A/N: Firstly, this is very, very different from my prior works, so younger readers may want to scat. Secondly, I make no promises as to when I can update. I've quite a bit written, but there are holes in between, and I have a lot on my plate already. But I will say that reviews are definitely encouraging :P

So, on to story details!

This was directly inspired by RZZMG's La Cerise. To be more precise, it was inspired by the criteria, which I append below:

1. A possessive Draco Malfoy.
2. A-U fic with magic set in England during the 1800's (Regency or Victorian era).
3. Draco Malfoy would be the typical member of the peerage - rich, handsome, and a womaniser.
4. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy would be dead.
5. No info. on Hermione Granger's background, and she works off some "mysterious debt" in a Gentleman's Prostitution Establishment.
6. Ginny/Blaise as a second pair. Blaise is Draco's best friend & they go to the Establishment together, where Ginny works, too.
7. Ron and Astoria to be a part of this fic. Ron is one of the bodyguards or a handyman around the Establishment where Hermione works. Astoria would be another woman working there whom Draco usually visits.
8. Mature rating with graphic scenes. One with at least Astoria and Draco and another scene with Dramione having nonconsensual sex. The rest Hermione has to be willing.
9. Will include jealousy and a cat fight between Hermione & Astoria.
10. Happy ending for Dramione.

I'll follow most of the criteria, except for the Ron bit. He will be in the fic, but not as a handyman/bodyguard, because I can't imagine why Ron would allow Ginny to work there.

I'm not overly concerned about historical accuracy - for starters, I've not much clue as to the difference between the Regency and Victorian eras. I will work in a bit of Muggle history, but I won't bend the story just to fit it in. Wizarding history is possibly another matter.

A very few very minor bits are taken from La Cerise, but this story goes in an entirely different direction, as the first chapter should prove.


"Awake already, darling?" murmured Astraea in his ear.

"No," replied Draco.

"Liar," she said. She covered his nipple with her mouth, licking it once. Involuntarily, he tensed and she drew back. Without opening his eyes, he already knew the exact smile – slightly predatory satisfaction – that she would be wearing.

He rolled onto his side, away from her. "Go away."

"Not likely," she said, pressing her full body closely against him. "You're so lovely and warm. And soft," she added sweetly.

His eyes flew open at the taunt and within a breath, she was on her back and he was crushing her into the bed.

"What did you say, darling?" he asked, mimicking her sweet tone.

She only raised an eyebrow, daring him to prove it.

Much later, they were lying together in drowsy satisfaction when noise from belowstairs intruded on his consciousness.

"What's going on below?" he said sleepily.

"Something much like what goes on right here."

"You know what I mean."

Astraea propped herself up on one elbow, apparently to listen more closely, but he was fully aware that she knew that the sheets would slide from her as she did so. Frowning, she cocked her head slightly. "I think it's a ball – no, I know it's a ball. In honour of La Veuve Noire, as she has been named by her devotees." She shrugged, causing a couple of interesting things to sway.

"The Widow Black?"

"The Black Widow. After the poisonous spider, the one that kills and eats its mate."

"Quite a title," he said, sitting up and beginning to reach for his clothes.

"She's been here a while," said Astraea, stretching languorously. "The ball marks her second year here, I understand."

"Really? I hadn't heard of her."

"That's because you don't look around much here, and you never come for balls in this house."

"Because of you, my jewel. You are all I need."

She made a face at him but laughed.

Once both of them were dressed, she bent to blow out the candles. He stood at the doorway, holding out his hand to her. Taking it, she slid her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a long, slow kiss. "When will you come back, Draco?" she breathed. In the half-darkness, he heard something in her voice, something deeper than her usual coyness.

"Soon," he said.

She pulled back, and as though nothing had happened, said brightly, "Won't you even take a peep into the ballroom?"

"What for? Women in low cut gowns, dropping their fans every other minute so they can bend down and retrieve it – I've seen it a thousand times, both here and elsewhere. Although admittedly the balls here are much more…interesting."

"You are so jaded," said Astraea. "Perhaps it's just as well. La Veuve Noire tends to have an interesting effect on men."

"Is she such a charmer? Perhaps I will take a look, after all."

Astraea pursed her lips and frowned. "My Lord Draco. Such talk does not amuse me."

"You were asking me to take a peek just a moment ago, darling."

"I was asking you to dance with me, not to stare at other women," she said tartly.

"Indeed?" he said innocently.

"Draco…"

"I still have to wait for Blaise," he reminded her. "He was at Watier's till four this morning. I daresay he probably fell asleep after his precious Autumn wore him out."

"Either that or he has more stamina than someone," said Astraea mock-thoughtfully.

"As tempting as it is to throw you back into your bedroom and remain there for the next few hours, I have a raging thirst. May I procure you a glass of sherry, my lady?"

"Never mind, Draco. I think I'll go back to my room. You'll never dance with me anyway."

He shrugged. "It's your choice. Anyway, Blaise's time will soon be up, and he'll have to leave. I don't expect to remain for much longer once he comes down."

