DISCLAIMER: I only own my dirty mind. I do not own Harry Potter, if I did, I wouldn't be in debt.
Like a lamb to the slaughter, buried in water
Hermione
"Do it again."
The words that slithered out of his mouth were anything but polite in nature. While the tone was a bit frightening, it wasn't anything that Hermione was unused to hearing. Beefy fingers slid a ten dollar note into her underwear, patting her ass before they retreated. He was an enormous man, with an angular face cut by the neon lights that danced off the walls. He was clad in a well fitted suit, not unlike many of the other patrons in Mystique- Hermione had been told many times that patrons were not admitted into the club looking unpresentable.
Although the suit was nice, his face was undeniably ugly, and if Hermione was being honest, terrifying.
Grey whiskers sprouted from his chin, cheeks and nose- the hair on his head almost the same colour. His mouth was pulled back in an alarming snarl, revealing too many teeth. When Hermione got too close, she noticed an unpleasant odour as well. He had been in quite a few times in the past week, she considered, and each time he had come wandering to the hostess in charge and demanding 'the girl with the hair'. It was true that her hair was her biggest money maker, as it sprung from her head in unconquered (more often than not frizzy) honey curls and it was fun to throw around on stage and let men indulge in caressing. She supposed although this man needed a breath mint, he paid good money.
That was her job at the end of the night. Dancing for dollars.
After having heard his demand, she was far too happy to be out of his lap. She jumped up and turned, surveying him as she slowly clambered onto the armchair directly opposite.
Mystique in downtown Chicago had mirrored walls, with scalloped blue curtains that hugged the frames. Neon lights hung from the ceiling, almost every colour of the rainbow, spinning around the stage and illuminating each dancer as she sauntered around the titanium stage pole. Hermione caught sight of herself in the mirrors. In her green bikini, she supposed she wasn't too unfortunate looking. Since Hermione had hit puberty she was aware that men looked at her differently, no longer repulsed by the sight of her unkempt crimped hair and short frame. From the age of fourteen, she had grown to love her hair and curvy body in a way that no longer left her feeling awkward or uncomfortable naked.
Admitting that she was pretty however, was still out of her repertoire.
Mystique's VIP rooms usually had one or two elegant velvet armchairs that if pushed hard enough, would recline. The man sat in one of them now, surveying Hermione with a predatory stare. He lent back, tree-trunk legs spread and hands locked behind his head. Hermione could see tufts of chest hair poking out from beneath his silk button down, almost black in colour. Hermione refrained from gagging. She took her time to tease him, slowly unclipping her bikini top. She sunk down into the chair and then lifted her legs up as high as she possibly could in front of her face. Once satisfied that he had a nice view, she spread them slowly, thanking the Gods that she had been blessed with flexibility. She heard him grumbling to himself, and when she tossed her hair and crawled onto her knees, she leaned forward and arched her back. Then, she shook her ass for him with a technique Ginny liked to call the 'bread winner'.
She heard him groan. Thank God that's over.
Satisfied, she hopped up, careful not to lose her balance in her Pleasers, and sauntered back over to him. He let out a gruff chuckle, unlocking his fingers from behind his head and patting his thigh. Refraining from sighing, Hermione sat on his lap. She thought for a minute that she could escape him. It wasn't that Hermione hated her job, but there was something about big, ugly, predatory men like this that made her question if the money was really worth it.
Of course it is, she thought. Don't you forget.
Usually she could have a laugh with the men, and sometimes women, that paid her to dance for them. She much preferred genuine conversation rather than indulging creepy men like this who frothed at the mouth when she bent over. Hermione tugged gently at her bikini bottoms as she was sitting, adjusting the dollars that peeked out from underneath. The last thing she needed was her hard night's earnings slipping out. The man sighed, stroking her back with something Hermione might have taken for tenderness, if she had not been paying attention to the greedy chasms that were his eyes. "I'm going now, when are you next on?" He barked. Hermione shuddered slightly, "Tuesday," she peeped, momentarily embarrassed that her fear of him was suddenly obvious.
Embarrassment turned to relief when the men bared his teeth in an aggressive smile, urging her up off his lap and smoothing down his suit. Was she finally free? His beefy hand snaked into his suit pocket and pulled out a cell phone, and clearly displeased at whatever was on there, he grimaced, then met her eyes and kissed her knuckles in a gentlemanly way. "Pleasure, as always," he winked. Something in his eye remained predatory, almost violent, as he turned his back on her. Hermione watched as he made his way out between the curtains, and she let out the breath that she had been holding in.
