FIC: The Adder Stone (Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson)
Title: The Adder Stone
Author: carriescribbles
Characters: Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson
Prompt number: 285
Word Count: 3,826
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Summary: Ron Weasley has fallen on hard times, indeed. Hard enough that he’s consorting with the seedy underbelly of society to pay the bills.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K Rowling. The plot is the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. Tra la la.
Author’s Notes: A HUGE, BIG gigantic thank you to my sweet beta, J, for reading this on your lunch break and saying nice things. You’re a peach.
The Adder Stone
It had been four days since Ron Weasley had slept in a proper bed or had a meal that wasn’t whatever he could shove in his mouth while following a lead. He was close; he could feel it. He’d been staked out across the road from a house that he was very nearly sure held the culmination of half a year’s worth of research, sixteen weeks of travel, tracing a path across the continent and back to Britain, and now four days of just watching. Being patient. Being careful.
The item he was searching for was an Adder Stone. It wasn’t just any Adder Stone, though, the garden variety of which would cure snakebite, provide a sort of protection against evil charms, prevent nightmares, cure whooping cough, or if looked at through the middle of the stone, would give the owner the ability to see through fairy or witch disguises and traps. No, this wasn’t any old Adder Stone. It was said to have actually been Merlin’s Adder Stone, the famed wizard’s own personal magical object, used to thwart Mordred in the Great Wizard War. It was known to be a very powerful item, and one that would bring a great deal of gold to Ron’s Gringott’s vault when procured.
All Ron had to do was get his hands on the thing.
This was easier said than done, however, because after retiring from the Aurors, he’d not really found anything that he fancied, and funds were getting dangerously low. He had alimony to pay and children to support, though, so he was desperate enough that he’d resorted to taking work from a less than reputable one-time confidential informant, who told him that his money troubles would be over for quite some time if he could procure this Adder Stone for him without being seen.
That was the problem. The house in which the Stone resided had a steady stream of people going in and out at all hours of the day and night. There didn’t seem to be a pattern to it, and Ron had yet to find a way to slip in unnoticed.
And he had the sneaking suspicion that he was being watched.
The former didn’t trouble him overmuch; he had taken to masquerading as a homeless, sleeping rough on the road with a duffel and a sleeping bag, so the house would be in full view all the time. The feeling of being watched, though, it was unnerving. He didn’t know who else was after the Adder Stone, but he knew he’d done more research than anyone else, and that he’d invested more time in its pursuit.
Ron had just pulled out the last bit of jerky from the bottom of his bag to enjoy another lackluster dinner, when he saw a shadow moving across the lawn of the house. If he hadn’t been watching so intently, he would have missed it altogether. The shadowy person slipped in through the first floor, corner window, was gone for approximately forty five seconds, and then slipped out again.
Shite.
He had two options: pursue the shadow, or take his chances inside the house. But the thought occurred to him that thief might already have what he was there to take. He decided to give a cursory look through the wooded area in which the shadowy figure had escaped, and when he found nothing, Ron entered through the same window the other thief had. Ron was a bit ungainly; stealth had never been his strong suit, and fell as he came through the window, making a rather loud noise, and banging his shoulder rather painfully.
What he saw when he straightened was unexpected, to say the least.
In a chair in the middle of the room sat a very disheveled Pansy Parkinson. She’d obviously been roughed up. Her dress was torn, revealing the top portion of one rather amazing breast, one of her cheeks had quite the abrasion, she was bound to the chair and gagged, and her eyes were full of tears. Ron didn’t remember ever seeing her so… vulnerable.
But even Pansy Parkinson didn’t deserve this treatment. Ron sighed as his years of Auror training won out. He’d help the damsel in distress. And after he made sure she was alright, he’d help himself to her Adder Stone. That seemed fair. Sort of.
Ron moved quickly to the chair and removed the gag from her mouth.
She gave a grateful sob, and cried softly, “Weasley, I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my entire life.”
He snorted. “Bet you never thought you’d hear yourself say that to me.”
Untying her hands and then her feet, he moved to stand in front of her and was surprised to say the least, when she threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him in an enthusiastic embrace.
Ron was startled, and since it had been quite literally weeks since he’d seen a woman, let alone touched one, he was embarrassed by his body’s reaction to Pansy’s soft curves fitted snugly to the hard lines of his own body. She didn’t seem to be letting go, even though he was sure she could feel his burgeoning erection pressed into her stomach, and he tried to extricate himself gently, but she seemed to be having none of it.
