"I'm sorry ma'am, but due to our privacy policy, requesting the same partner is simply impossible. If he frequents Loft X often, there is a chance you could be paired with him at random again." The receptionist (whose name Hermione determined was Felice) gave her a regretful smile.
Inwardly, Hermione pouted; outwardly she waved a hand. "I thought as much. That's fine―may I see your brochure again? I was thinking about trying something different this time."
Perhaps it would be good for her to continue trying new things? After all, the more she thought about her encounter with the mystery man (and she thought about it quite often) the more she suspected he was an employee, planted in order to ensure repeat customers.
She wasn't sure how she felt about this.
But she was half a mind to turn the tables and have her partner be blindfolded this time around. It would at least give her most of the control over the proceedings, and she didn't feel quite ready for the Loft's more extreme fantasies.
"When can I schedule something like this?" Hermione asked Felice, who pulled out a schedule and perused the columns.
"There are no men who have shown interest in that fantasy at this time," Felice said, "but if you prefer we can pen you in for next week, and make it known the fantasy is available. And if a man is interested you two can proceed from there."
Hermione had another inner-pout. "That sounds fine."
Lucius Malfoy bought Loft X. It had taken some finagling, but he was now the proud owner of a sex club in Knockturn Alley. And if anyone found out, what little respect the Malfoy name still clung to would be gone.
But he was not concerned with that. As was the bent of the very wealthy, once Lucius found something he liked, he tended to pursue it obsessively and without regard to cost until he could have it again, and again, and again―ad nauseam.
And what he wanted was that Granger look-alike. He knew for a certainty that she couldn't be the actual Hermione Granger, who was simply too uptight for such base places as sex clubs, but it had been her body, her voice, and the woman impersonating her (or perhaps simply looking very much like her) had been… very good in the sack.
He'd gone back to the Loft to request her again, but the orange lad in reception informed him that unfortunately, requesting the same partner over again was against policy. Lucius had then informed him that he was now the owner of the entire establishment, and that ought to clear up any issues with the policy, so could he please set up a meeting with his previous partner now?
Shockingly, the boy had persevered. At least until Lucius suggested there was a fat raise in store for anyone who cleared this up expediently. And the amount of said raise went up until the boy caved and revealed that the woman would be returning to the Loft the following week, this time for the same fantasy―only swapped. And he could put down Lucius as her partner, if he was willing to wear the blindfold.
Lucius had him book the appointment, but later began to feel some regret. He was concerned that thefalseGranger might identify him and reject him on account of his reputation. Being branded the most hated war criminal in the wizarding world tended not to drop knickers so much as tie them in knots; he'd felt the stigma the instant he'd left the courtroom a dubiously free man.
Though he knew he shouldn't concern himself with the opinions of random women, the thought of leaving himself so vulnerable to her―blindfolded, for Merlin's sake―filled him with anxiety. It was one thing for him to approach this lookalike when she hadn't known; what would happen when their roles were reversed?
And then he remembered her perfect little snatch and how he couldn't sleep at night for wanting it, and he knew he was doomed if he didn't try.
Tin the middle of her tedius workday, Hermione received an unexpected owl. Too eager to take it outside, she opened the little scroll in her lap, right there at her desk, and devoured the text: someone was interested in her fantasy and had agreed to join her.
Had she not been surrounded by a hundred stuffy bureaucrats in the bowels of the ministry, she would've squealed. As before, the nerves returned, and she realized she'd come to view excursions into the Loft very much like first dates. First blind dates, as it were. With obvious differences.
If Hermione ever did anything for herself nowadays (barring of course all of this new activity at the Loft) it was her once-weekly trip to Flourish and Blotts every Wednesday evening. Normally she just browsed the new releases, but this week she had a particular book in mind: an Ancient Runes text that had been backordered for months. She was dying to get her hands on it.
But this Wednesday, she'd been called in to help replenish the Ministry's Tincture Repositories, and had spent the entire day brewing potion after acrid potion, the fumes of which had seeped into her clothes and turned her hair into something resembling a Russian thistle.
Normally such work went to the most junior Ministry staff, but Mr. Harlash had volunteered her, claiming it would be the best possible use of her time. She left work two hours late.
The book order had come in that morning, and she knew such a popular text was bound to sell out quickly. Going in so late as she was, she feared there wouldn't be any left when she arrived―but luck was on her side today: she found the very last copy sitting alone on the shelf as if waiting for her.
