Room of Requirement. Every place was perfect if the wicked boy wanted to get some sex, and every moment was simply perfect to him, even if she had to go to class or if she had her period. She felt she couldn’t complain about anything, like her body seemed to be made only for giving him pleasure.

Pansy shivered and looked out of the window, to the starry night sky. At the beginning it hadn’t been like that, had it? She couldn’t remember. She was so used to having a possessive and rude Draco at her side that she couldn’t recall if he had ever been gentle to her. How had he stolen her heart? He was rich and handsome, and so she didn’t need much to fall for him. She thought that love was not important, she thought that all she needed was to be touched by him, to feel his hands and his lips on her naked body, to be filled by him.

She was wrong. Oh! How badly she was wrong! Now she wanted all the kisses and hugs and caresses that she thought she didn’t need. She felt like she could die if Draco turned on his back another time after they had sex, panting and smiling and obstinately looking away. It was as if he didn’t care that her beautiful, petite body was next to him between his wet sheets. As if he became numb all of a sudden to her graces, and all he wanted was to sleep, and snore, and never turn to smile at her.

Why did she care so much? Pansy didn’t know. She had been raised in a family where the only love was that for power and richness, where her father and her mother never even looked at each other. Where they had taught her to stay close to Draco Malfoy to please him and share everything with him; just to link their two families together one day. Maybe she was sick of all that. Maybe she just needed to be treated like the girl she was and not like a piece of meat.

She glared furiously at the sleeping figure of Draco, and for a moment the thought of pushing him out of bed and hexing him crossed her mind, causing a mischievous smirk to appear on her face. But she was in his dorm, it would have got her in trouble if she did anything different than what she was supposed to do: walking out of the male dorm silently, glancing at the sleeping figures of Nott, Goyle and Zabini laying on the couches of the Common Room and finally entering her dorm just to sleep in her cold sheets, between the beds of Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass.

No. She couldn’t go to sleep. Not at that time, not with all the rage she had in her. She needed to grab something and throw it miles away, to scream and swear about Draco Malfoy. That little spoiled brat, Malfoy , she thought bitterly.

She picked up her dressing gown and wrapped the silky material around her bony hips, tying it loosely around her waist. She crossed the dorm with quick and silent steps, not even turning to glance one last time at the boy who was the cause of her grief. Pansy walked down the stairs with a flutter of her dressing gown, her chin up in the air as she walked past the Portrait Hole. She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t care. Even if Filch caught her wandering in the corridors at that hour of the night, she wouldn’t have cared much. Her head was filled with anger and her eyes were filled with bitter tears, that she couldn’t let fall down.

Pansy shivered in the cold night air. The dungeons were frozen, and the fact that they were dug right under the lake didn’t help the temperature at all. For a moment she missed the warm blankets on Draco’s bed; hot and wet with their sweat and bodily fluids. She shook her head forcefully, as if to send the thought away. She was mad at Draco, she wanted to never talk to him again. Or until the next morning at least.

The floor was iced. She bit her bottom lip, and for a moment cursed the fact that she hadn’t worn anything on her feet. Her pedicured toes were turning blue from the cold and she wondered if she could have lost them, for they were hard and they hurt her every time she took a step. But she didn’t even think about turning back, yet. “Hate you, Draco Malfoy,” she hissed into the darkness of the castle.

Then, as if someone had been listening, a noise answered her. She stopped, standing still, petrified and frozen from the fear and from the cold. There was someone close to her. Someone that made a soft and rhythmic noise, someone that grunted and moaned. Pansy’s heart started to increase its pace. She grabbed her wand in her pocket, the temptation of pulling it out and lighting the place where she was standing almost overcame her, and then she noticed it. A thin and delicate light was coming from a half closed door, the beaming light hitting a portrait whose owner was complaining loudly to nobody at all.

“Every night, almost every night,” an old wizard with a pointy hat was murmuring. When Pansy passed next to him, he looked at her and raised his voice a little. “Tell them at least to close that damn door. People here want to sleep.”

Pansy glanced at him, then she turned her head curiously towards the door. It was a classroom, one of the classrooms that she’d had some lessons in, in her first, or something like that, not a place that she could recall to be anything in particular. She peered through the doorway, holding her breath as if she was afraid that someone might have heard her soft respire.

The classroom was nothing different from the other hundreds of classes there were in the school. Desks and chairs crowded the room, and a black board was hung on the wall. What there was in that place that didn’t fit the surroundings was candles. Floating, lit candles that were standing in midair, and gave a soft, warm orange appearance to the classroom. They seemed to fly without a goal, but they gave the impression that they preferred a certain place of the class, close to the right wall. As Pansy pulled the door open a bit more, she understood why they were floating in that place. She understood, and her heart started to beat furiously in her chest.

Some of the desks had been moved together to form a bigger surface. On those tables two people were enjoying themselves as if they had an excess of hormones mixed up with endless horniness. To Pansy’s great surprise those two people were the ones that she had thought would reach their marriages as pure as their mothers had done, for they were Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.

Pansy’s first impulse was to walk into the classroom or at least go and get someone to show that person the passion that two of the prefects were consuming in a classroom in the middle of the night. A smirk appeared on her face, and for a moment she forgot everything, from Draco Malfoy, to the fact that she was cold, to the fact that she angry. The two of them would have been a lovely way to vent her feelings.