“Weasley, he said he was going to come back and kill me. Thank you, thank you, a million times thank you,” she whispered into the shell of his ear. “You quite literally saved me. I owe you my life.”
Ron groaned softly. Pansy’s lips against his ear did nothing to dissipate the problem he was having below the belt; in fact, it was only encouraging it. “It was nothing, Parkinson,” he muttered gruffly, trying again to break her embrace.
Pansy stepped back to look at him, her arms still around his neck, and he softened at her tearstained face. He’d never really liked Parkinson, but Ron had a weakness for crying women. He always had. Crying made him profoundly uncomfortable, and he always found himself going to great lengths to make the crying stop, whatever the cost.
“Why don’t we see if we can put up some wards to prevent anyone from getting in, shall we?” he asked gently. “Keep you safe.”
Pansy looked at him, her brown eyes rimmed with a touch of pink, and her lashes fluttered as she leaned up and touched her lips to his. Before Ron could properly process what was happening to him, he found himself being kissed; really, truly and thoroughly kissed, by Pansy Parkinson.
Her body was pressed against his in earnest once again, and her deft fingers wound their way through his hair. Her tongue swept through his mouth in the most tantalizing way; she teased, tormented and pleasured his mouth in a way that he’d not experienced in quite some time, if ever. Without realizing he was doing so, he pulled Pansy close, one hand at the back of her neck, one and the small of her back, and lost himself in her.
When Pansy make a small, keening sound, Ron broke away, determined to not let years of Auror training be wasted and let his libido kill them both, no matter if that had been the best kiss he’d had in years.
“Wards, Parkinson,” he repeated.
She nodded and then placed her small hand to his stubbled cheek and he stilled once more. “Thank you,” she whispered sincerely, looking for all the world like a sweet, normal girl, and not the shrieking harpy that he’d known in school.
People do change, he thought to himself idly, giving a mental shrug.
He gave her an awkward pat, and the motioned for her to join him in setting the wards to keep out anyone that she didn’t expressly let through. He showed her the wand movement and the incantation, and they worked quickly to protect her house from would-be assassins.
Glancing over at her as they worked, he commented, “I didn’t realize this was your home.”
Pansy gave a small smile. “Well,” she confided, “I won’t pretend that isn’t disappointing. You’ve been watching it for weeks. Thought you might have taken a fancy to me and were just shy.”
Ron stared at her. She knew. She was the one that had been watching him.
Pansy’s smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “I have to admit, I did wonder why the Aurors were watching me. I haven’t done anything illegal in… well, months, I suppose,” she finished blithely.
So she thought he was still an Auror. Thank Merlin, he thought.
Then Ron had an idea. And idea to save himself, rob Parkinson, and live happily ever after.
“Yes,” he replied, all business once again. “We got a tip at the office that someone was going to steal a magical artifact from this house,” he lied. “I was sent out to make sure that didn’t happen, and to keep the owner of the house safe, of course.”
Pansy sighed. Ron couldn’t tell what sort of sigh it was, until she crossed to a portrait of herself hung in an elaborate frame over the mantle. She flicked her wand, and the portrait swung open, revealing a wall safe. She didn’t try to hide the combination from him as she opened it, and removed a rather unassuming rock from its confines.
“This,” she proclaimed proudly, “was what he was after. Didn’t get it though, the bastard.”
Ron couldn’t believe his luck. The stone was within his grasp; he could have it. He could still have his happily ever after, all he had to do was play it well.
“Is that the magical object I’ve been guarding? What is it?” he asked, with what he considered just the right amount of cluelessness.
“It’s an Adder Stone,” she replied airily. “Been in the family for ages. Ever heard of one?”
“Erm,” Ron stammered, trying for thoughtful. “Only in school. They cure whooping cough?” he asked.
Pansy nodded. “Among other things. I use it to prevent nightmares,” she confided. “Though after tonight, I’ll probably still have them,” she continued, biting her lip nervously.
“No one will be able to get through the wards,” Ron assured her. “You’ll be perfectly safe.” Except from me, he thought, for the first time wondering if he was actually dishonest enough to pull this off.
Pansy nodded, visibly unsure. “Would you have a drink with me?” she asked softly.
Ron thought he’d have to be certifiably insane to turn her down. First, he hadn’t had anything to drink since he’d been on this job, and second, she was a very beautiful woman, and he thought if he played his cards right, he might get another kiss out of the deal.
Shite, Ron thought to himself. I really am a heel.
