Draco, his color high and his expression that of blissful lust, handed his neatly-folded clothing to Pansy. He looked at her a moment; she at him. Then, clothing draped over one arm, she walked stiffly from the room. Draco, stiff in another way, got down onto all fours on the bed.
A finger, well-lubed, made slightest contact with his rectum. Draco tosed his head back, out of mingled pleasure and showmanship; he knew that the more theatrically he showed his pleasure, the better everything would actually feel. Another hand crept around to tweak a nipple, caress the chest. Draco wished the hand was a mouth -- a mouth with teeth that wasn't afraid to use them -- but soon he was completely involved with the activities.
He angled his head backward to gaze upon the hard, lean lines of Ron's body. Ron's cock jutted from beneath a bush of scarlet pubic hair. Draco wanted to fasten his mouth around it, but he wanted something else more. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and then moaned as the very tip of Ron's cock touched against his ass -- and then, slowly, was thrust in.
As Ron thrust, the bedroom door creaked slightly, though neither Ron nor Draco noticed. A single eye peered in through the crack. The door creaked open a bit more, and two eyes watched. One hand of the person to whom the eyes belonged began caressing a breast, then moved downward. The other arm was occupied with holding neatly-folded clothing.
Pansy undulated into the room, rubbing as hard as she could against her clit one moment and penetrating herself the next. She wanted both of their cocks in her at once. Why did they play with one another and not with her? Did they not know that she would take them in every orifice, would strap on a cock of her own if that was what they wanted. She -- needed -- their touch. Draco, Ron, it didn't matter whose. She needed him, whichever him that might be, to hold her and gently nip her with his teeth where neck met shoulder. She craved for an end to her solitude, for a man to fill her seeping hole.
She watched them for a time, rubbing herself. She wasn't sure whether they noticed her; probably, but she was of no consequence to the lovers. She was nothing to them except for a convenient clothes-wench!
The pain was a hard fist inside her. Her eyes were leaking tears. She took shuddering breaths. Her arousal remained, but it was painful. She smelled her own sex and she smelled their sex and it was painful. They loved each other but not her. She had offered herself to them and been refused yet had lingered to be a clothes hanger, for that was the only use they had of her and it let her be near them, to be loved vicariously.
She walked stiffly out the door. In sudden rage she clawed her own face. Her tears stung against the skin she had just mauled.
Inside the room, Draco moaned loudly enough to be heard over Ron's heavy breathing.
Pansy's breath came in hissing gulps.
And then, feeling that finally she had no recourse, she deposited the folded clothing neatly on the floor, and fled, heading for the little clearing in the Forbidden Forest where Dolores waited with her whips and her knives.