Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything Marvel related, and make no money from this story.
A/N: This has been edited for content. if you wish to read the explicit version find me on AO3.
Hermione hoisted the drink tray higher, as she tugged at the scrap of fabric covering her breasts. She wore a skimpy red bikini top under a black mesh crop top, red hot pants, thigh high leather boots and a cropped leather jacket. The men at the table she skirted eyed her hungrily. She winked at them saucily but didn't stop to banter. It was a relatively busy night and she had drinks to serve.
"Jesu li moje piće spremni?"1 she yelled over the beat of the loud music once she reached the bar.
"Da da! Ovdje je viski i pivo," the bar tender called back, presenting her with a dram of whisky and a frothy beer.
Hermione quickly set them on her tray and balanced it with one hand. She made her way up to the front, near the stage. The girl on stage looked like an alluring fairy, the lights shining down on her soft blue hair as she circled the pole in nothing but a yellow g-string and glittery fairy wings bespelled to flutter and move with her. Hermione delivered the drinks and checked up on the other tables, before walking to the back. Alone, she reached up and squeezed the tight muscles of her neck and shoulders. Those drinks were heavier than they looked, and she hadn't worked here long enough to get used to it.
To say that Hermione Granger, the smartest witch of her generation, would one day be working in a strip club was unexpected was to make the ultimate of understatements. Then again, the bright eyed, idealistic, know-it-all that she had once been was all but gone. Her Hogwarts years, at the side of Harry Potter, had placed her at the center of trouble year after year.
With Voldemort's return, the war against him and his Death Eaters had started in earnest. Things had escalated quickly. There had simply been no way that she could have turned away from the fight against prejudice and terror. It just wasn't in her.
Once they had graduated, Harry, Ron, and she had been recruited by Dumbledore into his secret fighting force, the Order of the Phoenix. Under Dumbledore, the Order was mostly a small vigilante group that had little to no effectiveness on the events of the war. More often than not they were only able to help with the aftermath of Death Eater attacks. With Dumbledore's unexpected death at the hands of Voldemort during one particularly brutal attack, the Order had undergone a radicle transformation. With the passing of the Ministry into the hands of Amelia Bones and the Order now lead by Alastor Moody, the organization transformed into a real force against the Death Eaters, and other terrorist groups. They remained an entity outside of the Ministry, both groups deciding that the freedom and plausible deniability afforded by being separate was most beneficial. The Order of the Phoenix became the Organization for Reconnaissance, Defense, and Enforcement of the Realm, or O.R.D.E.R.
Hermione Granger quickly showed herself a possessor of unknown talent. She quickly became O.R.D.E.R.'s most effective spy. After years living within a world torn by war, terrorism and prejudice, and enduring the brutal murder of her parents, Hermione had grown into a more cold, calculating, and dangerous woman.
It was why she had been dispatched to this dreary little city in the middle of Croatia. There had been intelligence that Voldemort had his eye on a powerful item of dark magic; The Gjöll Stone. The stone was claimed to have been chiseled from the boulder to which the ancient Norse monster wolf Fenrir had been bound. As the wolf had struggled within his fetters, it is said his blood ran and infused the boulder with his power. As a result, the Stone would be able to imbue people with the power and affects of the wolf. If Voldemort acquired the Gjöll Stone, he would effectively be able to create an army of werewolves, loyal Death Eaters with a werewolf's strength and rage without the disadvantage of being centered around the moon.
Hermione had followed the two man delegation from the Death Eaters across Europe. Nearly a week ago, the two men, Antonin Dolohov and Rabastian Lestrange, had stopped and found their contact in Croatia's version of Knockturn Alley. The pair met up with three local wizards, all of them dressed in understated yet obviously expensive robes. They agreed to meet in a hole-in-the-wall strip club, Hermione listening intently from her nearly invisible perch on the rooftop.
That first night in town, information in hand, Hermione Granger had gotten a job as a stripper/waitress in the strip club. For the rest of the week, the Death Eaters and their hosts came in to the club every night. They always reserved one of the back rooms, rooms that were usually used by patrons who hoped to get up close and personal with the girls. Hermione was able to gain access to the room as a waitress, keeping the group of men in their cups. She had become a favorite of theirs, or rather one of theirs.
"Dobra večer, gospodo,"2 she greeted the group of five men with a sultry voice and lazy smile, as she parted the curtain and entered with her full tray of drinks. Her hips swung as she closed in on them.
Rabastian Lestrange watched her move with the fierceness of a predator. He had always watched her, seeming particularly drawn to her. To be completely honest with herself, Hermione didn't mind the attention from the older man at all. The pureblood's piercing light blue eyes contrasted entrancingly with pitch black hair and golden skin. His body, despite the decade spent in Azkaban, was strong and corded. In a word, he was delicious.