She poured them a drink, and one turned into two, two into three, and when they were on their sixth (or tenth, Ron really couldn’t remember at this point) he decided that he couldn’t steal from this woman. She was an amazing witch; she was funny, poised, and very pretty, not just for an older woman. Her body was softly curved in all the right places, and she was flirting with him in a way that Hermione never had, even when she’d still loved him.
“Listen,” Pansy whispered conspiratorially. “I don’t ever do this, but I wondered…” She blushed prettily, her lashes fluttering up at him. “I wondered if you’d stay with me tonight.”
“Stay?” Ron croaked. The liquor was making everything fuzzy, and he wanted nothing more than to take this woman to her bedroom, take all her clothes off and lose himself in her for a week, but he wasn’t sure that she meant what he thought she did.
Leaning forward, she unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and then looked up at him through her thick, dark lashes. She brushed her lips against his and whispered, “Please, Ron?”
“Yes,” he agreed readily. “Okay.” At this point, he wasn’t sure he was capable of saying no, his body was crying out for her, and she was obviously willing, and he found that he really was fond of her. She needed him. Standing, he picked her up and strode toward the door of the sitting room. “Where is your bedroom?”
She giggled softly and through intermittent kisses to his neck and jaw, she gave him directions through a labyrinth of corridors to a well-appointed room with a large bed in its center, heavy curtains pulled back over mullioned windows, and torches softly illuminating the entire scene. Ron laid her in the middle of the bed and she reached for him, drawing him in to lie on top of her, kissing him with the fervor of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. He couldn’t believe his luck. Women weren’t lining up for Ron Weasley nowadays, and it had been a long time since he’d been properly bedded, not to mention slept in an actual bed.
Ron was excited about both. One a bit more than the other.
He hitched her leg around his hip, letting her skirt fall open, and trailing his fingers along her bare thigh. Gods, he wanted this woman. She moaned as he massaged her bum, and he shifted so that his fingers found her centre, and pulled her knickers to the side a bit so that he could touch the bundle of nerves at its apex.
The sounds that Pansy made as fingers worked furiously was worth the weeks of sleeping outdoors. She responded to his every touch, and thrust of his hand, and convulsed as she cried out when she reached her completion.
“Ron,” she moaned, kissing him, her teeth tugging roughly at his lower lip. “More.”
Pansy pushed him onto the bed, and he let her make short work of his shirt. She looked approving as her hungry gaze took in his chest and abdomen, and his eyes closed of their own accord as she bent to kiss every inch of his exposed skin. It was exquisite torture for Ron, feeling her pink mouth touch his nipples, her tongue swirl around his navel, and her teeth graze the sensitive skin right above the waist of his trousers.
Pansy smiled at him as she flicked open the button of his trousers and slowly undid the zip; his erection jutted proudly against his pants, and her clever hand reached into the fly and caressed the length of him. He couldn’t suppress a moan.
“I do like that,” she murmured, and Ron wasn’t sure if she mean the noise he made or his erection, and he couldn’t really find the words to ask the question. All that mattered at the moment was that she was divesting him of his clothes, and that she was touching him, caressing him, and he was very keen on letting her do whatever she liked to his body for as long as she cared to do it.
He gazed up at her, the liquor still blurring his vision slightly, but he could see well enough to know that she’d taken off her blouse, skirt and bra, and that she was straddling him in just her lace knickers. Momentarily sad that he’d missed her striptease, he tugged at the only black scrap of material left, nearly begging her to take them off. She laughed throatily, the sound going directly to his groin. “Pansy,” he groaned.
“Yes?” she asked coyly, dragging the lace from her hips and shimmying out of them. “Did you want something?”
“You,” he growled, and she smiled as she straddled him once more and sank onto his waiting erection, and Ron stopped all rational thought.
His hands moved to cup her breasts and he squeezed gently, rolling the rosebud tips between his fingers. He was rewarded with Pansy’s arched back and cry of pleasure, and watched, awestruck, as she rocked back and forth atop him, her hips finding a steady rhythm against his. The pressure in his groin was building, and he needed a distraction, or the entire evening would be over all too soon. Ron reached down between Pansy’s legs and found her pleasure centre again, and she gasped and faltered slightly as he began rubbing the little bundle in circles, adding to her pleasure.
“Oh, Ron,” she moaned, her hips finding their speed again.
He grinned lazily as he watched her come apart under his hands once again, her back arching and her hips thrusting against his as she cried out. Ron’s eyes closed and he groaned loudly as he let himself follow her into oblivion.
She collapsed atop him, her head resting on his shoulder. Ron’s hand moved in lazy circles on her back, tracing imaginary lines that made her croon with contentment. She leaned up and kissed him again, more sweetly this time, her tongue soothing the lip she’d bitten earlier.