Suddenly the surroundings of the club came crashing down on her and she was brought out of her anxiety bubble. Cigarette smoke shrouded the VIP rooms, slowly filtering out between the curtains and into the rest of the club. She took a minute to check her hair in the mirror and re-adhere her bikini top before stepping outside. Next door, she could hear Lavender giggling. The club was vibrating with heavy music, a deep bass that made Hermione's bones shake. The bar was located parallel to the stage, against the mirrored walls. Severus was busy, serving five different customers at once- each one throwing cash into the tip jar and into Severus' bony hands. The man was a bit weasel-looking, with a hooked nose and greasy hair that was often hanging in his dark eyes.
He wasn't particularly nice to her, but he was damn good at his job.
Hermione watched as he mixed the alcohol, throwing shakers and chopping limes- each movement precise and calculated. He was a potion master, of sorts, when it came to alcohol. Hermione was quick to note his earplugs when they first met, and wondered how they made it easier for him to hear the orders over the music. "Can you not read lips?" he had snivelled at her when she asked. Hermione was quick to make a mental note that she wouldn't be asking him any more questions ever.
Hermione was conscious of her mouth, barren and parched, and made her way through the fog of smoke and throngs of people towards the spiral staircase in the north eastern corner of the club. Men and women alike were draped over tables, interacting with each other, alcohol spilling out of their cups as they laughed heartily and jovially tipped their dancers. She momentarily noted that Luna was in the middle of her set, silver bikini catching lights as she sank down the pole in a carousel spin. She noted the pleasant look on her face as she stared up at the ceiling, almost ignorant of the adoring and guffawing men that were at the edge of the stage. Luna had always been in her own little world...
The stairs were illuminated with magenta LED's that transformed her clear heels pink as she rushed up towards the change room. Apart from Luna, it seemed that all the other girls on tonight had been taking advantage of the large amount of customers, stealing them away for private dances. From the top of the stairs, Hermione stared at the enormous chandelier that dangled from the ceiling, a direct low-lit reflection in each mirror surrounding the club's interior.
Slowly, the music's deafening 'unsk' sounds began dulling, and Hermione was finally in her safe haven for the busy Saturday night.
The change room was a small room with high ceilings above the club's DJ booth, vanities with crusty old mirrors squished in beside each other against the walls and were covered in hair straighteners, rubber bands, moist toilettes and various bits and pieces of make up. Hermione's was situated in between Ginny's and Lavender's. She avoided running into a girl that was being called down for her set, finally sinking onto her bar stool and taking a long sip of water. "Someone's happy," the fiery redhead beside her was in the middle of applying a fresh coat of mascara. The sarcasm contained a hint of mirth, and Hermione couldn't stop the eye roll.
There was a snort. "I could hear the minute you walked in, by just your breathing, that something was wrong. Poor Hermione getting booked for dances, what a travesty," Ginny teased, "was he at least generous?" Ginny was a gorgeous catch, a bit gangly- but gorgeous nonetheless. Her hazel eyes sparked when she talked, almost animatedly, and her face and body were dusted with brown freckles. She was not only beautiful, but confident and alluring- fiercer than anyone Hermione had ever met. Hermione pulled out the bills from her bikini bottoms, noting the various fifties with wide eyes.
Ginny stared at them through the mirror. "You officially have no right to complain," she mused, "that's unreal- there's a million people here tonight and I've gotten nothing,"
Hermione huffed, "I have, believe it or not, been working for two more hours than you. Also, that man's breath smelled like garbage. I would rather you than me." Ginny laughed, then she revelled in a fake sob, almost smudging the wet mascara. "If you think I'm bad, you haven't seen Lavender tonight clearly," Ginny put her mascara on her vanity before spinning around to face Hermione on her stool. "I heard her before I started, she saw Fleur and instantly got upset." Fleur was known to be one of the high rollers at Mystique, often showing up around one in the morning once a week, Louis purse hanging from her delicate shoulder, ready to make her month's rent in one night.
