Welcome to Voldemort's House of Prostitutes! Please know I own none of these characters, and in fact at times my renditions may seem a little out of character. That's okay. Draco and Hermione are just going to have a little fun.
VHP Chapter 1
By, Netta Nicole
"Master I need your help," said Lucius Malfoy, entering a cold room in the Malfoy manor.
"What is it now Lucius?" asked the Dark Lord.
Lucius shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Volemort's eyes. "Well, tonight is my son, Draco's, 18th birthday---"
"And?" said Voldemort impatiently.
Lucius blushed sheepishly- most uncharacteristic. "He is, well, still a virgin, master."
"And what do you want me to do about it?" asked Voldemort lazily.
"I was hoping you could lend me one of your girls, only for one night, for Draco."
"Well, of course," said Voldemort with a dry hiss that was his version of a chuckle. "I will give him my finest. We will give him a night to remember."
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Hermione was awoken from her tortured sleep by a Death Eater. She could feel him roughly shake her shoulder through the thin fabric of her silk shift, and Hermione winced as he touched the dark bruises that she had acquired the night before.
"You have a job tonight," he said cruelly. Hermione didn't respond.
"Put these on, mudblood," he said, and flung the clothing onto her small bed. It was the classic leather and satin outfit that Hermione despised, but wizards tended to drool over.
She got up from the bed gingerly, trying not to further aggravate the bruises she had gotten from the wizard she 'serviced' last night. It had been Cornelius Fudge, in fact. Hermione laughed bitterly, it was funny how you could be applying for a job with him one week, and be forced to lay with him the next. She had no idea that the Minister was so turned on by violence. But then again, very little surprised her anymore.
God, how she hated them all. Voldemort, the Death Eaters, EVERYONE. Why weren't Harry and Ron here when she really needed them?
It had been their last year of Hogwarts when the Great War broke out. So many lives were sacrificed; Hermione still had nightmares of the grim battlefields. If she closed her eyes she could still see the lifeless bodies of her friends, her teachers, and her colleagues lying in the gray dirt.
For so much sacrifice, the outcome of the war had been reported as unclear. Voldemort's minions ruled, while the Order skulked in the shadows, trying to evade notice. Even though the Daily Prophet constantly wrote of the continuing resistance to the Dark Lord's power, Hermione thought that it was pretty clear who had lost in this situation.
"Hurry up!" said the death eater, pounding on the door.
This broke Hermione out of her reverie, and she sighed as she began changing and mentally preparing herself for the awful man she would surely service tonight.
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Draco was sitting at his desk in the study. His eighteenth birthday was tonight. He was sure father had some gruesome 'party' waiting for him.
Probably just more murders and rapes of mudbloods for his enjoyment. Draco winced at the thought of having to endure another one of these 'celebrations.' Who was he kidding? He didn't want any of this.
His father burst into the room. "Son, what do you think of a fencing lesson?"
"Sure father, whatever," said Draco, sighing as he got up from his desk, and briefly looked into the mirror that hung across the room.
He really was very handsome. Draco was wearing a white shirt that clung to his lean chiseled chest and highlighted his broad shoulders and narrow hips. But even though his body was something sculptors dreamed of, it was his face that set him apart. Draco had refined features that could both cause female's hearts to melt and could instill fear into their very core. Silver blonde hair often fell into his silver grey eyes, which were complimented by a sweep of dark lashes. His cool gaze was set above sharp, high cheekbones. A straight aquiline nose and strong jaw belied his impeccable ancestry.
Despite these undeniable physical attributes, Draco had remained a virgin all of these years. It wasn't as if the opportunity hadn't presented itself many, many times.
Draco's lack of sexual experience at the age of 18 was something that his father constantly berated him about. Lucius just didn't understand. Draco wasn't "saving it for marriage," or anything. He just didn't want to do it with any slytherin slut that came along.
"I will meet with you in the fencing room in ten minutes. Don't be late." There was an edge of anticipation in Lucius' voice that piqued Draco's interest.
"Yes father."