"Good night, my lord," said Astraea, blowing him a kiss.

He bowed to her. As she stepped back into her room and shut the door quietly, he went down the carpeted hallway, heading for the ballroom.


Entering the opulent ballroom, Draco headed straight for the drinks, pouring himself a glass of port and looking around idly, wondering which was the famous La Veuve Noire – probably some woman with a bigger chest than all the others. As he had predicted, there were women flirting with men everywhere, dressed in gowns more daring than those worn elsewhere. Even as he happened to meet a masked woman's gaze, she smiled at him provocatively. He looked away and took a sip of his port.

It was only to be expected, after all. This was an Establishment for the Enjoyment and Entertainment of Gentlemen, as the more refined members of the peerage delicately termed it, or the Gentlemen's Establishment for short. The less inhibited – and more drunk – called it a brothel.

His eyes fell on a woman standing on the lower steps of the grand staircase, surrounded by men. This was a masquerade ball and everyone was masked, he noticed – and he was not. Two women from different directions were already converging on him. In an effort to forestall their advances, he moved towards a pillar and leant against it, staring fixedly at the woman at the foot of the staircase.

"I see you've noticed La Veuve Noire," said a voice in his ear.

"I see you've noticed me," he replied promptly without turning, and was rewarded by a laugh.

"You took your full time, I see," said Blaise, clinking his glass with Draco's. "Is she really that interesting?"

"Astraea? Reasonably so," answered Draco. "How about Autumn? I'm surprised you came down before me."

"Barely. She's a witch, in every possible sense of the word."

Draco laughed. "Be careful she doesn't catch you."

"Who, me?" drawled Blaise. "I'm not a fool, Draco."

"Could have fooled me."

"With me, my pretty," cried a man to La Veuve Noire. "Dance with me. Have I not been pining for your love for weeks on end?"

"With me, ma cherie," cried another, seizing her hand. "I have bought a dance with the necklace I gave you."

"La Veuve Noire is very popular, I see," said Draco.

"Absolutely," said Blaise.

"Is she French?"

"Not at all. She's called Cat, but within her first few weeks here her admirers gave her a new name. Apparently Madame Cerise approved of it; thought would make her sound more exotic ... as though she needs the help."

In a whirl of white, the woman sprang free of her besotted would-be lovers, now standing a few steps above them all. "I am innocent tonight," she announced with relish. "I am a young girl, waiting for my true love to set me free. Who shall claim me?"

Shouts from the men around her temporarily drowned out all conversation, and Draco noticed with amusement that many women were shooting her deadly looks, particularly those standing alone.

One man, more daring than the rest, swiftly sprang up next to her and scooped her up in his arms. "I have you, beloved, and I will keep you," he declared, grinning outrageously.

"Bill Weasley was always a drama queen," said Blaise, laughing.

"You can't just snatch her up like that," objected another.

"And Boot was always whiny," replied Draco.

La Veuve Noire looked up at Weasley coyly. "Will you keep me, my lord?" Seemingly unconsciously, she ran the sole of one foot along the calf of the other leg in a slow and sensuous movement.

"Nice legs," commented Draco.

"Oh, yes," said Blaise.

Weasley set her down, bowing elaborately. "Will you honour me with a dance, my lady?"

Her mouth pursed prettily, she tilted her head, considering him. "Are you man enough, my lord?"

He straightened with a jerk. "I am more than man enough for you!" he exclaimed in outrage.

"Very well," she said. A curious little smile played across her lips. "I shall dance with you."

The other men groaned in disappointment as Weasley led her down to the dance floor. "A waltz for the lady and me!" he cried to the awaiting musicians.

"A waltz?" said La Veuve Noire. "I am a young girl, and I do not wish for such a tame dance. I am full of life and excitement, my lord. I long for a dance that calls for energy, and … vigour."

Weasley's eyes widened. Then he smiled hugely. "Naturally, my lady. What is your pleasure?"

"Do you know the Spaniards' dance?" she asked.

"Ah," said Weasley. "Shall we, my lady?"

"If you dare, my lord." Her eyes shone bright through her mask, taunting him.

Weasley returned no answer, but spun her into his arms as the musicians struck up.

"No, no," she cried. "Such a slow pace. Quicker!" Clapping her hands rhythmically, she quickened the beat of the music. Draco saw several musicians glance at each other in surprise.

"There, my lord," she said, curtseying to Weasley, who bowed to her despite his startled expression.

Then they began to dance.

From the very first moment that the dance began, Draco could not tear his gaze away from her. Every line of her body sang of grace, of beauty, as she whirled around the dance floor in Weasley's arms. Every movement sang of her passion and abandonment as she flung herself backwards as Weasley dipped her, arching her back until Draco held his breath.

No wonder all the men are mad after her, he thought hazily. She holds nothing back. Imagine what she'd be like in the bedroom…

He found his breeches becoming uncomfortably tight at the thought and shifted his position.