There was something almost bewildering about her looks, something inhuman that made her appeal to most of the men and women that walked through the doors to Mystique. She had a sloped button nose, and shoulder length blonde hair that wreathed her face, eyes an alarming shade of periwinkle that you couldn't help being captivated. "If I made as much as Lavender did, I would feel the same," Ginny said honestly. Hermione couldn't stop the pearls of laughter that bubbled up in her throat, but recovered quickly and shot her friend a judgemental warning look, "that is horrible of you to say," she said, holding in the laughs. Something about it was so brutally analytical and true that Hermione felt guilty just for hearing it.
Lavender was one of the newer girls, and had a habit of scaring customers away with her eagerness. There was a subtle art to hustling, and she hadn't quite mastered it. Instead of taking Ginny's advice on starting conversations rather than walk up to someone and demand they book her, she had huffed and puffed and now spent most of her nights at the bar, waiting for someone to approach her first. Unfortunately for her, that wasn't how the business worked, and it was a hard lesson to learn. Hermione had been there.
"Just keeping it real," Ginny sighed, "I'm going on soon- want to come with?" Hermione nodded dumbly, thinking about the beast of a man she had been entertaining for the week. "This man was awfully scary," she said more to herself than to Ginny, "I haven't had someone like that before." Ginny cleared her throat, spraying herself in a mist of raspberry perfume. "There've been a few interesting faces the past month or so," she admitted, and Hermione couldn't help but agree, "but no one worth worrying about. Could be management branching out, I suppose...," her voice was almost a whisper. It wasn't common for the girls to talk so openly about the recent change in management of their club.
Hermione, never once in her twenty-four years of life, dreamed she'd ever be dancing as a stripper.
Four years ago, a major in English Literature and an impressive Valedictorian speech hadn't done Hermione any favours upon graduation from University, and so desperate for any sort of revenue, she found herself wandering in downtown Chicago carrying her last fifteen dollars and determined to turn her life around before it was too late. It was then she came across a tall, rust-coloured building- with a neon blue sign that lit up Hermione's brown eyes. Mystique. A rather severe-looking woman had taken her in as a hostess at first, however after Hermione had seen the absolute wads of cash her female counterparts were earning, she couldn't help but asking the pixie-like girl with the dreamy, marijuana-high eyes about pole lessons. Luna had been more than accommodating of Hermione's awkward Bambi legs while teaching her to climb and spin, and after seeing Hermione's potential, McGonagall suggested with a wry smile that Hermione audition at the next open night.
Originally, Hermione had intentions the position would just be for a few months, until she got back on her feet. Although, in the time spent dancing, Hermione had made countless friends and, surprisingly, enjoyed herself. Life was good for a while enjoying life on the luxe side, and Hermione had even managed to tackle some student loans that had been causing her grief.
Then last summer came.
Ginny had rung her on the day, her usually witty and confident demeanour absolutely crushed with uncertainty. The club had been bought out from McGonagall by someone called Grindelwald, Ginny had said. Hermione hadn't had the pleasure, but Ginny didn't really illustrate him a winner. The morning edition of the local paper hadn't either, Hermione reminisced. She remembered staying awake for hours on end until the street lights outside her window dimmed and pale sunlight filtered through her window blinds, trying not to think about what the journalists had doted on.
The more she read, the more she learnt about her club's newest owner. He was a German aristocrat, noted for throwing elaborate parties, having relocated to the U.S shortly before the Cold War and quickly making a name for himself in the business of oil, leather-goods and machinery. The paper didn't hide the fact that the man was suspected of dodgy business, and had been under scrutiny from detectives. Suspect of counterfeiting, coercion, fraud, armed robbery and murder takes over management of Chicago's oldest gentleman's club.
The words looped in her head, refusing to dissipate even after Hermione threw her nose in Brave New World and tried to distract herself. Despite the uncertainty of the club's fate, when Hermione had turned up to work that weekend, she was surprised to find it had been virtually untouched, spare the employment of Severus, and the giant security guard with a wild mane of black hair and a beard to match (Hagrid, Hermione remembered). Life had continued, but never had the girls openly addressed the suspicions surrounding the new owner. Little things Hermione observed, such as the ominous wads of cash that were regularly exchanged between patrons, remained the elephant in the room when talking with Ginny or Luna.