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Hermione studied her reflection in the small vanity mirror and put the finishing touches on herself. She was wearing a black and silver creation. A black satin corset embroidered with small silver stars, black fishnet stockings and black stiletto heels. Her lips were painted a dark, sultry red. Her hair was left loose, flowing chocolate curls with touches of honey that cascaded down her back.
And now for the finishing touch. Hermione brought up the silver mask and secured it to the back of her head with a black ribbon. All of the prostitutes were required to wear one of these masks at all times. They were enchanted to alter the features of the wearer just enough so that they would not be recognized while they were on the job. Hermione noticed the immediate change, as her chocolate and honey hair took on a darker chestnut hue.
The woman staring back at her in the mirror was gorgeous, Hermione admitted to herself, if a little slutty looking. But after all, she was a whore. Though not a willing one; Voldemort had to administer the imperious curse on her every night to ensure her loyalty.
As if he were listening to her thoughts, Voldemort burst into the room, not pausing before ruthlessly casting the imperious curse on the girl. He walked up to her, and gripped her chin, forcing her to look upwards into those horrible red eyes.
"Now listen to me mudblood, we have a very special guest tonight, and this would be his first time. You have to put out your best, and under no circumstances can you tell him who you are. Am I understood?"
Hermione attempted to glare at him for a moment, and then winced in pain. The imperious curse had apparently taken effect. She smiled at him sweetly and said, "Well of course master, anything for you."
She fingered his robes suggestively, and looked up at him through her lashes. On the outside she radiated sex goddess, but on the inside she was dying.
Voldemort smiled, showing yellow teeth. "Come my little mudblood. Your client is waiting."
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The fencing room in the Malfoy manor was one of the largest rooms in the house. It looked much like a dungeon except for the fact that the cold walls were lined with fencing blades, and there was a green leather chair near the center that Draco was currently sitting on.
Draco was elegantly sprawled on the chair, his right ankle crossed over his left knee. He ran a pale finger up and down his fencing blade impatiently. It had been fifteen minutes and his father had yet to arrive. Just then, the door opened slowly with a creak that resonated against the stone walls of the fencing room.
Draco quickly positioned his sword in a protective stance. "Father? Who's there?" he only heard a giggle in response.
"Show yourself, or I swear, I'll kill you." He got no response.
Draco looked around, and saw a glint of silver. He struck out, only to hit nothing but air. Then, someone stepped out from the shadows.
Draco immediately brought up his sharp sword to the unidentified person's neck. He realized it was a woman, and a very pretty woman at that, dressed like a hooker in black and silver clothes.
"You don't want to hurt little old me, do you?" the woman said in a singsong voice, touching the sword, and moving closer to the boy.
Hermione was surprised—this man was not nearly as old or as ugly as men she usually serviced. In fact, Hermione realized as she noticed the way his silver hair fell into his gray eyes that followed her every movement, he was incredibly good looking.
And then a shocking realization hit her. It was MALFOY. The bane of her existence, Malfoy. The one who had teased her mercilessly and had called her a mudblood countless times while they had been in school together.
And yet this revelation did nothing to stop her steady movement towards the man, and it did nothing to stop her sudden yearning need to reach out to him and feel the hard wall of his chest pressed against her body.
Hermione balked at herself. Where did that come from? This was Malfoy for Merlin's sake. It was the curse. It had to be.
She continued to step tantalizingly forward, her neck inches from the blade.
"Don't move any closer." Draco's voice sounded far less commanding. He was starting to lose control.
Hermione finally reached him, and brought up a finger to tantalizingly brush up Draco's outstretched arm.
"Is that what you really want?" whispered Hermione in his ear, her lips barely grazing his skin.
Draco was silent.
The mystery woman laughed. It was the sound of tinkling bells, one of the most beautiful sounds Draco had ever heard.
"That's what I thought." Hermione moved even closer, allowing her breasts to press against his chest. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin material of his t-shirt. Hermione pushed Draco gently back onto his chair.
She brought her face down to lightly lick his neck before blowing cool air onto his fevered skin. Draco shivered. Hermione continued her ministrations and lightly nipped his ear.
The sword dropped out of Draco's hand, clattering as it hit the floor.
"That's better." She said in a low, sexy voice. "Just relax. Let me do all the work."
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