Prostitute!Hermione just had to be done, once I'd had the idea. I want to say right now that I cannot claim to know anything about or sympathise with the plight of prostitutes, and I'm sorry if it seems I'm undermining or trivialising what they go through, but this is just a fanfic and there's other stuff as bad and plenty more worse on FFN than what you'll find here, so this isn't to be taken too seriously. But this is my first try at a DMHG fic, and I fully intend to finish it, unlike my other longer fics (I don't have a very good track record with finishing things, but I'm serious about this one.) I've written 7 chapters already, but will be posting them quite far apart (one every week/two weeks, depending on what chance I get to write) to give myself a chance to write more. Please read and review, I'd love your opinions! And fyi, my A/Ns won't always be this longwinded. This is just a special hello-and-welcome-to-my-new-fic note.
RATED M FOR MATURE THEMES, and to cover myself if I slip in some language. Possible lemons later, I'll warn you beforehand, perhaps ;)
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DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns any of the characters you recognise.
'I'm afraid we need to take you wand, sir.' The young woman - barely more than a girl - standing behind the counter looked expectantly at the young man before her.
'He knows the procedure, Giselle.' Her boss stepped out of the shadows in a rustle of heavy silk.
'I know the procedure, Giselle.' The young man winked conspiratorially at her, and she giggled seductively.
'This way, if you please,' interrupted the older woman, and the young man laid his wand quietly on the countertop. She led him down a darkened and dusty corridor, where chinks of light showed through the gaps between the ill-fitting doors and their frames. Noises – giggles and moans – escaped from the rooms behind the doors, but both figures ignored them.
'It has been a while since we have seen you here, Mr Malfoy,' the woman said, breaking the silence.
'Let us just say that my… pursuits have changed of late, Madame Moreau,' Draco Malfoy replied carefully. Madame Moreau said nothing. The activities of her patrons were something she never questioned.
They stopped in front of the last door in the corridor, which Draco did not recognise. 'I know that you requested Danielle, but she has been unavoidably detained,' said Madame Moreau delicately. 'Instead, I hope you will be satisfied with Georgette.'
Fear flicked through Draco's eyes, but in the half-light Madame Moreau did not notice. 'I specifically asked for Danielle,' he said, hurriedly regaining his composure. 'It has to be her.'
Madame Moreau's face hardened. 'I cannot accept such attachment at this establishment Mr Malfoy, company – and personal – policy,' she said sharply. 'No, that's not it,' rushed Draco, 'you don't understand. I'll- I have to cancel the appointment.'
'I cannot allow that at such short notice, Mr Malfoy. Company policy. Georgette is waiting for you.' Madame Moreau opened the door impatiently, and Draco had no choice but to enter.
Draco closed the door quietly behind him, and looked around the room. Scarves and silks were draped across the walls and ceilings, and the red shades on the few lamps cast a dim and suffocating glow. The floorboards were uneven, the wallpaper peeling, the window blacked out by heavy shutters. But the most noticeable thing was the room's size – tiny, smaller than Draco's en-suite bathroom at home, big enough only for a rickety table and a large metal bed frame, on top of which sat a thin, lumpy-looking mattress, on top of which sat a girl.
She had her back to him, but nevertheless he could see that she was barely dressed at all. The straps of a black lacy bra wound around her shoulders, and the waistband of a many-layered white petticoat sat on her hips. She did not say anything, although she turned her head slightly to acknowledge his presence. Her curly blonde hair fell in matted ringlets over her shoulders, but the shade was too bright, too uniform, to be natural. Her roots betrayed her to be a brunette, the light glinting off strands of auburn mixed in with the nut-brown.
Draco coughed slightly. Georgette stood up and turned round slowly, coiling a strand of hair around her finger in what Draco supposed was a seductive manner, although it did not suit her and the overall effect was one of girlish nervousness.
'How can I service you, sir?' she asked in a whisper, looking at the floor.
'I want nothing from you,' Draco said, almost harshly. He was getting irritated. 'When will Danielle be back?'
'I don't know sir,' she flinched, still looking at the floor.
'Right,' sighed Draco, as he headed towards the door. He was stopped by a pull on his sleeve, and he turned round, surprised.
'Please, I will do anything Danielle will do, and more,' she said, desperately. 'Don't dismiss me sir, I've hardly had a customer all week and it's Saturday already.' She was looking at her hand on his sleeve, but Draco couldn't take his eyes off her tear-stained face.
'How dare you address me in such a manner!' he hissed, and tore his arm out of her grasp. The girl collapsed to the floor, cowering.
'You can hit me, sir, if you like. But Madame Moreau throws us out if we don't get three customers a week, and I only need one more, please,' she rambled, her head hanging and her hair trailing on the floor.
'Get up,' spat Draco. Georgette did so, slowly, flinching when Draco took her chin gently to tilt her face up to his. 'I thought so,' he whispered.
The girl gasped as her eyes roamed over his all-too-familiar face. 'Why are you here?' she asked, incredulously.
Draco smirked, and tightened his grip on her chin. 'I think the same should be asked of you, Hermione Granger.'