However, nobody Hermione had encountered since had been nearly as dreadful and terrifying as the man she'd just given a dance to. "Well, if it is a management issue," she started,"I don't think I'll be entertaining him much longer," Hermione admitted, counting her money and tucking it away safely in the cash box on her vanity, "I have no doubt he earns his money in interesting ways," she thought about the murderous look in his eyes. Ginny raised her eyebrows, "You're sure?" Hermione's mouth set itself in a tight line, "No. But he scared me enough. I'd rather avoid getting myself involved in any kind of dirty business."
Lee, The DJ, announced Ginny's stage time, and she left her empty glass forgotten at the bar where she had been making conversation with a rather bored-looking Severus. Hermione watched from her position seated at a table as Ginny easily hiked herself up the spinning pole, adjusting into an easy reverse superman and dangling her flaming locks in mid-air. Something by The Clash was playing overhead, filling the room with a distinct buzz with each explosive strum of the guitar.
Two young boys near the stage slapped their pockets for cash, scrambling to find something that would encourage Ginny to get naked. One of them, a boy with electric green eyes and a scruff of unruly black hair, managed to retrieve an array of crumbled dollar bills and wiggled a finger at Ginny, whom by this point was well aware she was about to earn some cash. Hermione watched the exchange, her hand pooled around a glass of lemon water. Condensation dripped down towards her fingertips as she took her finishing swig, the man at her left increasingly pleased she had finished the drink he'd treated her to.
At the bar, Hermione had specifically mouthed to Severus that she wanted 'water only', after the boy at her side had taken it upon himself to order her a vodka soda. Severus had given her a sharp roll of his eyes, before wordlessly handing her drink to her and disappearing to tend to other customers. Serves him right for being smart with me, she'd smiled. "I don't have much money left, I'm afraid, but I'd love to chat," the boy told her over the heavy beat of the drums. Hermione couldn't help the eye roll. The boy had spent nearly all of his money on alcohol, the remnants of which littered the table they shared, and he had only left Hermione with a measly ten dollars and a pathetic boob grab.
When he had approached her at the bar just half an hour earlier, Ginny had given her a look over the edge of her glass as she downed the rest of her drink. One that clearly had been in her position many times. One that once again reminded her that time was precious, that time was money. She shouldn't have accepted the drink, she sighed internally.
Now, bored, she sat with him and watched as Ginny motor boated the excited black haired boy, her black bikini top forgotten at her feet. She was just about to leave the table, excuses conjured up in her mind already, when she saw them.
She spotted them on an extravagant leather lounge, across on the other side of the main stage. That corner of the club, Hermione knew, was often occupied by the lonely businessmen with too much money to spend and not enough girls to throw it on. However, Hermione got the impression that these men were anything but lonely. There was an air about them that seemed content to be left to discuss business in peace. One of the hostesses, Angelina, usually made rounds through the club's crowds to take empty glasses and butter up the thick-wallet ballers with compliments. This was a good time to make tips, of course.
However, Hermione watched as the tall black girl walked towards them, leaving two fresh drinks for the men shrouded in cigar smoke and darkness, and stealing away their empty glasses before anybody could thank her. Hermione made them out in the shadows each time a blue overhead light spun in their direction. One, with fierce blonde facial hair and a matching mop, had been leaning forward, his elbows placed on his knees, a cigar dangling loosely from his left hand as he shook it at the other man. The man to his left was seated with his back leaning against the sofa, his right arm draped over the back and his left knee crossed over his right. His long blonde hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, his face cleanly shaven and more polished than even Fleur's. He seemed to be in a disagreement with the bearded man, who with each wave of his hand, was flicking ash into his new drink. He took a deep swig from it nonetheless, clearly oblivious, and Hermione gawked.
Surely he can taste that, right?
The ponytailed man had his thick, well-groomed eyebrows raised incredulously, his thin mouth pursed. Hermione's mind wandered back to the conversation she had been having with Ginny an hour ago. Were these people...? Were they...?
Before she could think further, she watched as the bearded man removed his wallet from his back pocket, his expensive suit jacket opening slight and revealing… Hermione felt a lump in her throat. A well-oiled pistol lay snug in a holster at the man's waist. Had Hagrid even patted these men down?
"Thanks for that one, Ginny… ah, folks, lovely as always isn't she? Now we have on, for the two a.m. slot, Miss Hermioneeee…." Lee drawled her name out, long and sultry, finishing with a scratch of the music and replacing The Clash with something a bit more suited to Hermione's style.