Hermione was going to use him to get to the Stone.
That didn't mean she couldn't have a little fun in the mean time.
The other men ignored her, as they had for most of the other nights. These were not criminal masterminds she was dealing with, and despite O.R.D.E.R.'s months of successful campaigns against Voldemort, the Death Eaters apparently didn't think their reach carried as far as Croatia. They barely looked twice at her, and discussed their business almost openly, thinking that conducting business in English was security enough. After all they thought she was an empty headed Croatian woman, if they thought of her at all.
"So, what say your Dark Lord about our offer?" one of the Croatian wizards began the evening's negotiations.
Hermione came and went throughout the discussion. It would have been suspicious if she had tried to find some way to linger, but it hadn't been very necessary. The discussions had been straight forward enough. Finally the group ended their discussions with handshakes.
The negotiations were done. It was time for action.
"We bring it to your room. You have our money ready, da?"
"Da," Dolohov agreed, leading the three men out of the curtained room.
With the others out of the room, the curtain only just closed behind them, Lestrange's eyes were back on her instantly, fierce and hungry. "Come here, girl," her purred in badly accented Croatian.
Hermione fought a smile. The look she sent him at once gave her a seductive look and hid her amusement at just how easy he was. With an alluring look over her shoulder she turned to set her tray of fresh beers onto the small bar in the corner. Hermione pressed the rune that would turn on the music in the room and her hips danced to the pounding music that immediately filled the room. With a second look over her shoulders, she saw that the Death Eater was very obviously entranced by the movement of her toned and well rounded backside. She sensually ran her hands down her chest and over her stomach. her fingers quested sensually over the apex of her thighs and at her breast. Then she placed her hands on the bar and bent forward, swaying her hips and ensuring Lestrange's eyes were exactly where she wanted them.
Her caress of her body had not been only for show, however. From an inner pocket of her jacket, she had drawn a minuscule vial of a single dose of Veritaserum. With a bit of slight of hand, something she didn't have to work too hard at with her arse on display, she uncorked the small vial with her thumb and dumped the three drops of potion into one of the beers on the bar.
"Come here, girl!" Lestrange's voice had changed from a sensual purr to a hungry growl.
Hermione spun and walked with an exaggerated sway until she stood directly in front of him. The man was ready for her. Color bloomed high on his cheeks, flushed with arousal. His black hair, stood in artful disarray, his robe long since discarded to the back of his chair leaving him in a burgundy button-up and black pants. His legs were spread wide to accommodate his generous bulge.
Hermione's hips swayed and rolled to the music, rocking back until she was bent over the seated man. Her generous breasts were at the perfect height for Lestrange to bury his face into them, and he took full advantage. She straightened and backed off. Lestrange growled, and Hermione masked a shiver of arousal by raising her hands above her head and spinning around to grind against the Death Eater's restrained cock.
With her writhing in his lap, he ran his hands over the soft skin of her thighs, round her curvy hips and up her sides to slip forward and cup her barely covered breasts. She moaned appreciatively as he took the chance to flick her nipples through her red bikini top. His other hand slid down her stomach. His questing fingers slipped under the fabric and over her mound, already slick with her juices.
Knowing from the advice of the most successful of her fellow dancers to always keep them wanting more, she rolled her hips and arched her back until she was out of his grasp and off of his lap. To the rhythm of the pounding music, she seductively stripped off her cropped leather jacket. Her breasts bounced freely when her top came off next. Hermione turned to lower her cherry red hot pants to the floor, leaving her in naught but thigh high boots.
Lestrange's piercing blue eyes narrowed on her as she stood before him, legs wide, hip cocked and confident smirk in place. She was fully confident in her body and her ability to enthrall and not only because she had done such missions before. He lustily assessed her before meeting her eyes heatedly.
Brave, she noted to herself. She had him fully believing she was nothing but an empty-headed Croatian sex worker, that or he was too high on sex to worry about self-preservation. No wizard or witch with such delicate information in their head as a Death Eater possessed would meet the eyes of any fellow magical for fear of Legilimency. Still, the heat in his eyes had her swaying toward him, and she felt herself growing wetter.
He crooked a finger at her and she obeyed with a smile and not just a little eagerness. It was a fact he noticed if his increased smugness were any indicator. She straddled his sped legs and moaned at the rough feeling of the fabric of his trousers on her bare skin. He unbuttoned his shirt and she eagerly slid her hands underneath it and pushed the garment from his shoulders. She leaned closer for skin to skin contact, but was stopped when Lestrange took the opportunity to latch on to one of her nipples. She moaned, arched her back and rolled her hips, pressing her sensitive mound against his still restrained bulge. His hands squeezed the soft flesh and pressed against her back, demanding her closer.