She stepped back, her brain thinking hard about who she might want to call in a moment like this; she was going to damage the perfect Hermione Granger and her lover. She had to call someone important. McGonagall will do , she thought.

But when Hermione Granger let out a hushed cry, and Ron Weasley grunted with her, Pansy, against her will, found herself stuck back to the door. Her eyes were following the scene that was going in front of her, her nipples pressed against the door through her nightgown, her inner folds becoming sensitive. She couldn’t help admitting to herself that they knew what they were doing.

Hermione was lying on the desks. She was naked, except for her Gryffindor tie, that in the orange light matched perfectly with her brownish skin. Her hands were wandering on her belly and her breasts, her nails brushing her skin with convulsed movements. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair fell all over her shoulders in a way that was much more sensual than it did in the classroom. Pansy found herself staring at her body. She wasn’t as skinny as her or as most of the girls were, but Pansy couldn’t help finding that soft fleshiness attractive.

Ron was standing at the base of the desk, his hands keeping her legs apart, and his eyes seemed glued to her breasts as they bumped up and down. He was moving rhythmically in and out of her, his face concentrating on her graces and on the effort of giving her as much pleasure as she was giving him.

His body was covered in sweat and his muscles darted on his abdomen every time he pushed inside of her, his penis disappearing in her wet, warm folds deeper every time. His hands slid down her calves and thighs up to her waist and then he gripped her hips.

Finally, he let out a grunt, tensing up his muscles, as he collapsed on her body. She cried out as well, something incomprehensible, and her body tensed up as well, her head back, her eyes closed and her cheeks flushed. Pansy knew that she had reached her orgasm with him. They stayed like that for what seemed like ages, and Pansy seemed frozen under the charm that their union had cast on her. They were perfect; they had come together and they were perfectly satisfied. Why it couldn’t be like that with her and Draco?

Hermione hugged Ron, who had his head on her breasts. She neared her lips to his ear and muttered something. They both laughed, and Hermione even blushed a little, then she nibbled at his ear with her teeth, her hands slid down his back until she reached his rear end. Her fingers slipped in between her cheeks and Ron struggled a little when she inserted the tip of her finger in his anus.

Pansy bit her bottom lip and sucked in her breath. She mechanically brought a hand to her folds and started to caress her clitoris, still warm and lubricated with her and Draco’s moisture. Her breaths started to come in short puffs as she spied on the lovers and gave herself pleasure at the same time.

Ron was still struggling a little as Hermione’s finger wandered a bit too deep into him. He grunted and freed himself from her sweaty limbs, looking at her beautiful body in the candle light.

“That was not fair, Miss Granger,” he murmured so quietly that Pansy almost didn’t hear it.

Hermione smiled, she brought a finger to her lips and bit it. Her cheeks, flushed with pleasure, gave her the appearance of a misbehaving child. Ron smiled at her, and Pansy couldn’t help noticing how lovely his smile was.

He bent down again on top of her body, kissing her fiercely on her lips. She brought her hands to his hair, entangling them in his rebel locks. He let her lips go, his mouth kissing its way to her jaw. He bit her playfully, and she giggled. He cupped her breasts with his hands and slowly he slid down her body, his mouth sucking and kissing and biting every single inch of her skin.

He pushed her breasts up, taking her nipples between his lips. Hermione moaned, evidently the fire was building once again inside of her, and Pansy didn’t have any difficulties to understand why. Her owns fingers were busy pleasuring herself, and the view of Ron covered with nothing but sweat was making her shiver with bliss.

Ron let go of her breasts and kissed his way down to her belly, showering her navel with his tongue, pushing at it with force, so that every time his tongue entered it Hermione would scream with pleasure. He cupped her bottom cheeks and raised her rear end from the desk. He kneeled in front of her looked at her secret; lust shining in his eyes.

Hermione held her breath. She was sucking her index finger between her lips, while one of her hands was gripping at the edge of the desk. Ron cast her a glance, and she wetted her lips with her tongue. The red-haired boy smiled and, without notice, he attacked her inner folds with his tongue.

Hermione curved her back, her breasts up in the air as she tried to push her secret against Ron’s face. She started screaming and moaning and tensing up again on the desk.

Pansy couldn’t see much, but she was sure that Ron was caressing her folds with his tongue in the most sensual way. Sometimes a dart of white was visible between his ruby lips and she knew that he was using his teeth as well. At those points, Hermione cried out louder; the soft and delicate pain mixing up with the immense pleasure. Every time she screamed he smiled, satisfied with himself.

Pansy’s eyes were starting to look at the scene through a lustful veil; her pupils dilated with pleasure. She felt her legs failing her, and she had to grip the wall to stop herself from falling.

Hermione came with soft screams, hushed by her fingers in her mouth. Her inner folds convulsed against Ron’s tongue, but he didn’t stop until Hermione straightened up and took his head in her hands, bringing him up to her. Their bodies started to slide one against the other in a sensual way as she kissed him and brought her legs around his waist.

Pansy came too. In silence, against the cold wall of the corridor. She panted softly, trying to steady herself on her trembling legs. For a moment she was horrified by the fact that it had taken such a degrading thing as to spy over Harry Potter’s sidekicks while they were making love to make her come, but slowly that thought was pushed at the back of her brain, and another feeling filled her mind.