“Stay here tonight,” she stated, rather than asked, and Ron murmured his assent. The last thought that ran through his mind was , I could fall in love with this witch, as he let sleep claim him.
The next morning he awoke, bleary-eyed and with a throbbing headache, to an empty bed. Pansy was gone. He hoped she’d be back soon, maybe with breakfast and a little bit of round two, but after he’d waited for a half hour, dozing on and off, he decided that she’d probably gone. Perhaps to work, if she did work. He didn’t know, actually. If they had, indeed, talked about that last night, Ron didn’t remember it.
He stumbled out of bed and staggered into the bath, hoping for a shower. Finding a large one, he made use of it, getting thoroughly clean after having resorted to cleaning charms for the better part of a month. When he emerged from the loo he was refreshed, if still headachey, and dragged on his scattered clothes, deciding what to do next.
Even though he didn’t really want to, he decided to do what he came here to do. He marched into the sitting room in which he’d found Pansy the night before, moved to the portrait-covered wall safe, mimicked the combination he’d seen her perform, and opened the safe.
Only to find it empty.
Ron whirled around, immediately calling for Pansy. The wards were down. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? He searched the entire house, and she wasn’t to be found. Someone got through the wards while I was sleeping, he thought furiously. They took Pansy, and took the stone, and it’s all my fault.
He ambled back into the sitting room, feeling guilty and worried, sinking into the chair to which she’d been tied just a short time ago. He exhaled heavily as he felt something move around him, and the ropes he’d undone last night wrapped themselves tightly around his wrists and ankles, securing him to the chair. Before he could even struggle, a magical gag was in his mouth and a note appeared in the air in front of him, hovering at eye level for him to read.
Dearest Weasley,
Before you get really good and properly angry, let me assure you that I do feel just a touch of regret for what I did to you last night. It wasn’t all lies. I had been watching you watch the house, though the house isn’t actually mine. I got tired of watching you stake out the place, and decided to go in when I had a window of opportunity. I charmed the chair, got it ready and then crept back out, sneaking back around though the rear and slipping into the chair so that you could rescue me. (A brilliant piece of magic, if I do say so, myself.) You should know that this house belongs to my friend (well, probably not anymore, now that I’ve robbed her) Astoria Greengrass, and she’s going to be none too pleased to find you here and her Adder Stone gone. Of course she’s currently out of the country (she’s NEVER out of the country! Isn’t that a happy coincidence?) and won’t be back for a few weeks, but her staff (the people annoyingly coming and going at all hours) should find you at some point this morning and release you. Or call in the Magical Law Enforcement, one of the two.
I find that bit delightfully ironic. I doubt you will, too, but one can’t have everything, can one?
And before you get high and mighty, the chair wouldn’t have trapped you if you hadn’t opened the safe and intended to steal the stone. Tut, tut, Weasley. You shouldn’t steal, darling, especially when you have such little experience. Stealing is just wrong. (For people like you. For me, it’s perfectly fine, and it’s worked out perfectly, thank you for asking.)
And last night. Last night was just absolutely delightful. I thought it would be a dreadful bore, but it turns out I was wrong. That part of the plan was a necessary evil that worked out to my benefit. But here’s a word of wisdom for you; you, darling Weasley, probably shouldn’t drink on the job. Leave that to the professionals, too. Getting you drunk made it all too easy to seduce you. Hell, you were practically crying out to be seduced, and it didn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes, and one hell of a fantastic fuck. It’s a pity I won’t get to have you again, but, ah, well. I’ll have my millions to comfort me.
And just in case last night wasn’t merely drunken lust, if you aren’t so severely angry that you want to kill me, you’re more than welcome to come find me and exact your revenge. (Though I do hope that your revenge comes in the form of angry sex. I won’t lie.)
And that’s where I leave you, Ron. (I think I’ll call you Ron from this point on, we’ve shared a bit too much for only calling each other by surnames.) I do hope you’re not too dreadfully uncomfortable and that the butler doesn’t curse you before he unties you.
Best wishes (And thank you so much for last night, I’m incredibly relaxed this morning),
Pansy D. Parkinson
Ron yelled loudly, cursing a blue streak through the fabric of his gag. Oh, he was going to find Pansy Parkinson. He was definitely going to find her. This was most definitely not over. And when he did get to her, he’d take his retribution in whatever form he liked, be it money, hexing her, tying her up, or bending her over the closest piece of furniture and having his way with her.