Hermione was disturbed from her thoughts, dragging her disbelieving eyes away from the two men, and immediately stood up on albeit shaky limbs. She was overreacting, surely, and if she pretended she hadn't noticed she was sure she could go about her night regularly…
Ginny passed her on her way up to the stage, sweat clinging to her décolleté and knickers stuffed to the brim with notes. She had left behind the smitten green-eyed boy without another thought. "Good luck, you," she whispered, sneaking off to the bathroom and ignoring the green-eyed boy that had begun chasing her through throngs of people. Hermione held back a laugh, she might have to talk to security about that one…
Stepping up on stage, Hermione surveyed the club in her peripheral. The young boys had disappeared after Ginny, but several loners had slowly appeared in Hermione's line of sight against the rim of the stage. She sauntered around the pole, considering the legalities of what she had thought she just witnessed. Had Hagrid ignored it? Were the rumours true? Had Grindelwald, the club's newest owner, been operating dirty business in the club?
Now the mysterious cash bundles and hushed whispered seemed less like an elephant in the room, and more like something to finally discuss with the other girls.
When Hermione shoulder mounted the pole, the neon lights changing from blue to green, she adjusted her grip and slipped into an inside leg hang. She arched her back, slowing down her momentum to the absolute slowest she could manage in this position. While spinning, Hermione noticed a few shapes moving in the entranceway to the club, bathed in shadows. That certainly caught her attention, and without trying to make it obvious she was watching, she cross ankle released, and gently sunk towards the stage floor.
There were three of them, she counted. Hagrid had welcomed them with a bit of a bear hug- patting each one on the back and welcoming them inside with a bit of a forced friendliness. Hermione heard a coo to her left and crawled with a smile, eyes on the prize that materialised in front of her. Though her face was facing the elderly man in front of her holding the crumpled twenty, Hermione's attention was very much focused on the business lounge, where the men were heading.
The three men walked in almost perfect symmetry, single file. The one at the back, she noticed, was carrying a leather brief case. He had a bit of a coiffed hairstyle, his black hair sticking to his forehead and looking far too gelled for her liking. In front of him, was the oldest one clearly, with a face covered in fierce rust-brown facial hair, and eyes of grey steel. He had his hands swinging freely beside him, against a suit that looked no less than the price of Hermione's entire apartment. In fact, all three of them were dressed to excellence.
The leader, Hermione found with a bit of a gasp, had captured her the most.
While she moved for the elderly man in front of her without much vigour (attention almost wholly focused on the suspicious men, mind you), she couldn't help admiring.
While the other suits were navy or blue in nature, this one was a pressed grey Versace. It's owner, taller than all of them, walked with a purpose that had everybody in front of him immediately rushing to evacuate his path. One hand tucked into his pocket, his other hand tapped on his broad chest, as though it were the most casual thing in the world to walk into a club at two in the morning with a brief case. The two behind were shooting girls around them enamoured looks, dirty smiles creeping onto their faces.
This one though, was absolutely unbothered by anybody.
Hermione did her deed for the old man, recovering herself and made her way back up the pole, the twenty now safely tucked away. She climbed into a figurehead, only able to make out an absolutely razor-sharp jaw before the men sat down amongst the two blonde men whom had been arguing earlier, and vanished from sight behind the crowd. She turned her attention back to the people around her. Oh well, she thought. Not your problem, Hermione. Before she could think of another trick to perform in her small repertoire, she noticed two men come sauntering over to the stage from the business lounge.
The gel and the grey eyes, after disposing of the suitcase, had turned their attention to the entertainment of the evening.
Hermione didn't pay them much attention after throwing them a winning smile, though. She was more focused on their leader, whom had appeared after a group of crowding people left. He was in a deep discussion with the two blonde arguers, his hands now in his pocket. Something they said had caused him to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"Over here, you absolute gem!" Grey eyes called out, making it to her side and tapping a thick wallet onto the stage, winning smile shining in his rusty beard. The gelled man beside him sent her a smile too, though one that wasn't nearly as nice or as friendly. "Come here, sweetheart…" he drawled. Hermione slinked up to them, sitting on the side of the stage and shooting them a tight-lipped smile. She was a little suspicious, but once she saw the wallet, she couldn't help but try to leave her worries in the deep depths of her mind. If the rumours were true and she was dealing with some fishy people, she may as well enjoy a bit of money, right?