She was jealous. She was jealous of Hermione Granger. She envied the fact that her boyfriend gave so much attention on her body, just to make her come over and over again. She felt a new destructive wave of evilness invading her mind as she recomposed herself and took a deep breath. She wanted to be in Hermione Granger’s place. Just for once in her life, she wanted to be there, on those desks, in her place.

She heard a giggle coming from the classroom, so she turned to look at what was going on in the alcove. Hermione and Ron were now on their feet, and they were looking for their clothes, which were lying all over the floor. Hermione bent to put on her socks and Ron pinched her bottom cheek jokingly, she straightened up and turned to look at him, and he pulled her to him again.

Pansy stepped back, the jealousy fogging her sight for a moment. She was sure that they would have gone on like that for hours, and she didn’t want to see that thing again. She wrapped herself in her dressing gown and started to walk away; walking past the portrait that was still complaining about the light.

She smirked in the darkness. She was so lucky that Hermione Granger was the good girl and model pupil of the school, because it would be so easy to steal what she had. Even if just for a night.

***

Ron looked at Hermione through the steams of his cauldron. She was flushed due the hotness from the flames under the cauldron. Her hair was curling up because of the vapour, but to his eyes she was as beautiful as always. Hermione looked up and their eyes met. She smiled softly and he smiled back. He still couldn’t believe that she was his, and only his.

“–turning blue, Ron.” Harry’s voice reached the red-haired boy as if it came from another place and another time. Ron turned slowly towards his friend, wearing the dumbest of his smiles.

Harry raised his eyebrows, but with a quick glance at Hermione he understood. “Did you hear a word I said?” he asked his friend, faking an annoyed tone. “Or were you too busy concentrated on Hermione?”

Ron flushed slightly. “Blue,” he said, “you said that it’s turning blue.”

Harry nodded, crossing his arms on his chest. “And?”

“Ron,” said Ron dreamily. “You said Ron.”

Harry shook his head. “I meant, and what does this mean?”

Ron looked at his best friend with a look that lacked understanding. “What?”

“The potion should be green,” snorted Harry, throwing up his hands, “have you stirred it as I told you to do when I went to collect the other ingredients?”

Stir. Potion. Green. Blue . Why didn’t those words sound new to Ron?

“Ron,” sighed Harry, “for Merlin’s beard. Just for an hour a week, can’t you keep Hermione out of your thoughts?”

Ron let out a laugh. “I’ll try, mate,” he conceded, “you should listen to your tone. It’s almost as if you are pleading with me.”

“I am,” replied Harry. “This is the third time that we’ve gotten a potion wrong. Slughorn will give us another Troll.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Ron, who couldn’t have cared less. He sat down at his desk and leaned his head on his arms, half closing his eyes in a tired gesture.

Harry glanced at him as he stirred the potion. “Did you sleep even an hour last night?” he asked his friend.

Ron shook his head. “I was with Hermione,” he replied. “How could I have slept?”

Harry looked at his other friend, who was brewing her potions with Justin Finch-Fletchley. She seemed to be getting everything right as always, she didn’t seem to have just gotten back from a night of fun. He smiled, Hermione would have done anything Ron asked her, but on the condition that she got enough sleep so she would still be able to pay attention in class. Evidently though, she needed much less sleep than Ron to be as active as normal.

“You should give up a night with her every now and then,” suggested Harry, turning back to look at Ron.

“Rubbish,” murmured Ron sleepily.

“Then you need to find someone else as a partner in Potions,” snapped Harry.

Ron ignored him, he was sure he was joking. Or maybe not, but Harry would never start to look for another partner. Of course if Harry wanted to be paired with Draco Malfoy or anybody else, Ron could always be with Hermione herself. He smiled, staying close to her, even at Potions, was something that he would love to do.

“Your potion isn’t exactly the colour it should be, Potter,” said Professor Slughorn as he collected a phial of their liquid.

Harry replied with something, but Ron didn’t care, the thought of working with Hermione was filling his head like a perfume that could fill his nose and intoxicate him.

“Class dismissed,” said Professor Slughorn somewhere through the steam; his huge figure almost hidden in the fog of the classroom.

Harry started to collect his things, and before he could even grab his polished cauldron Hermione was at their side, smiling brightly at Ron.

“Not so difficult, was it?” she said in her knowing tone, which made Harry roll his eyes.

“No, not at all,” replied Ron, smiling back at her. “Right, Harry?”

Harry grunted something, but he preferred to walk quickly out of the classroom and catch up with Ginny in the Great Hall rather than discuss the last potion they had brewed with the two lovers. He gave a dismissive goodbye and walked out of the classroom.

Ron and Hermione walked out a few minutes behind him, one next to the other. Their hands brushing slightly at their sides, their mouths curved in knowing smiles.

“What do you have to do tonight?” asked Ron, his voice low.

Hermione smiled softly. “Study, naturally,” she replied. “Why?” she asked, faking ignorance.

Ron let out a laugh. “Because I had something on my mind, you know just–”

“I need to talk to you,” someone interrupted them.

Ron and Hermione stopped in their tracks, their heads turned together towards the owner of the voice, a petite, brunette girl in Slytherin robes that answered to the name of Pansy Parkinson. She was standing next to the door, her arms folded across her chest as if she was trying to assume the coolest position she could. Her cold, black eyes were fixed on Ron.