Ron simply couldn’t wait to find her.
Author: carriescribbles
Characters: Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson
Prompt number: 285
Word Count: 3,826
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Summary: Ron Weasley has fallen on hard times, indeed. Hard enough that he’s consorting with the seedy underbelly of society to pay the bills.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K Rowling. The plot is the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. Tra la la.
Author’s Notes: A HUGE, BIG gigantic thank you to my sweet beta, J, for reading this on your lunch break and saying nice things. You’re a peach.
The Adder Stone
It had been four days since Ron Weasley had slept in a proper bed or had a meal that wasn’t whatever he could shove in his mouth while following a lead. He was close; he could feel it. He’d been staked out across the road from a house that he was very nearly sure held the culmination of half a year’s worth of research, sixteen weeks of travel, tracing a path across the continent and back to Britain, and now four days of just watching. Being patient. Being careful.
The item he was searching for was an Adder Stone. It wasn’t just any Adder Stone, though, the garden variety of which would cure snakebite, provide a sort of protection against evil charms, prevent nightmares, cure whooping cough, or if looked at through the middle of the stone, would give the owner the ability to see through fairy or witch disguises and traps. No, this wasn’t any old Adder Stone. It was said to have actually been Merlin’s Adder Stone, the famed wizard’s own personal magical object, used to thwart Mordred in the Great Wizard War. It was known to be a very powerful item, and one that would bring a great deal of gold to Ron’s Gringott’s vault when procured.
All Ron had to do was get his hands on the thing.
This was easier said than done, however, because after retiring from the Aurors, he’d not really found anything that he fancied, and funds were getting dangerously low. He had alimony to pay and children to support, though, so he was desperate enough that he’d resorted to taking work from a less than reputable one-time confidential informant, who told him that his money troubles would be over for quite some time if he could procure this Adder Stone for him without being seen.
That was the problem. The house in which the Stone resided had a steady stream of people going in and out at all hours of the day and night. There didn’t seem to be a pattern to it, and Ron had yet to find a way to slip in unnoticed.
And he had the sneaking suspicion that he was being watched.
The former didn’t trouble him overmuch; he had taken to masquerading as a homeless, sleeping rough on the road with a duffel and a sleeping bag, so the house would be in full view all the time. The feeling of being watched, though, it was unnerving. He didn’t know who else was after the Adder Stone, but he knew he’d done more research than anyone else, and that he’d invested more time in its pursuit.
Ron had just pulled out the last bit of jerky from the bottom of his bag to enjoy another lackluster dinner, when he saw a shadow moving across the lawn of the house. If he hadn’t been watching so intently, he would have missed it altogether. The shadowy person slipped in through the first floor, corner window, was gone for approximately forty five seconds, and then slipped out again.
Shite.
He had two options: pursue the shadow, or take his chances inside the house. But the thought occurred to him that thief might already have what he was there to take. He decided to give a cursory look through the wooded area in which the shadowy figure had escaped, and when he found nothing, Ron entered through the same window the other thief had. Ron was a bit ungainly; stealth had never been his strong suit, and fell as he came through the window, making a rather loud noise, and banging his shoulder rather painfully.
What he saw when he straightened was unexpected, to say the least.
In a chair in the middle of the room sat a very disheveled Pansy Parkinson. She’d obviously been roughed up. Her dress was torn, revealing the top portion of one rather amazing breast, one of her cheeks had quite the abrasion, she was bound to the chair and gagged, and her eyes were full of tears. Ron didn’t remember ever seeing her so… vulnerable.
But even Pansy Parkinson didn’t deserve this treatment. Ron sighed as his years of Auror training won out. He’d help the damsel in distress. And after he made sure she was alright, he’d help himself to her Adder Stone. That seemed fair. Sort of.
Ron moved quickly to the chair and removed the gag from her mouth.
She gave a grateful sob, and cried softly, “Weasley, I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my entire life.”
He snorted. “Bet you never thought you’d hear yourself say that to me.”
Untying her hands and then her feet, he moved to stand in front of her and was surprised to say the least, when she threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him in an enthusiastic embrace.
Ron was startled, and since it had been quite literally weeks since he’d seen a woman, let alone touched one, he was embarrassed by his body’s reaction to Pansy’s soft curves fitted snugly to the hard lines of his own body. She didn’t seem to be letting go, even though he was sure she could feel his burgeoning erection pressed into her stomach, and he tried to extricate himself gently, but she seemed to be having none of it.
“Weasley, he said he was going to come back and kill me. Thank you, thank you, a million times thank you,” she whispered into the shell of his ear. “You quite literally saved me. I owe you my life.”
