Written for ErynPotter's 100 stories under 100 words challenge.
I used the prompt Web.
Word-count: 97
Desperation.
That's what he was. Desperate.
The house was dark, fumy. Smell of iron, blood. Bodies. Sex. Sweat.
There were no wallpapers. Instead, velvet curtains.
Spider-webs in the corners.
Screams. Groans.
He was insane, he knew that now. Something had broken within his soul.
Disgusting. He was disgusting.
He knocked. "Come in, darling", she said.
Her hair was blond. She wore nothing but fishnet stockings. Her chest was droopy.
Unshaved.
The hooker rose form the bed. "Harry Potter?"
Harry wanted to die.
Rita Skeeter.
He fumbled with his sipper. "You're a prostitute?" Disgusted.
"You're a whoremaster?" Disgusted.