“I need to talk to you,” she repeated, her voice low and sensual, her eyelashes fluttering.

Hermione took Ron’s hand. “We are very busy now, Parkinson,” she snapped, “come back when you have something intelligent to tell us.”

Pansy smirked, a smirk worthy of a Malfoy. “I’m not talking to you,” she hissed dangerously. “I’m talking to your boyfriend.”

Ron raised his chin. “Well, Hermione is right,” he replied curtly. “We have things to do.”

Pansy laughed, her laugh the trill of thousands of frozen bells. “I would let you go, but you see, I’m being very merciful to give you this chance to talk with me, Weasley. You don’t want to waste this opportunity.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Parkinson?” asked Ron, a look of impatience and misunderstanding on his face.

“Do you love her?” Pansy asked Ron bluntly, and for a moment her voice seemed even more aggressive.

Ron raised his eyebrows. “Of course I do,” he replied, clasping Hermione’s hand so it closed around his own with force.

“Then you better let me talk to you,” hissed Pansy.

Ron cast the Slytherin girl a glare, then he turned towards Hermione.

“No,” said Hermione forcefully before he could even open his mouth. “No, no, no. I’m not letting you go alone with her.”

Ron smiled, he was happy to hear such force in her voice. “Hermione, what are you worrying about? It’ll be some stupid Slytherin joke as always, maybe she’ll ask me to let their Quidditch team win next Sunday.” He cupped her cheeks. “I’ll catch up with you in the Great Hall in a few minutes,” he said. “Keep some roast beef for me.”

Hermione smiled, she stretched her neck towards him and they shared a chaste kiss. When they broke apart Hermione glared at Pansy, and was surprised to find that she had looked away. She turned and walked slowly towards the Great Hall, leaving a deadly silence behind her.

When she was out of sight, Pansy snapped, “Follow me,” in a tone that didn’t leave room for any reply.

She guided him towards a classroom not far from the dungeons, right in front of a portrait of a wizard that was sleeping undisturbed. She let Ron in and closed the door behind them. As soon as Ron looked around he recognized the classroom as the one he had chosen with Hermione for their rendezvous. Was that just a coincidence?

Pansy sat on a desk, her legs swinging back and forward as if she were a child. “I know your little secret,” she said in a low, sensual voice.

Ron crossed his arms over his chest. He gulped softly, trying hard to pretend he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. “I don’t know what you are saying,” he eventually hissed.

“Oh, I think you do,” purred Pansy, “it would be terrible if you didn’t remember yesterday evening, wouldn’t it?”

Ron’s head started to buzz. How was it possible that she knew something? She couldn’t have possibly bumped into them as they were busy, they would have heard her, wouldn’t they? And they had locked the door, hadn’t they? He couldn’t remember, Hermione had asked him to close the door. He closed it, right?

“What do you mean?” he asked coldly.

Pansy jumped down from the desk, landing gracefully in front of Ron. “I mean you and Miss Hermione Granger,” she said, circling Ron and getting to the spot where they had been lying the night before. “You and her on these desks,” she said touching them. “She was lying down and you were standing by her bottom. You worked your way down her body, just with your tongue and you pinching at her boobs and–”

Ron closed the distance that divided them and pushed Pansy towards the wall, pinning her arms with his hands.

Pansy smirked. “And you taking her up against the wall,” she whispered, “I didn’t see it, but I’m sure you did.”

“What the hell is your problem, Parkinson?” asked Ron with rage, his mouth close to her ear. “You need to spy on others’ private moments to satisfy yourself?”

Pansy’s face screwed with fury, she pushed at Ron and freed herself, then before he could see it, she slapped his face. “Don’t you dare saying something like that ever again, Weasley,” she hissed, her cheeks on fire.

Ron placed a hand on the spot that was turning red on his cheek, and, unexpectedly, he sneered. “Touched a soft spot, did I?” he asked.

Pansy growled. “I was going to offer a way out of this situation, but evidently you don’t want it,” she smoothed her robes. “I bet that Professor McGonagall will be very interested to hear what her model student is up to late at night. Will they send her away? I hope so.” She turned on her heels and walked away, a bitter smirk on her face.

Ron swore. He crossed the classroom and stood right in front of the door, blocking her way with his body.

“I’ll scream if you don’t let me go,” she said calmly.

Ron narrowed his eyes. “You said that you were going to offer me a way out,” he snapped. “What’s that?”

Pansy smirked. “You love her so much,” she murmured mockingly. “You have to do something for me and then I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Ron raised his chin. “What? Be your slave for a month? Do your homework?” he asked bitterly.

“I don’t need a slave and I would have asked Granger if I wanted someone to do my homework,” replied Pansy calmly. “No, I want something else from you.”

Ron sniffed the air like a dog. “Which is?”

Pansy brought a hand up, and she started to play with his tie. Ron followed her hand as if he was afraid that she would cut his throat with her nails. “I want you to take me,” she whispered so softly that Ron thought, or rather had hoped, that he could fool himself.

“What?” he asked, without wanting to believe his ears. He looked at her cold eyes, and he thought that he would have preferred to be her slave for a month rather than sleep with her.

“I want you to take me,” she repeated loudly. She raised her chin. “I want you to take me the way you take her, your little Mudblood.”

“Don’t call Hermione that,” he snapped, trying to ignore the fact that she had just asked him to have sex with her.