Ron groaned softly. Pansy’s lips against his ear did nothing to dissipate the problem he was having below the belt; in fact, it was only encouraging it. “It was nothing, Parkinson,” he muttered gruffly, trying again to break her embrace.
Pansy stepped back to look at him, her arms still around his neck, and he softened at her tearstained face. He’d never really liked Parkinson, but Ron had a weakness for crying women. He always had. Crying made him profoundly uncomfortable, and he always found himself going to great lengths to make the crying stop, whatever the cost.
“Why don’t we see if we can put up some wards to prevent anyone from getting in, shall we?” he asked gently. “Keep you safe.”
Pansy looked at him, her brown eyes rimmed with a touch of pink, and her lashes fluttered as she leaned up and touched her lips to his. Before Ron could properly process what was happening to him, he found himself being kissed; really, truly and thoroughly kissed, by Pansy Parkinson.
Her body was pressed against his in earnest once again, and her deft fingers wound their way through his hair. Her tongue swept through his mouth in the most tantalizing way; she teased, tormented and pleasured his mouth in a way that he’d not experienced in quite some time, if ever. Without realizing he was doing so, he pulled Pansy close, one hand at the back of her neck, one and the small of her back, and lost himself in her.
When Pansy make a small, keening sound, Ron broke away, determined to not let years of Auror training be wasted and let his libido kill them both, no matter if that had been the best kiss he’d had in years.
“Wards, Parkinson,” he repeated.
She nodded and then placed her small hand to his stubbled cheek and he stilled once more. “Thank you,” she whispered sincerely, looking for all the world like a sweet, normal girl, and not the shrieking harpy that he’d known in school.
People do change, he thought to himself idly, giving a mental shrug.
He gave her an awkward pat, and the motioned for her to join him in setting the wards to keep out anyone that she didn’t expressly let through. He showed her the wand movement and the incantation, and they worked quickly to protect her house from would-be assassins.
Glancing over at her as they worked, he commented, “I didn’t realize this was your home.”
Pansy gave a small smile. “Well,” she confided, “I won’t pretend that isn’t disappointing. You’ve been watching it for weeks. Thought you might have taken a fancy to me and were just shy.”
Ron stared at her. She knew. She was the one that had been watching him.
Pansy’s smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “I have to admit, I did wonder why the Aurors were watching me. I haven’t done anything illegal in… well, months, I suppose,” she finished blithely.
So she thought he was still an Auror. Thank Merlin, he thought.
Then Ron had an idea. And idea to save himself, rob Parkinson, and live happily ever after.
“Yes,” he replied, all business once again. “We got a tip at the office that someone was going to steal a magical artifact from this house,” he lied. “I was sent out to make sure that didn’t happen, and to keep the owner of the house safe, of course.”
Pansy sighed. Ron couldn’t tell what sort of sigh it was, until she crossed to a portrait of herself hung in an elaborate frame over the mantle. She flicked her wand, and the portrait swung open, revealing a wall safe. She didn’t try to hide the combination from him as she opened it, and removed a rather unassuming rock from its confines.
“This,” she proclaimed proudly, “was what he was after. Didn’t get it though, the bastard.”
Ron couldn’t believe his luck. The stone was within his grasp; he could have it. He could still have his happily ever after, all he had to do was play it well.
“Is that the magical object I’ve been guarding? What is it?” he asked, with what he considered just the right amount of cluelessness.
“It’s an Adder Stone,” she replied airily. “Been in the family for ages. Ever heard of one?”
“Erm,” Ron stammered, trying for thoughtful. “Only in school. They cure whooping cough?” he asked.
Pansy nodded. “Among other things. I use it to prevent nightmares,” she confided. “Though after tonight, I’ll probably still have them,” she continued, biting her lip nervously.
“No one will be able to get through the wards,” Ron assured her. “You’ll be perfectly safe.” Except from me, he thought, for the first time wondering if he was actually dishonest enough to pull this off.
Pansy nodded, visibly unsure. “Would you have a drink with me?” she asked softly.
Ron thought he’d have to be certifiably insane to turn her down. First, he hadn’t had anything to drink since he’d been on this job, and second, she was a very beautiful woman, and he thought if he played his cards right, he might get another kiss out of the deal.
Shite, Ron thought to himself. I really am a heel.
