SINNERS: 534
August 4th, 2001
A woman with fair skin and bright, fiery hair entered the chic stone edifice, arms crossed over her chest to keep the biting cold out of her faux fur-trimmed cloak. She slammed the heavy wooden door shut and smirked as she noticed moving shadows in every dark corner of the grand mansion, which had been turned into an equally grand Polyjuice brothel a few years ago.
She slipped off her cloak to reveal heavy, knee-high dragon-hide boots, a short black shirt made of sheer gauze, and tiny spandex-and-lace bustier that was charmed to lend her quite a bit of cleavage without exposing everything. Her hair matched the crimson of her top, carelessly thrown into a low messy sideways ponytail.
She pursed her lips, careful not to ruin her expensive lipstick (Chanel for WizWomen in Vampire Blood), waiting for the blonde belle behind the administrative counter to be done with her prey. Impatient, she decided against waiting any longer, signed herself up for a room and reached for the matching key herself.
So far, so good. Ginny Weasley wasn't used to places like this, but she had found out much to her utter astonishment, much by accident, that people regularly Polyjuiced themselves into her. Shocked, but intrigued, she had decided to plunge into their world headfirst to find out who had ever demanded her body. Not that she thought it would be an easy task; keeping this secret from her family was a daunting task in itself. She hadn't put a lot of thought into the plan and was so far very lucky that she was still alive and breathing the highly intoxicated air around her.
Ginny rounded a corner on the fifth floor and walked down a long narrow hallway, where cries of ecstasy and leather whipping flesh were heard. She frowned. The key read 534. She spied a plaque on a random door and read 522.
"Just a little further," she murmured to herself.
Moans, cries and exaltations answered her in the mostly empty hallway that she overlooked, rather disenchanted. She let her fingers trail a path across the rich reds and creme of the décor as she wandered deeper into the mansion. Everything about the place was insanely expensive, from the perfumed air and the heavy, mahogany doors to the plush, velvet covered chairs. It wasn't just the highly paid prostitutes, men or women, or the Polyjuice, but far more than all of that. She couldn't explain it; it was just different from anything she had ever known.
Finally, she reached the room marked 534, and ceremoniously slid the key in its perfectly matching keyhole. What met her when she walked into the richly appointed chamber was just that: its richness. It was disconcerting to say the least. The window was open, and the light crème curtains fluttered in the cool night air. Scented candles were lit on a small round table next to it and the huge bed neatly turned down, with a small box of chocolates resting on the pearly white sheets. Godiva, she thought. The expensive Muggle kind. On the bed table, several scented bottles of oil rested, inviting the next consumer to use them at will. A beautiful glass chandelier sparkled above the bed, refracting light from the gorgeous Tiffany lamps. Everything looked very, very expensive, whether it came from the Wizarding world or was simply a beautiful Muggle ornament.
There was something rich, neat and sensual about this room that she had never met before and she wondered vaguely just who owned the brothel; she felt she needed to at least praise them for their breathtaking acquisitions.
She had been in the room for less than ten minutes when a voice from the doorway startled her out of her awe.
"Lush, isn't it?" the voice asked.
She turned to find a man standing in the shadows. From what she could decipher, he was lean and tall. His voice harboured exaggerated pride and profound amusement. He stepped out of the shadows, and Ginny stifled a gasp.
"Thought I'd visit," he continued, unperturbed, as he walked forward to close the distance between them. Ginny had to remind herself to breathe and not panic. But it was hard, considering that she had no earthly idea what she was doing. "You're new, aren't you? Don't look quite used to the Polyjuice effect. That's fine. There's always room for improvement, or so I heard."
He looked up and away from her to appraise their surroundings. "Father always did purchase nothing but the very best," he said, and paused. "I must say… you chose the best chambers."
Ginny was silent. She wanted her plan to work. But she was also frozen with an anger that had filled her every molecule the moment the young steel-eyed, silver blonde-haired man had walked into the room.
"My name is Draco Malfoy," he announced unceremoniously, although a trace of reverence showered his words when he spoke his name, a lot like someone who had recited it through their entire life to please.
"I know," she replied with haste before recognising her mistake.
But Malfoy only offered her a small smile in response.
"You're probably wondering how long I'll stay here," he continued. She frowned; she hadn't even given it a thought. "Or not," he added upon seeing the look on her face. He then smiled fully. Malfoy wouldn't be considered classically handsome, Ginny thought, but he wasn't by any means undesirable. He had steel-grey eyes that did not display his private emotions. He had never been an image of a pretty boy in Ginny's mind, and tonight was no exception. Right then, however, he evoked a tranquil river flowing freely, undisturbed. It was as if he had all the worries in the world yet nothing bothered him. He seemed to be floating through a lethargy that she couldn't understand or explain.