Pansy moved her fringe away from her eyes with a graceful movement, her hand was skinny and white, but also perfectly manicured. “I’ll call her what she is,” she answered calmly, “so?”

“So what?” asked Ron, still avoiding talking about her request.

“Are you accepting?” she purred like a cat.

Ron looked away, his face dark. “You are not right in the head,” he replied, shaking his head. “I love Hermione.”

Pansy shrugged a shoulder. “And I’m not telling you to not love her,” she whispered in her lustful voice.

“You’re asking me to betray her,” replied Ron curtly.

Pansy let out a trilling laugh. “You can say that I’m asking her to share, then. She would definitely accept if she had the possibility to save herself from a public humiliation,” she replied, calmly. “Anyway, you don’t have to tell her, if you don’t want to.”

“Are you mad?” he asked and he seemed to really believe it. “If Hermione knows that you and I had done anything like this, she’d leave me without thinking twice. And I don’t want to lose her,” he said in a heartbreaking voice.

Pansy laughed again. “Then don’t tell her anything,” she said sensibly.

Ron shook his head, snorting. “Why do you want to make love to me?” he asked, and as he said it he blushed.

She wetted her lips, just like Hermione had done the night before. She looked like a big cat that was preparing to jump. “No,” she corrected him, “not love, Weasley. Sex. Just sex.”

Ron leaned against the door. “Isn’t Malfoy satisfying your needs?” he asked her slowly.

Pansy darkened again. “That is none of your business,” she replied icily.

“It must be to do with that, or why else would you come here and ask me something like that?” asked Ron calmly.

Pansy glared at him, and if a glance could kill, Ron would certainly be dead by now. “I want to try something new,” she replied curtly.

“And nobody else is eager to offer their services?” asked Ron. He made his eyes run down her body. “You’re not that horrible, you know. Goyle? Flint?”

“What about Zabini?” she snapped. “No, I want to make Draco feel awful, and I want to experiment with what sent your girlfriend into bliss last night. I want to feel what she felt.” She narrowed her eyes. “I want to have sex with you.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “No,” he replied curtly. “I will never betray Hermione.”

“That’s so touching,” she mocked, bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Then be ready to leave this school forever, with her, naturally.”

She took a step towards the door, she’d decided to duck and walk under Ron’s arm, but he moved it down. “You’re mad, I want you to know it,” he hissed angrily. “What do you want?”

“I’ve already told you,” she replied gleefully.

He shook his head, grunting. “Ask me something else,” he answered rudely.

“I don’t need anything else,” she replied, smirking.

“I can’t give you this,” he said, desperation in his voice.

She shrugged her shoulders elegantly. “Then you better enjoy your last minutes in this school,” she said sweetly.

She ducked again and this time Ron didn’t block her way. She took a deep breath and started to walk towards McGonagall’s office. Her head was a mixture of rage and delusion, her heart wrapped in a thick curtain of revenge.

“Okay,” called Ron after her.

She stopped, turning her head to offer him her better profile. “Okay, what?” she asked in her silky voice.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” he replied, walking towards her.

She felt her heart beating furiously in her chest. She was going to take him, to take him away from Hermione Granger. She felt like a child on Christmas morning.

“Meet me tonight,” she replied, giving him her back once again. “At midnight, in that classroom. If you don’t come I’ll make sure that you and your girlfriend are sent away from the school before tomorrow evening.”

At that she walked away, leaving a crestfallen Ron behind.

***

Ron kicked one of the couches in the common room. He couldn’t recall a moment of his life when he had felt more betrayed or more frustrated. He was angry with himself for the fact that he hadn’t locked the door last night, and for the fact that he had agreed to have sex with Pansy Parkinson. And naturally, he was angry with Pansy for the fact that she had blackmailed him. Why didn’t she ask him for money or for enslavement? He would have preferred either of those instead of lying to Hermione.

He shook his head, thinking again of what he had told Hermione. I’m too tired tonight, maybe tomorrow? Was that the first time that he’d had to find an excuse? Yes, naturally it was. What was Hermione thinking? He’d been strange since he had come back from his talk with Pansy Parkinson. She must have got the sense that there was something wrong. What was she thinking? Hopefully not what’s about to happen , thought Ron.

He walked towards the portrait hole and stepped out into the darkness of the corridor. It was the first time that he had walked out of there at that time of the night without Hermione, and for a moment he wanted to go back inside and take her with him. He didn’t want to go meet Pansy Parkinson, he didn’t want to have sex with her. And Pansy shouldn’t want to have sex with him either. She’s lost her mind , thought Ron, shaking his head.

He walked through the corridors like a sleepwalker would do. His feet knew the way too well for his brain to have to guide them. He passed the Great Hall and turned towards the dungeons. The classroom he had to reach was the one he had been in with Hermione the night before, and for the first time the thought of taking Pansy in the same place made him sick.

He reached the classroom too quickly in his opinion. He remembered when he had walked there with Hermione, their walk interrupted by kisses and laughter every now and then, and in those moments their secret place seemed so far away from them. Now nothing interrupted Ron’s walk to the room, and he got there at the very moment in which distant bells were tolling midnight.