"Uhn! Trebam te sada!"3 She groaned, urging to give her more.
Lestrange bucked his hips at the wanton lust in her voice and then scrambled to unbutton his trousers. He sighed as his straining erection was freed from his overly tight pants. Hermione took hold of him. He was fairly big, and she moaned as he filled her deliciously.
This had been just what she had needed. The build up of seduction and the tension of subterfuge were now being replaced with the rising need of sexual release. She sighed in pleasure.
"Oh!" she moaned, as he wasted no time. It seemed that he was full of tension as well. Hermione bounced in his lap. The slap of skin against skin could be heard even over the pounding base of the music. Her breasts bounced enticingly and it proved too much for the Death Eater. He latched on to one of the swinging nipples and hummed in pleasure.
Hermione arched her back, presenting her breast for his feasting pleasure. She rode him without restraint while he held her hips and bucked in desperate search for release. She could feel the building pressure in her belly and her cries came louder and louder. There was no need to restrain her voice and she reveled in the pleasures of her body. Lestrange too felt his release coming and began to assist her in her pleasure. For him there was no more satisfying orgasm than one where his partner thoroughly enjoyed herself as well.
Hermione shrieked in orgasm, her body bucking and rolling, as she worked to prolong the pleasure. Lestrange roared in animalistic triumph. His fingers left bruising marks on her hips.
Hermione slumped into his chest. The orgasm left them both nearly drained for a few quiet moments, the silence broken only by their ragged breathing.
"Beer," Lestrange demanded breathlessly with a slap to her arse.
Hermione rose from his lap. She stretched, enjoying his eyes on her, and grabbed her cropped leather jacket. she put it on but didn't bother to cover the rest of herself, knowing the man was enjoying the view as she walked. Returning with the beer, she straddled him again, as he drank. He guzzled the beer down in one go, eyes never wavering from her fully exposed breasts, framed by black leather jacket and thigh high boots. Hermione squeezed her leather clad thighs around his hips and ducked down to lick at his bobbing throat.
Even as the bottle emptied, Hermione watched Lestrange's eyes glaze over and his movements slow. She reached into the boots she wore and smoothly removed her wand from the its hidden holster and wordlessly cast an Incarcerous at him, securing him to the chair. She remained sitting in his lap, naked and covered in sweat.
"Let's talk," she said, with a smile that was half smirk and half death.
Hermione slipped out of the dreary hotel. The black Acromantula silk of her catsuit afforded her a great deal of protection against magical and physical attacks as well as making her blend almost seamlessly into the shadows. The much coveted Gjöll Stone was slipped into her bottomless moleskin pouch, then tucked into the inner pocket of her jacket.
It had been easy to acquire, almost pathetically so. With all of the security information she had coaxed from Lestrange, Dolohov had never seen her coming.
She ducked her head against the driving rain as she stepped onto the city streets. She needed to make her way far from the club and the hotel before she apparated away. There were ways to trace apparition pathways, but only if one could find the beginning or endpoints. Apparating directly from the club, hotel room, or surrounding area would just make things too easy for the Death Eaters.
Although, she did not expect much trouble from them. She had wasted no time in disposing of Dolohov, so he would no longer be an issue. She had questioned Lestrange extensively. The Death Eater was one of Voldemort's inner circle, though Hermione hadn't known that before she had begun. By the time she had finished questioning him, he had revealed more information than she had ever hoped for.
When the potion began to wear off, Hermione had risen from Lestrange's lap and with a negligent wave of her wand, obliviated him. She left him there, in the back room of the strip club, naked, covered in the drying remnants of a good time, and in possession of new memories of his time in Croatia. She'd left him with the knowledge that he had taken a nice vacation to the darkest parts of magical eastern Europe. He had and would continue to enjoy the dark and devious pleasure to be found there. He should be able to have quite the good time before the other Death Eaters find him playing around on the job. She'd feel bad, but really, he should thank her - if he had had any memories of her at all- for giving him this time. When the other death eaters found him not only spending all his time drinking and whoring, but also without the Stone, his life would become far less pleasant.
Hermione shivered, but rather than being effected by the rain, it was in pleasure. Stealing the Gjöll Stone from Voldemort, acquiring enough intel to put a serious dent in the Dark forces, and a screaming orgasm all in one night? Having her fun with the Death Eater had been well worth the effort.
End
End Note
Translations:
1) "Are my drinks ready?" ,"Yes Yes! Here is a whiskey and beer"
2) "Good evening, gentlemen,"
3) "Uhn! I Need you now!"