"You're not very talkative, are you?" he asked before sitting down at the candle-lit table. Ginny was still standing still, regarding him as he spoke. "Very much a contrast to the Ginny Weasley in her school days. Wouldn't shut up about The Boy Who Lived, but I think that's what made her so…"
Ginny raised her eyebrows in deep curiosity as he searched his words.
"… herself." He laughed lightly. "Strange, isn't it? I resented her for being so bloody obsessed and then one day she… matured, I guess, and Saint Potter wasn't so much of a Saint anymore. And that was that." He turned in his chair so he could see Ginny in the light more clearly. "You resemble her so much, it's unbelievable. Polyjuice isn't supposed to make someone seem so real. I should know. I request her often enough." He sounded so distant yet his words touched her. Could he really tell?
Her heart fluttered heavily when he stood back up. Silently berating herself for coming, she considered running out the door and never coming back, but something kept her in place.
His hand reached for hers. A jolt of electricity shook her as she fought to regain the stability of her heart rate.
Malfoy's eyes were mostly expressionless. You could see them shoot firebolts when he was angry; you could see a glint of malice when he was up to something. At least from what she recalled from school. She had had no idea until now that he could be something of a gentleman if he so wished.
He looked down at their barely touching hands and showed no emotion. His head moved again and this time stupor, along with surprise, disgust and a certain sense of pleasure, reigned in her mind as his pale lips came down to meet hers.
"But you've captured her essence," he murmured.
Ginny remained silent, too scared for words.
Malfoy slowly slid his hands over her bare skin, and she felt the exaltation of being touched by a stranger in places she had never thought could arouse her so. He roamed over her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders, her back, her waist, her breasts. All during his exploration she had closed her eyes. No one had ever been so precise yet so random. It wasn't calculated, nor was he rough in any way; just those slim fingers touching smooth white skin. It was… to say the least, it was an experience she was ready to have again. Her breath caught in her throat when he reached for the hooks that held her top together. But he did not remove it like she'd assumed any man would. Instead, he let his hand linger there a little longer before drawing away.
Ginny remained standing, still watching him as he stepped away. His gaze was on her again, studying her features. He did not speak, merely stared, as if he wished to communicate something to her that she did not understand. Then he shook his head sadly and pulled back in, holding her loosely in his arms.
"Time is our worst enemy," he murmured to himself.
For the second time Ginny opened her mouth to speak. "What do you mean?" she asked out of curiosity.
He frowned and waved his hand in dismissal. "Don't you worry about that."
This silenced Ginny. After all, he was the client, and she was merely a "Polyjuiced" Ginny Weasley prostitute. She parted her lips and met his eyes. "What is your deepest desire, Mister Malfoy?" she asked coyly.
Malfoy put his finger to her lips to quiet her, his icy gaze never wavering from her face. She swallowed with difficulty. The sound of an interrupted moan disturbed her thought. A Silencing Ward had just been activated. Suddenly she felt the intensity of his stare and a cold sweat erupted from her pores as a sense of fear overtook her. Her eyes darted about the room, but when he lifted her chin, she had no choice but to look at him. He was leaning down, pressing his lips against hers, and she felt his hands come up to graze her hips.
Ginny's mind reeled, torn between harsh reality and the intimate sounds of their hearts beating against one another. She stepped back, drawing him along towards the bed, and twisted her mouth free, panting as the air around them seemed to grow thicker with each breath she took… thicker with her own fear.
She sat down on the bed and looked up into Malfoy's placid eyes. Why couldn't they brook at least one emotion that would prove his culpability? Why was he so calm when she wanted him to show her something, anything? Violently, she pulled him to her and pressed her lips to his, biting hard on his bottom lip. How dare he? How dare he use her body so without a hint of remorse?
He crashed on top of her. She seized him between her legs and drew her wand out from underneath the garments of her skirt and murmured a spell. His clean white shirt disappeared into thin air. Her fingers quickly crawled up his back. She dug her nails sharply into his pale pallid skin, awaiting a reaction from his part.
But when she looked back up into his face, Ginny realised with a certain surprise that he had closed his eyes. She stopped short in her tirade and cradled his pale face in her hands. His eyes fluttered open and he pulled back suddenly, pressing his hand to his head as if in pain.
Ginny sat up, flustered and heart beating fast. "Did I – "
"I keep having to remind myself that they're not real, any of them," he cut in, seemingly in his own realm.
She looked up, suddenly interested. "Who?"
He had his back turned to her and suddenly whirled around, staring at her with a glint of anger in his steel-like eyes. "You're not her," he said at last.
Ginny wanted to smile triumphantly. She crawled like a cat to the edge of the bed where Malfoy sat looking at an enchanted portrait of a witch enthralling a man with her naked beauty, and softly snaked her hands up his back to rest them on his shoulders, molding her barely clothed body to his.
"We've but half an hour left before the effect wears off. Teach me how to be like her," she whispered. She was so close that each word gave way to a breath of air that tickled the skin on the back of his neck.