As he walked into the classroom, the first thing he did was to stare in front of him at the spectacle that was on the other side of the classroom. Candles were floating, just like the night before. The desks had been moved together to form a wider surface, just like the night before, and there was a girl in there with him, just like the night before. The only thing that wasn’t right was that the girl was dressed in Slytherin colours, that her hair was combed in a straight, lucent, pageboy cut, that her eyes were black like coal and that her body was bony and skinny. The only thing that wasn’t right was that the girl wasn’t Hermione Granger.

The second thing Ron did was to lock the door behind him; he wouldn’t have committed the same mistake twice. He didn’t shine with brilliance, but he wasn’t like Crabbe had been. The third thing he did was to walk slowly towards Pansy and sit on a desk a few feet from where she was sitting, her legs dangling just inches from the ground, just like that afternoon.

“You came,” she purred in her low voice. “I thought you were lying.” She laughed her trilling laugh. “No,” she continued, “Gryffindors don’t lie.”

Ron felt the urge to hex her. “No,” he replied, “the opposite of Slytherins.”

Pansy fluttered her eyelashes. “I guess so,” she said. She bent back on the desk, leaning on her arms, and looked at Ron with a smile. “Just out of curiosity, what did you tell her?”

Ron stiffened, his face darkened even more than before. “None of your business,” he hissed.

Pansy laughed. “No,” she replied, “I guess not.” She brought a finger to her mouth and sucked it without breaking the eye-contact she had with Ron. “So?” she asked. “Shall we get started?”

Ron took a deep breath, but he didn’t move.

Pansy pouted. “What are you reluctant about, Weasley? I’m even prettier than that ugly Mudblood girlfriend of yours, you should thank me,” she said.

Ron’s blue eyes flashed with something like rage as he threw himself at her. He grabbed her upper arms firmly, sending her back and head banging against the desk. She moaned in pain, her sight fogging for a moment.

“I told you,” hissed Ron, his hot, fragrant breath only inches away from her nose, “not to call her that.”

Pansy gritted her teeth, he was hurting her, but he was finally close to her. So close that she could smell his scent, so close that she could feel his breath tickling her forehead. So close that she hadn’t to do much to lean forward a bit and kiss him.

For a moment Ron was caught off guard. His eyes opened wide and his hands loosened their grip on her. He felt like he had lost. He felt like he had lost Hermione forever. Pansy moaned against his lips, and he felt her tongue and her teeth busying at his lips. She was leaning forward even more, her arms slowly making their way around his back and her tongue finally winning over the resistance of his lips.

It is done , he thought, I can’t go back. Tonight I’m hers.

As if he had been charmed, he gave in. He let his hands slide down her upper arms, then follow the curves of her sides, and come to rest on her bony hips. She was sharp and angular in all of the places Hermione was fleshy and soft. Even her breasts, that were now pressing with insistence into his chest, were pointed.

He felt her ravenous tongue tasting his mouth, and he tasted hers. She tasted of citrus, he of vanilla. One was sweet, the other sour. One good, the other bad. One the victim, the other guilty. But which was which?

Ron’s hands started to wander south; down to her skirt. Here they stopped to play a little with her waistband. He made them slide even lower on her and when he reached the hem of her skirt, he started to come back up. He slid his fingers on her bare skin under the material, rolling her skirt up as he did so. When he reached her bottom he sucked in his breath, gaining a giggle from her.

He moved his head away a little, looking into her eyes for the first time since they’d started kissing. Her eyes were even blacker than usual. Her body was screaming for more, and the sooner he gave it to her, the better it was for them.

“You aren’t wearing your knickers,” he whispered, surprised.

She grabbed his hair and came up to kiss him. “I knew I wouldn’t need them,” she moaned into his mouth. “Come on,” she urged him.

Ron leaned forward over her for the second time. His hands were now grasping at her breasts through the material of her shirt. He caressed her nipples and she moaned again in his mouth.

Slowly, he released her lips and backed a little, but this time he didn’t even look into her eyes. He followed the line of her neck down to her breasts; with his eyes and with his hands. His big hands massaged her little breasts with wanton. He reached for the line of buttons that kept the two parts of her shirt together and pulled it apart, sending buttons all over the floor and exposing a generous part of her chest and her black, expensive, lacing bra.

She sucked in her breath, and when he pulled her bra down under her breasts and attacked her nipples with his lips, teeth and tongue, just like she had seen him doing the night before on Hermione, she let out a small strangled cry of satisfaction and arousal.

He cupped her breasts perfectly in his hands and, if he opened his mouth wide, he would have been able to take one in almost entirely. He took her right nipple between his teeth, biting it delicately, and Pansy moaned under his body. He smiled against her skin. Pansy Parkinson, the Slytherin ice queen was melting under his body.

Ron opened her shirt wide and, pulling up her petite body in his arms, he made the shirt slide down her back, exposing her perfect, pale shoulders. She raised her back and unclasped her bra, sending it onto the floor next to her shirt and buttons.

She pushed up on her arms and sat up. Ron was standing there, leaning towards her, his flushed face inches away from hers. “Your turn,” she grumbled in his ear as her hands went to his tie.

She untied the knot, and then made her manicured fingers slide over his chest, removing each button from its hole. He had tried to make that process as quick as possible with her, however she wanted to take as much time as she could. She pushed his shirt to her own on the floor, and his tie encountered the same fate.

