"Maybe Tracey was right," she murmured softly to the empty room.  "Maybe I do need to stop drinking so much."  She grimaced and cast a pain relief spell at her head.  "Or maybe Snape's potions are crap."  She was already out of the little bottles she'd bought from the man a week ago.  "Merlin, I hope he does owl order.  I'm not going anywhere today."  She sighed and re-cast the spell, looking at the liquor cabinet longingly. "No," she said with hesitant resolve.  "It's eleven 'o clock in the morning. Just... No."

She had just snuggled down into the armchair and pulled a throw over her shoulders when Oscar entered the room again. 

"Miss?" 

His deep voice reverberated in the room and Pansy winced.  "Go away.  I told you not to bother me," she hissed.  "I feel like shite, elf.  My head's about to explode.  Have some bloody elvish mercy, or Merlin help me, I'll give you a pair of my knickers, you old pervert."

"Miss?  Cormac McLaggen is here to see you."

Pansy's eyes flashed open to see Cormac standing behind Oscar and his shock of white hair, the wizard at least having the decency to look sheepish. 

Oscar backed out of the room and Cormac walked over to the armchair Pansy was sitting in.  He kneeled down beside the chair and looked up at her.  Gone was the haughty demeanor of a few days ago, and in its place seemed to be a morose demeanor and a few sloppily paced glamour charms.  Having heard what she said to Oscar, he had become concerned.  His carefully cultivated manners faded away, replaced by an urgency to mend whatever was wrong with the downcast witch in front of him.

"Pansy, love?  You're not well.  What's wrong?"  he asked.

Pansy peered at the stunningly handsome man knelt down in front of her chair.  She closed her eyes.  Bloody fucking hell.  Here I sit, looking for all the world like a troll, and in walks Mr. Perfect, she thought.  She closed her eyes again.

"I'm fairly certain that there is a Jarvey in my head pounding on my skull behind my eyes, Cormac, darling.  I was just contemplating what I should do about it."  She opened her eyes, and his face was impassive, waiting.  "I overindulged a bit last night.  Just, ah... paying for it." She shifted in her chair slightly.

A brief flash of concern passed over Cormac's face, soon replaced by a look of desire.  "So I'm fairly certain this is the wrong time to show up and say, TAG-you're it?"

Pansy chuckled softly, then winced.  "Oh, you are so lucky that I don't even feel human, you naughty boy.  I would tear you apart."

Grinning broadly at the thought, Cormac called, "Elf?"

Oscar came rushing into the room.

"Elf, bring Miss Pansy a Headache Relief potion," Cormac commanded. 

Oscar eyed Cormac and returned with a vial, placing it in Pansy's hands.  "Miss will drink this now."

Pansy drained the contents of the vial and smiled up at Cormac as relief was instantaneous.  "My, you must really like to play tag," Pansy whispered.

"More than you know, love," Cormac said, and picked up Pansy and carried her over to the couch, setting her down gently.  "Now, are you sure you're feeling quite all right?  Because there will be no interruptions this time, I have seen to that.  No owls, no attacking paper airplanes, nothing.  Just you, me, and this couch."   Cormac eased Pansy onto her back and climbed onto the couch, laying above her, making sure he fully supported his weight.  He was worried she might still be feeling delicate and didn't want to hurt her. 

"Well, Cormac McLaggen, I'll give you one thing.  You are driven," she whispered, pulling his lips down to hers.  The potion that Oscar had given her was a miracle.  Pansy felt as if she was floating, pain free; that was like no pain relief potion she'd ever taken.  Maybe Oscar can do my potions, she mused. She felt unbelievably pleasant, and the fact that she was being kissed by an extremely handsome man that smelled incredibly wonderful, felt even better.  She wrapped her arms around him, splaying her hands on the broad muscles of his back, then moving to tangle her fingers in his hair, she angled her neck so that he could continue his devotion to the spot below her ear.  "Cormac," she mused quietly.  "Cormac.  Has anyone ever called you anything else?  Do you have a middle name?"

"I've been called lots of things.  My middle name is James.  Some friends call me Cory.   I don't care what you call me, just keep doing what you're doing with your fingers."  Pretty sure Pansy wasn't going to fall apart, he reached down and pulled her shirt off in one smooth movement, then removed his own just as quickly.  Taking a shaky breath, Cormac murmured, "Beautiful." 

Pansy sighed softly, and ran her fingers down his sides, enjoying the attention that her body was getting.  She leaned her head back, closing her eyes, and purred, "Cory.  Cory?"  She mused quietly.  "James.  Hmmmm."  He really was fabulously talented at what he was doing.  She felt boneless, totally relaxed and very, very content.  She smiled and sank into the sofa, resting one hand on the small of his back, and one above her head.

Exploring her breasts with his hands, he lowered his head to let his mouth in on the fun.  Sucking softy on a nipple, he went to push his trousers off with his free hand when he realized that Pansy wasn't responding to his ministrations.  Looking down at Pansy's face, he saw that she had peacefully, blissfully fallen asleep.  In the middle of foreplay.  Ouch. "Sodding hell," he spat out.  "Sweet Merlin on high, you've got to be kidding me."

"Pansy?"  He patted her cheek lightly, to no avail.  Whatever that elf had given her had knocked her out.  Scowling, he pushed off the couch, re-buttoned his trousers and dragged his shirt back on.  He took one last longing look at what he'd almost been able to have, then tossed a throw over Pansy's naked torso. 

"Elf?  Elf, show yourself."

He heard deep, disembodied laughter, but when Cormac looked around quickly, he saw no one.  "Elf?  You'd better hope I don't ever get a hold of you.  If I do, clothes will be the least of your worries."

{Summary:  Cormac visits Pansy to continue their game of tag.  He was "it", after all.}