Malfoy turned his head, searched her eyes and as if deciding something, captured her lips and closed his eyes in quiet rapture before slowly turning his whole body around and easing them both down on the soft mattress. His free hand easily drew out the wand in his pocket. He whispered an undressing charm and found red lace knickers and a bra underneath her clothes. He tucked his wand away and closed his eyes again as his mind drank in the woman before him, offered to him like a wildflower to the wind.
Ginny, following his lead, closed her eyes, entangled her fingers in his silvery blonde hair and welcomed his warm lips on her ivory skin.
Ginny swallowed a shaky breath as her back touched the cold mahogany of the door. She stared at an empty space as the flimsy curtains let in a breeze of cool summer night air.
She shut her eyes tightly and tried to wash the night's events out of her mind. She had almost forgotten that she was supposed to be her doppelganger. Instead, she had delighted in Draco's fierce possessiveness and had almost been too careless. Time would have ticked by and he would have then figured out that she wasn't a Polyjuiced prostitute. How could she have been so careless?
She pushed herself off the door and exhaled slowly but steadily, grasping the twenty Galleons tightly in her hand. That was what it had been: a little bit of flesh in exchange for a little fortune. She couldn't deny that there had been no real exchange, but she also couldn't deny that the fact that he had been gentle to her was rather touching. She couldn't remember ever having seen him at Hogwarts without that nasty sneer of his on his lips, hurling insults at Ron or Harry (usually both), and calling Hermione a Mudblood. Therefore, meeting a whole new side of him had made him seem much more approachable and much less of a prat.
Pondering over all of this, she clasped her brassiere together and pulled on her knickers, thinking of all the probabilities. Either he was out for a vengeance and somehow wanted to let it all out on "her" weekly, or perhaps he had just matured and somehow wanted to explore new depths with her body… which all seemed a very strange concept to her and her skin crawl with unease.
Ginny remembered all too damn well her collision with Ron last week. She had been on her way to her flat from work, just a few doors away, really. She remembered being surprised to find Ron on her path, pacing back and forth and looking toward one of her windows. Calling him out, she'd seen him whirl around, nearly giving himself whiplash, and then she'd seen his look, hadn't understood. Disgust. Shocked – she'd never seen Ron give her that look – she'd started stammering a query, but he'd only walked past her, muttering a snide remark under his breath. But oh, she had made out the essential: "Polyjuice", "brothel" and "selling your body to whomever you please." The power of his invective had blown her away with its contempt.
That was when she'd noticed the pattern. Other people had been giving her second glances lately, though she'd brushed it off, thinking that maybe they liked her looks or recognised her from her job. After all, she'd been working first as a rookie reporter at the Prophet, then had soon stepped up to senior editor. People recognised her all the time from her reporter days. They talked behind her back and she was comfortable with it, knowing any publicity was good. There had been rumours at the Prophet. She'd heard them. Thought they were jokes at her expense. No one liked such a quick sharp-shooter.
But Ron? And such negative remarks? She'd decided to investigate. Why the change? Who was telling such lies about her? Didn't Ron know she had more self-love than that? She'd prove him wrong, show him and whoever else was in on that stupid rumour that she wasn't such a… such a scarlet woman. By any means, she wasn't a prude, but that… that was too low.
Quickly, she'd found a lead. People whispered about a Polyjuice brothel owned by a rich family whose son was a regular there. Then she'd heard the Malfoy surname, and had a pause. Found out Draco was the rich family's son. Then – bloody bastard – discovered he was the one having girls Polyjuice themselves into her. Seen red. Had he been the one spreading the rumours that she was a floozy?
Earlier, when she had seen Malfoy enter the room, she'd wanted to believe it was him because of all the hatred he'd communicated to her, all the passionate verbal affliction she'd had to endure in school. Now she had to reason with herself: he couldn't be out to torture her mind or her body. He'd been so gentle tonight, and yet… he'd also been fierce and demanding, though she hadn't felt the need to stop anything.
Yes, she would have known when to stop.
Yes, could be the one behind the Polyjuiced Ginny Weasley prostitutes. He could be the one behind it all, but every time she tried to wrap her mind around the idea…
She shook her head. No. Yes. No. Oh, why couldn't it just be simple?
"Excuse me?"
Ginny whirled around, startled by the new presence, and faced a small rounded man at the door who looked very much out of place with his growing pepper and salt beard and large glasses. A firsttime… client.
"Sorry," she said, slipping her shirt over her head, quite certain that her cheeks must have looked like blazing fire. "I lost track of time. I must… be about to change back. I'll take my leave, then." With that, she hoisted her skirt over her hips and jumped into her boots, storming out and leaving the poor man speechless.
"But – aren't you Tracey Davis?" the man cried desperately.
Ginny, already halfway through the hallway, grimaced. Mistaken for that Slytherin cow. At least Draco had some resemblance of taste.