Pansy took a moment to look at him. He was tall and a bit skinnier than she would have desired him to be, but he had muscles in the right places, and he knew how to use his hands and his tongue. All she had to know now was how well he could use his use his member; and she was eager to discover that.

She slid her hands down his chest, it was warm and smooth, like that of a man who hadn’t yet completely said goodbye to his adolescence. She reached for his crotch and was disappointed to find it flat, when she was sure that she was already dripping wet.

“Is it me?” she asked, all her sarcasm and coldness gone, only a slight desperation left in her voice. “Or are you restraining yourself?”

Ron didn’t answer, he just moved her hand away and bent once again over her, making her lie on the desk. He kissed her jaw, biting and sucking at her white skin like he would with a creamy ice-cream. Then his mouth left her face for her neck, and shoulder, and collarbone, and cleavage, and then he was on her belly, licking her navel as if his life depended on it.

Finally he grabbed at her skirt and pulled it up, up and up. Until it was just a thin piece of material around her waist. Her pubic area was now offering him a nice spectacle. Her black hair was already glistering with bodily fluids and she shivered when the cold air of the dungeons brushed over her folds.

Her skin was so white, and her hips so small compared to those of Hermione. She was so skinny that she seemed almost ill. Did Malfoy like her that way? Ron shivered. He hoped that it was natural, and that she didn’t starve herself for anyone. He shook his head, was he caring for her?

He looked at her, and found that she was staring back at him, waiting impatiently for him to do something. He curved his lips in a sensual smile and, keeping his eyes on hers, he kneeled in front of her until his face was just inches away from her wet folds.

As soon as his hands went to cup her bottom cheeks and his face dived into her warm secret, she threw her head back and moaned, feeling a warm excitement spreading from her low abdomen to every limb of her body.

Ron brushed his tongue down the length of her folds. Then, carefully, took her clitoris between his teeth and massaged it with his lips. He brought his hands to her folds, opening her small vagina as best as he could, inserting his tongue and distractedly even his nose. His fingers slid in there as well, one after the other, in and out, slowly and quickly.

Pansy took some sharp breaths, her body thrashing on the desks. Her legs closed around his head, bringing him even closer to her. Ron’s tongue dived into her secret, and he pressed his thumb on her clit at the same time. Eventually Pansy’s inner walls convulsed against his tongue in a desperate way; electricity shooting through her body. Pansy climaxed with a little cry that Ron hoped nobody had heard. When she had trembled and shivered for enough time, he stood up, moving her legs away from his neck.

Pansy’s breath was still coming out in short puffs when Ron threw himself on her for the umpteenth time. His hands on her small breasts, his mouth on hers. He massaged her nipples with his right hand, and with his left he traced the corners of her body. He reached down between her legs and she moaned again, fire building once more inside of her.

“Please,” she groaned into his mouth.

Ron backed his head a little. “What?” he asked, kissing her jaw. “I didn’t know-” He kissed her collarbone. “-that I would ever hear-” He pushed her breasts up, just like he used to do with Hermione. “-Pansy Parkinson plead.” He kissed her breasts.

“Fuck you, Weasley,” she murmured with neither mirth nor resentment; her eyes half-closed with lust. She reached out her hand and seized the hem of his trousers, making him come closer to her. She smiled a little when she felt the bulge of his crotch.

She caressed his cock through the fabric and he whimpered. It as if he wanted her to free it and at the same time he wanted to run away, too ashamed of the fact that he was enjoying the little adventure he was having with Pansy. However, she didn’t want to let him go. She busied her fingers on his zip, and stopped only when his hand joined hers.

He took her hands in his own, his mouth still working on her breasts. He didn’t look up at her, but she knew that he didn’t want to stop her, he just wanted to let her know that he was there. She freed herself from his hand without much difficulty, and eased his trousers down his legs. The bulge was now plainly visible through his boxers and she felt a wave of satisfaction from knowing that she was having such an arousing effect on him.

She pulled him to her, her legs swinging at his sides, he let go of her breasts and looked down as she freed his erection. She stopped for a moment, looking at his cock with a mixture of surprise and attraction. It was different from Draco’s, she didn’t like comparisons, but she couldn’t help thinking that that member would have had a totally different effect on her.

Pansy stretched a hand in front of her to wrap around his length and return his service. Her fingers were cold and made Ron shiver with both pleasure and iciness. She pushed on the desk and slid slowly down the table kneeling in front of him. One of her hands on his cock, the other on his balls.

Ron looked down at her and gulped a bit too louder than he had intended. Pansy smiled and planted some light kisses all over his length. Ron gulped again. She opened her mouth and took it all in to her; making it disappear into her wet and warm entrance. Ron threw back his head and gripped the desk to support his legs that were becoming weaker with every second that passed.

Pansy’s tongue licked the tip of his cock every time it was about to exit her cavity, and she made it duel with Ron’s member as if it was his tongue instead.

Ron moaned. He let go of the desk and grabbed Pansy’s hair, rolling her locks around his fingers. He pushed her thin face against his cock and at the same time he pushed with his abdomen. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth; until he felt his cock ready to explode in her mouth. He bit his bottom lip and held his breath. He slid his hands down her neck and he seized her shoulders, pulling her onto her feet.

