Disclaimer: I don't own J.K. Rowling's universe, I just like to play in it on occasion.

Part Two

"This isn't working," Pansy said, heaving a sigh.

"What?" Her companion looked up from her breast, blinking in confusion that she was not as involved in the throes of passion as his attentions were supposed to make her. "Is no good?" he asked, in his broken English, lowering his head again to suckle at her other breast.

"No," Pansy replied abruptly, with a flash of irritation. "Is no good." She brought her hands up to push at his head, then his shoulders, sliding out from underneath him. "You no longer interest me." What was his name, again? Fernando, Federico, something starting with an F, she thought.

"But --" he began, still looking hopelessly lost, like a puppy who'd been kicked by a previously-kind mistress. Pansy looked over her shoulder and decided the analogy was rather accurate, taking in the warm brown eyes and dark curly hair. Then her gaze drifted lower, noting the rather obvious side-effect of their foreplay, and she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," she muttered, rolling toward him and shoving at his shoulder, then climbing atop him as he rolled onto his back. "So. Fucking. Predictable." The words were growled, low, each one punctuated by a sharp rolling thrust of her hips that cut off speech altogether until he was bucking and panting and moaning beneath her. It didn't take long for her to bring him to a finish, and without giving him any time to recover she pushed away from him, sliding out of the bed and heading for the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower. You can see yourself out, and make sure to collect all of your things," she said, her tone imperious.

Closing the bathroom door behind herself, Pansy leaned against it and listened as her most recent paramour (Draco called them her 'boytoys', and she often used that term as well, though she'd never admit that to /him/) gathered his things and left. Once he was gone, she allowed herself to reflect on the source of her irritation: Weasley. The afternoon's infatuation had grown into a full-blown obsession, and while she didn't understand why she was suddenly fixated on the man, it had interfered with her enjoyment of... damn, what was his name again? When she'd first met him, she'd been charmed by his accent, and hadn't really cared that he barely spoke English. She wasn't interested in lengthy conversations, after all, and his talents in her bed had more than made up for the lack of linguistic skills.

Since the irrational flash of infatuation earlier that afternoon, however, she hadn't been able to get Weasley out of her head, and her mind wandered there again, one hand drifting along her abdomen and then lower as she thought of him. What would it be like to bed the Weasel? Her thoughts turned to what little she knew of him personally, even after several years of working with him, and the less she'd been able to gather about why he and Granger had fallen through. More enthusiasm than talent and experience, she suspected, but that was perfectly fine with her, it made him pliable, trainable...

Minutes later, Pansy leaned back against the wall, her heart pounding, breath coming in short gasps, her whole body flushed and warm. It was far from the first time she'd had to satisfy her own needs, and she doubted it would be the last, especially given this recent infatuation/obsession with Ron Weasley. What marked it as a significant event, however, was the fact that for the first time since she and Draco had discovered sex together years ago, his hadn't been the face she'd thought of as her skillful fingers did their work; instead, she'd been thinking of Ron.

Sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, she heaved a sigh, swearing under her breath as she did so. Much as she disliked the idea of caving to carnal necessity, the fact remained that she was hooked on Ron, and somehow she needed a find a way to just get him out of her system, so that life could return to normal. "I need a drink," she murmured, muzzily, to herself. "Maybe half a dozen." Alcohol wouldn't sharpen the thought process at all, but it couldn't possibly make things any worse, at this point; unfortunately, she didn't keep liquor in the house precisely because it dulled her thoughts, and she preferred to keep them sharp, most days.

"Shower," she said to herself, pushing to her feet. "Maybe I'll find some new boytoy to help drive the Weasel out of my head, at least for tonight." With the aid of enough alcohol, anything was possible.

* * *

Author's Note: I apologize for taking so long with this section, which I had planned to finish and post two days ago. Work did not cooperate, and then life got busy due to the weekend, and then Pansy decided to give me hell with the ending of this chapter. She wanted more smut, I prefer to let my readers allow their imaginations to do at least some of the work here. I particularly enjoyed the beginning of this section, her dismissal of the boytoy was very Slytherin and completely in line with how I've come to view her character. Reviews are always welcome! I read each one and try to reply within a reasonable time frame, and I want to thank SeraphimeRising and insanereality710 for being my first reviewers and asking for more! It helps drive the creative process when I know people are actually reading. ;)