She poured them a drink, and one turned into two, two into three, and when they were on their sixth (or tenth, Ron really couldn’t remember at this point) he decided that he couldn’t steal from this woman. She was an amazing witch; she was funny, poised, and very pretty, not just for an older woman. Her body was softly curved in all the right places, and she was flirting with him in a way that Hermione never had, even when she’d still loved him.
“Listen,” Pansy whispered conspiratorially. “I don’t ever do this, but I wondered…” She blushed prettily, her lashes fluttering up at him. “I wondered if you’d stay with me tonight.”
“Stay?” Ron croaked. The liquor was making everything fuzzy, and he wanted nothing more than to take this woman to her bedroom, take all her clothes off and lose himself in her for a week, but he wasn’t sure that she meant what he thought she did.
Leaning forward, she unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and then looked up at him through her thick, dark lashes. She brushed her lips against his and whispered, “Please, Ron?”
“Yes,” he agreed readily. “Okay.” At this point, he wasn’t sure he was capable of saying no, his body was crying out for her, and she was obviously willing, and he found that he really was fond of her. She needed him. Standing, he picked her up and strode toward the door of the sitting room. “Where is your bedroom?”
She giggled softly and through intermittent kisses to his neck and jaw, she gave him directions through a labyrinth of corridors to a well-appointed room with a large bed in its center, heavy curtains pulled back over mullioned windows, and torches softly illuminating the entire scene. Ron laid her in the middle of the bed and she reached for him, drawing him in to lie on top of her, kissing him with the fervor of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. He couldn’t believe his luck. Women weren’t lining up for Ron Weasley nowadays, and it had been a long time since he’d been properly bedded, not to mention slept in an actual bed.
Ron was excited about both. One a bit more than the other.
He hitched her leg around his hip, letting her skirt fall open, and trailing his fingers along her bare thigh. Gods, he wanted this woman. She moaned as he massaged her bum, and he shifted so that his fingers found her centre, and pulled her knickers to the side a bit so that he could touch the bundle of nerves at its apex.
The sounds that Pansy made as fingers worked furiously was worth the weeks of sleeping outdoors. She responded to his every touch, and thrust of his hand, and convulsed as she cried out when she reached her completion.
“Ron,” she moaned, kissing him, her teeth tugging roughly at his lower lip. “More.”
Pansy pushed him onto the bed, and he let her make short work of his shirt. She looked approving as her hungry gaze took in his chest and abdomen, and his eyes closed of their own accord as she bent to kiss every inch of his exposed skin. It was exquisite torture for Ron, feeling her pink mouth touch his nipples, her tongue swirl around his navel, and her teeth graze the sensitive skin right above the waist of his trousers.
Pansy smiled at him as she flicked open the button of his trousers and slowly undid the zip; his erection jutted proudly against his pants, and her clever hand reached into the fly and caressed the length of him. He couldn’t suppress a moan.
“I do like that,” she murmured, and Ron wasn’t sure if she mean the noise he made or his erection, and he couldn’t really find the words to ask the question. All that mattered at the moment was that she was divesting him of his clothes, and that she was touching him, caressing him, and he was very keen on letting her do whatever she liked to his body for as long as she cared to do it.
He gazed up at her, the liquor still blurring his vision slightly, but he could see well enough to know that she’d taken off her blouse, skirt and bra, and that she was straddling him in just her lace knickers. Momentarily sad that he’d missed her striptease, he tugged at the only black scrap of material left, nearly begging her to take them off. She laughed throatily, the sound going directly to his groin. “Pansy,” he groaned.
“Yes?” she asked coyly, dragging the lace from her hips and shimmying out of them. “Did you want something?”
“You,” he growled, and she smiled as she straddled him once more and sank onto his waiting erection, and Ron stopped all rational thought.
His hands moved to cup her breasts and he squeezed gently, rolling the rosebud tips between his fingers. He was rewarded with Pansy’s arched back and cry of pleasure, and watched, awestruck, as she rocked back and forth atop him, her hips finding a steady rhythm against his. The pressure in his groin was building, and he needed a distraction, or the entire evening would be over all too soon. Ron reached down between Pansy’s legs and found her pleasure centre again, and she gasped and faltered slightly as he began rubbing the little bundle in circles, adding to her pleasure.
“Oh, Ron,” she moaned, her hips finding their speed again.
He grinned lazily as he watched her come apart under his hands once again, her back arching and her hips thrusting against his as she cried out. Ron’s eyes closed and he groaned loudly as he let himself follow her into oblivion.
She collapsed atop him, her head resting on his shoulder. Ron’s hand moved in lazy circles on her back, tracing imaginary lines that made her croon with contentment. She leaned up and kissed him again, more sweetly this time, her tongue soothing the lip she’d bitten earlier.