He kissed her, tasting his most secret scent in her mouth. His hands went down on her breasts again and he pinched at them before pushing her back on the desk. Her back banged against the table as a soft pain spread from her shoulder blades to the rest of her body. However she didn’t have time to complain because, before she could even imagine what Ron was going to do, he opened up her legs and positioned himself at her entrance. He raised his eyes to her face, and watched her as he pushed into her folds. She lay back, moaning in pleasure, her hands went to her breasts and belly and she started caressing herself whilst Ron pumped inside of her.

He was holding her legs apart near his shoulders; her trembling limbs supported by his hands wrapped around her ankles. He was thrusting inside of her like he would have done with Hermione, only her vagina was smaller and wrapped around his cock like a glove too small for a hand. It almost hurt him.

Ron let go of one of her ankles, and brought his hand down between her legs. He stroked the sensitive spot he had already worked on before; pushing at it with his thumb. Pansy trembled, her breasts bouncing slightly, her face in bliss. She let out a few small cries. Then she placed her free leg around Ron’s hip, pulling him even closer so that he fully penetrated her.

Seeing her face screwed up with her impending orgasm, Ron increased the speed that he pumped into her. He liked the sight of her breasts as they moved up and down, as well as her face as she shut her eyes and opened her mouth to take sharp breaths and let out moans and cries of pleasure.

Pansy let out a small cry and Ron felt her walls wring around his cock, wavering from her climax. That was too much, even for him. He grunted and spilled his white semen into her as he stopped his pumping and closed his eyes.

He collapsed on top of her, yet he was still inside her body. His hands inches away from her face, his chest pressing against her breasts, her tiny skirt pressing on both of their stomachs. Ron’s cheek was lying against Pansy’s neck, so that their breath came out as one. Their ribs clashing against each other every time that they inhaled. Their bodies sweaty, naked and hot.

Then, to Ron’s great surprise, Pansy’s hands went to his hair and she started to caress it. She leaned her cheek towards his head and kissed Ron. A chaste, lovely kiss. Ron slid out of Pansy and rolled onto his side; catching his breath and cooling his down.

The desks were uncomfortable to lay on, but both Ron and Pansy still had wobbly legs, and couldn’t imagine getting up from there without falling back down.

Finally, Pansy pushed on the table and sat up. Ron could see her thin and sweaty back; flushed and bruised from the force with which he had sent her onto the table. She let out one of her trilling laughs as she smoothed her hair.

Ron frowned. “Are you happy?” he asked her, and found he was still a bit breathless.

Pansy jumped down from the desk, she turned to look at him and smirked. “Very happy indeed,” she replied in her low voice.

Ron pushed his elbows on the desk and watched her as she tried to divide her clothes from his. “You have to keep your word and not tell anybody what you’ve seen,” replied Ron in the way he would talk to her every day, not as if they’ve just had sex.

Pansy picked up her shirt and placed it on the table, and then she started to pick up her buttons. “I haven’t promised anything, Weasley,” she said truthfully.

Ron jumped to his feet and steadied herself. He seized her by the wrists, pulling her to her feet and making the buttons falling back on the floor. “Well, you promise now, then,” he said icily, the fear in his eyes didn’t reach his voice.

Pansy snorted and struggled to free herself, but she couldn’t do anything against him. He was deadly serious. “Okay, I swear,” she said nonchalantly.

“What?” barked Ron.

“I swear that I won’t tell anybody that I’ve seen you and your Mudblood girlfriend shag in this classroom,” she said, faking an innocent expression.

“And you’ll also swear that you won’t tell anybody about tonight,” said Ron, shaking her softly and ignoring the fact that she had offended Hermione again.

Pansy pouted. “Why not? We had a great time, didn’t we?” she asked, smiling sensually to him.

Ron let her go and walked away. He picked up his boxers and his trousers and started to get dressed. He had to get away from her as soon as possible, she was right and he had enjoyed that night, but he didn’t want to let her know that.

“I swear,” said Pansy. She picked up her buttons again and placed them next to the shirt, whispering a repairing spell. “I wouldn’t want to let anyone to know, anyway,” she added icily.

Ron put his shirt back on. “Great,” he answered curtly. “Me neither.”

Pansy rolled her skirt back down and put her shirt on over her bra, caringly making it pass under her tie. Then, as she fastened the last of her buttons, another one of her trilling laughs reached Ron’s ears and captured his attention.

“What?” he asked, knotting his tie.

“I’m delighted,” she answered, putting on her shoes, “can’t I laugh?”

Now was Ron’s turn to smirk. “Is sex with Malfoy so bad?” he asked mischievously.

Pansy’s face become serious all of a sudden. She seemed like a waxwork statue. Her delight evidently gone. “I’m not pleased because you can satisfy me and Draco can’t. Sex with Draco is perfect,” she lied. “I’m pleased because yesterday I was jealous of Hermione Granger, but now I don’t envy her anymore.”

Ron took a deep breath, his blue eyes became almost black. “Why?” he asked coldly.

“Because I’ve had her boyfriend too. Even if I thought that he was perfect, I’d have discovered that I was wrong,” she purred.

Ron glared at her, his face dark.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, “you were great tonight.”

“Then what is it?” he asked impatiently.

“You betrayed her,” she purred, “you’re not perfect.”

Pansy Parkinson turned on her heels and walked away. She was smiling contently to herself as she left Ron behind. She was sure that the morning after, he wouldn’t be able to look his girlfriend in the eyes. Now she didn’t envy Hermione Granger anymore.

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