The dance allowed her a momentary pause. In one quick movement she tore off her mask, tossing it to one side. Pirouetting neatly once, the red ribbon that had kept her hair twisted up in a sleek chignon at the nape of her neck was now in her hands, and he heard gasps rise up as her hair tumbled down onto her shoulders as she spun.

Her features were flawless. Large dark eyes, somehow both innocent and indescribably seductive at once, were fringed with long eyelashes. High cheekbones and a straight nose complemented a dainty mouth with utterly kissable lips, framed by luxurious curls of chestnut brown hair, gleaming in the soft light.

And her figure – absolutely perfect. Tiny waist, a white, full bosom, deliciously rounded hips, glimpses of those slim, long legs when her skirt whirled up as she spun…

Weasley smiled slowly as she raised her chin, giving him a mischievous, challenging look. In a blur, he too had discarded his mask. Then the dance resumed.

"Mesmerising, isn't she?" said Blaise a trifle hoarsely. Draco barely heard him.

The music grew quicker, almost taking on a life of its own. La Veuve Noire's feet traced intricate patterns, never missing a beat. Neither did Weasley's, earning Draco's reluctant respect.

She leant back against Weasley's shoulder, his arms enveloping her, her turned head and closed eyes allowing him to press his lips against the tantalising curve of her neck. Then the dance caught them up once more and they were spinning around the floor again.

A pang of red hot emotion shot through Draco. He couldn't even place a name on it – jealousy, envy, anger … desire

The music grew yet faster, their dancing more rapid, more passionate. Just as Draco thought it was impossible for them to get any quicker, the music swelled in a crescendo, then ended.

As the last chord was struck, Weasley dipped her more deeply than before. She arched her back till her hair brushed the floor. As she flung out a leg, the skirt of her gown blossomed out, the black hem adding a dash of the dramatic.

There was absolute silence as, one arm around her slender waist, Weasley brought her upright again. On her tiptoes, pressed full-length against him, she slowly brought her leg up to curve around his waist even as he equally slowly slid a hand from her knee to her thigh to support her, their mouths almost touching.

Then the applause began. It was thunderous from the men, but Draco saw grudging admiration even on the partially concealed faces of the women as they clapped.

"Does she always dance like that?" he asked Blaise, just managing to sound normal.

"Not that I've seen," answered Blaise, his voice slightly strained. "She's always been magnificent, but that … today's a special occasion, I suppose."

Weasley released her reluctantly, and she looked up at him through her eyelashes and gave him a slow smile.

"Well done, my lord," she said. "You may have this." And she held out the red ribbon she had somehow retained in her hand.

In what almost seemed to be awe, Weasley took it from her. "You were beyond words – La Veuve Noire. You were beyond imagination."

"I offer you a choice, my lord," said the Black Widow. "You may keep it, and I shall tie it on for you, wherever you choose. Or you shall tie it on for me – wherever you choose."

Weasley looked as though a benevolent rainbow had deposited an extremely alluring, seductive pot of gold in front of him. "As much as I treasure such an honour, I would willingly sacrifice it to you, my lady. I shall tie it on for you."

"What's with the red ribbon?" said Draco in an aside to Blaise.

"It's her trademark," said Blaise, watching the couple. "She only ever wears black or white, but she always carries a touch of red on her, usually a ribbon. One time, though, she painted her lips red and kissed her way down from Finnigan's shoulder to his hand, then did things to his fingers with her mouth that nearly made him collapse-"

He broke off as Weasley knelt in front of La Veuve Noire, wrapping the ribbon twice around her ankle. Then Weasley looked up, a sly smile on his face as he began to slide the ribbon up, obviously daring her to stop him.

She rewarded him with a smile, childlike in its innocence. As his hands went higher, now halfway up her calf, she caught her gown up in both hands. Eyes cast down demurely, she lifted her skirt up, inch by inch, keeping pace with him.

Draco's breath caught in his throat as more and more of her creamy skin, more of her slim legs were revealed. Another red hot pang shot through him, and he almost groaned.

Weasley finally stopped at the middle of her upper thigh, deftly knotting the ribbon. As he rose to his feet and bowed to her, she lowered her gown and curtseyed to him, then gave him her hand.

"La Veuve Noire has chosen," said Blaise, as Weasley led her up the grand staircase, away from the ballroom. "Lucky man."

Draco made some sort of noise in reply, downing his glass of port.

Blaise glanced at him and laughed. "Seen something interesting?" he said innocently.

"I'll wager you did too," said Draco shortly. "Let's go."

"You've got it bad, my man," said Blaise, grinning.

"Shut up. Let's go, I said."


When I wrote this around one and a half years ago, I was sort of thinking of the dance scene from the first Zorro movie (the general feel of it, not necessarily the specific movements), if you'd like to check it out. Which you should. I mean, yowza. Although when I consider it now, it doesn't exactly fit - so really I'm just advertising Zorro haha.

Note: Watier's was a high-class gambling club for men. Membership was gained through approval from a select group of social leaders.