“Stay here tonight,” she stated, rather than asked, and Ron murmured his assent. The last thought that ran through his mind was , I could fall in love with this witch, as he let sleep claim him.
The next morning he awoke, bleary-eyed and with a throbbing headache, to an empty bed. Pansy was gone. He hoped she’d be back soon, maybe with breakfast and a little bit of round two, but after he’d waited for a half hour, dozing on and off, he decided that she’d probably gone. Perhaps to work, if she did work. He didn’t know, actually. If they had, indeed, talked about that last night, Ron didn’t remember it.
He stumbled out of bed and staggered into the bath, hoping for a shower. Finding a large one, he made use of it, getting thoroughly clean after having resorted to cleaning charms for the better part of a month. When he emerged from the loo he was refreshed, if still headachey, and dragged on his scattered clothes, deciding what to do next.
Even though he didn’t really want to, he decided to do what he came here to do. He marched into the sitting room in which he’d found Pansy the night before, moved to the portrait-covered wall safe, mimicked the combination he’d seen her perform, and opened the safe.
Only to find it empty.
Ron whirled around, immediately calling for Pansy. The wards were down. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? He searched the entire house, and she wasn’t to be found. Someone got through the wards while I was sleeping, he thought furiously. They took Pansy, and took the stone, and it’s all my fault.
He ambled back into the sitting room, feeling guilty and worried, sinking into the chair to which she’d been tied just a short time ago. He exhaled heavily as he felt something move around him, and the ropes he’d undone last night wrapped themselves tightly around his wrists and ankles, securing him to the chair. Before he could even struggle, a magical gag was in his mouth and a note appeared in the air in front of him, hovering at eye level for him to read.
Dearest Weasley,
Before you get really good and properly angry, let me assure you that I do feel just a touch of regret for what I did to you last night. It wasn’t all lies. I had been watching you watch the house, though the house isn’t actually mine. I got tired of watching you stake out the place, and decided to go in when I had a window of opportunity. I charmed the chair, got it ready and then crept back out, sneaking back around though the rear and slipping into the chair so that you could rescue me. (A brilliant piece of magic, if I do say so, myself.) You should know that this house belongs to my friend (well, probably not anymore, now that I’ve robbed her) Astoria Greengrass, and she’s going to be none too pleased to find you here and her Adder Stone gone. Of course she’s currently out of the country (she’s NEVER out of the country! Isn’t that a happy coincidence?) and won’t be back for a few weeks, but her staff (the people annoyingly coming and going at all hours) should find you at some point this morning and release you. Or call in the Magical Law Enforcement, one of the two.
I find that bit delightfully ironic. I doubt you will, too, but one can’t have everything, can one?
And before you get high and mighty, the chair wouldn’t have trapped you if you hadn’t opened the safe and intended to steal the stone. Tut, tut, Weasley. You shouldn’t steal, darling, especially when you have such little experience. Stealing is just wrong. (For people like you. For me, it’s perfectly fine, and it’s worked out perfectly, thank you for asking.)
And last night. Last night was just absolutely delightful. I thought it would be a dreadful bore, but it turns out I was wrong. That part of the plan was a necessary evil that worked out to my benefit. But here’s a word of wisdom for you; you, darling Weasley, probably shouldn’t drink on the job. Leave that to the professionals, too. Getting you drunk made it all too easy to seduce you. Hell, you were practically crying out to be seduced, and it didn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes, and one hell of a fantastic fuck. It’s a pity I won’t get to have you again, but, ah, well. I’ll have my millions to comfort me.
And just in case last night wasn’t merely drunken lust, if you aren’t so severely angry that you want to kill me, you’re more than welcome to come find me and exact your revenge. (Though I do hope that your revenge comes in the form of angry sex. I won’t lie.)
And that’s where I leave you, Ron. (I think I’ll call you Ron from this point on, we’ve shared a bit too much for only calling each other by surnames.) I do hope you’re not too dreadfully uncomfortable and that the butler doesn’t curse you before he unties you.
Best wishes (And thank you so much for last night, I’m incredibly relaxed this morning),
Pansy D. Parkinson
Ron yelled loudly, cursing a blue streak through the fabric of his gag. Oh, he was going to find Pansy Parkinson. He was definitely going to find her. This was most definitely not over. And when he did get to her, he’d take his retribution in whatever form he liked, be it money, hexing her, tying her up, or bending her over the closest piece of furniture and having his way with her.
Ron simply couldn’t wait to find her.