"Hey, gentleman," her voice rung above the loud music. When the nice one opened up his wallet and left a hundred-dollar bill sitting in front of her, Hermione couldn't help her eyes bugging out of her skull. He seemed to notice, a deep laugh rumbling in his chest. "What can this get me?" he asked, the other one snickering beside him in an ugly way. Hermione kneeled in front of them, and had just clipped open her bikini top, hands in her thick hair routinely when-
"Rosier," it was a voice that had materialised behind the nice man.
The rusty bearded man's face fell slightly. The voice was deep and pleasant to listen to, sending a bit of an excitable shudder between Hermione's shoulder blades and down the rest of her back. What-?
The bill lay forgotten in front of her as her hands gripped for life on the side of her neck, in the midst of stopping her tease. What is going on?
The voice had stepped out from behind 'Rosier', the nice one. It was the trio's leader. His Versace suit clung to him in a delicious way, snaking down his torso and towards his midline and legs. He tapped a foot, appearing impatient- though his face remained serene, and if he was bothered, it certainly didn't show. Hermione was left to just observe the attractive contours of his angular face as he mumbled with the two men in front of her, had she heard 'Greyback?', his blue eyes never once leaving hers.
She stared dumbly, taking in his dark brown and slightly tousled hair, as if he had just run his hands through it. His effervescent pale skin glowed under the neon's in front of her. This man was perhaps the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. Yet, there was something deep in his eyes that made her want to squirm out of his way. She felt as if he were staring right through her, as if she wasn't really here at all- as if she didn't exist. Should she be afraid? She swallowed thickly.
Turning to move on to the next customer and dropping her gaze from his, the man's hand shot out faster than she could witness, and grabbed a hold of the bill. For a minute, red-hot rage seared in her stomach, and she allowed it to reach her eyes. She cleared her throat loudly and shot daggers, anxiety completely forgotten. How dare he?
But he didn't pocket the money like she expected.
He crept forward, turning the bill over and over again in his fingers, one hand still tucked away in his suit pocket. Never leaving her eyes, he lent forward. Hermione suddenly felt very, very naked. Now hyper-aware of the fact her tits were on show, her cheeks stung with warmth and she knew her face was as red as Ginny's hair. It wasn't abnormal, for her to be nude at work, but something about this man set Hermione's toes curling in both positive and negative ways. Despite the fact her nipples had begun to harden slightly, and the others around them had taken advantage of the fact Hermione had taken her top off, throwing dollars in her direction, this man's eyes never ventured south of her face.
His hand got closer, and at this point, the two men he had startled had departed back to the business lounge grumbling to themselves. The bill gently scraped the flesh of her abdomen as he tucked it down the front of her bikini bottoms, a gentle smile on his mouth. His fingers didn't linger like other customers, rather the feeling of him touching her had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Hermione with a peculiar feeling of wanting him to do it again. She gawked at him, completely at a loss for words. What an absolutely, infuriatingly, captivating individual...
Her voice came back suddenly, "Thank you," she sniffed, not caring if she sounded polite. She moved to stand up and attack her current bikini situation. "Enjoy your night, Miss," he said, nothing short of polite. There it was, that voice. She gave him a tight-lipped smile, and refused to acknowledge the knobbly knees he had just given her. He didn't spare her another moment, turning away from the stage and checking a pocket watch. As he removed the silver watch from his pocket, his jacket opened slightly, and Hermione stared as she spotted the glossy pistol tucked away at his hip.
A lump formed in Hermione's throat and she suddenly very much wanted to go discuss the night's events with Ginny and Luna.
Now, feeling rather odd about the whole exchange, she looked down at her bikini bottoms. Not one, but two hundreds were now tucked away for her keeping.
So...
If this is even remotely worth continuing please let me know. Why was there a suspicious meeting? What does it have to do with Grindelwald? Will we find out?!
I don't know who anybody looks like from Tom's era, okay? Or their ages. I guessed- sorry for any inconsistencies.
If you go into this slight-crack fic not expecting anything great, I would be happy- better to over-deliver than under-promise in my opinion!
A bit of an irritatingly-hot sexual tension journey with lots of consequences and danger I'm afraid- but that's what fuels me!
(It's been a little while since I danced, so please excuse any inconsistencies in terms of tipping- Hermione dances at a prestigious club, if you will, so blame it on that!)
Please let me know what you think, regardless if you enjoyed it or not.