Hardly able to believe her good fortune, she snatched it up.
Suddenly, a drawling voice interjected from behind her: "You weren't planning on purchasing that, were you?"
She spun around and found herself face-to-face with Lucius Malfoy. Though there was no mistaking that voice―nor that chilly visage―he'd obviously spent some time trying to disguise himself to avoid the public's general distaste for him: his clothes were of a shockingly Muggle style and he'd concealed his hair with a hat.
Obviously he'd been focusing on the book, because when she turned he seemed to recognize her for the first time. An odd look came over him, and his mouth opened as if he might say something else, but he just stood there, lips parted, as if he couldn't quite believe she was real.
Her mood soured; she tucked the book under her arm. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy. I had been."
He blinked out of his trance; his eyes narrowed. "That is unfortunate indeed, Miss Granger. That book is the very reason I stepped into this shop today."
"I'm sorry there isn't another one for you," she sniffed, trying to edge her way around him.
He didn't budge. "Yes, I'm sorry too," he purred, casually placing a hand on the shelf beside them, blocking her way. "Sorry you have it plastered to your side like that, and now it will most likely adopt that perfume of burning garbage you're wearing."
Hermione's jaw dropped. She'd been so eager to get the book, she hadn't gone home to shower. Never mind the smell―which she knew must've been horrible―she couldn't imagine the state of her hair.
"This book is mine, Malfoy," she snapped at him. "Move aside or I'll call for help."
"Oh I'm certain you would," he growled, leaning in close as he did when aiming to intimidate. "I came here to purchase that book, and I intend to do so."
He was close enough now that Hermione caught a whiff of his cologne. It was obviously some sort of insanely expensive brand: she'd never smelled anything like it on any of her male friends.
She had, however, smelled it before. Of that she was certain.
The look on her face must've been something to behold, because Malfoy's expression went from haughty to just a little concerned. "Miss Granger―?"
"Here." She thumped the book into his chest. "Take it."
And she pushed past him and practically ran out of the shop.
Lucius watched the girl flee the shop as if the building were on fire. He glanced down at the book―wrinkling his nose at the lingering odor―and decided it was still worth the purchase: he'd simply have the house-elves apply themselves to removing the smell.
Smugly, he took his prize to the counter, grateful that he only had to deal with such an irritating and possibly unhinged little mudblood once in a blue moon… and rather delighted that he'd be fucking her likeness in a few short days.
The fateful evening had come.
So many times over the days leading up to it, Hermione thought about cancelling. The receptionist said there was a chance she could be paired with the same partner; at the time it had filled Hermione with anticipation.
Now it filled her with dread.
Because now she knew the possible identity of her partner. She knew there was a chance―a very real possibility―that she had fucked Lucius Malfoy.
How could she possibly live with herself? Sex with Lucius Malfoy! She wanted to scream, not the smallest reason being it had been the most erotic experience of her life and she had straightaway attempted to jump back into bed with him. If he was her mystery man, she didn't know what she was going to do, but it probably involved picking up a drinking habit.
Of course, she tried to apply some logic to the maddness. Malfoy might simply wear the same cologne as her mystery man. It must be this, because there could be no way the attentive, sensual stranger she'd slept with last week was Lucius Malfoy.
When it came time to make her decision, she'd calmed down and told herself she likely would get a new partner this time, and whether or not she'd accidentally slept with the devil was irrelevant to this next encounter.
No―this time, there would be no mystery. She'd know exactly what she was getting.
With that in mind, she began to feel excited again. She arrived at the Loft nearly fifteen minutes early, and after donning her robe she nervously attempted to comb out her hair in the dressing room mirror, even knowing her partner wouldn't be able to appreciate it.
Felice had explained there'd be a brief wait as her partner settled into the designated bedroom. Three minutes into it and Hermione couldn't sit still. How long could it possibly take to clime on a bed and strap a bit of cloth to your face?!
As she sat squirming impatiently she debated whether or not she ought to transfigure her hair again―maybe get it fully straight this time. But she caught herself with her wand halfway raised: the point of this was that she didn't need to make changes for her partner. Now, she could be herself.
Lucius didn't like the idea of the orange receptionist blindfolding him with little more than a bit of silk between them, but the boy seemed to understand boundaries now that he, Lucius, owned the place. The payraise can't have hurt either.
Blackouts were certainly made for comfort: the satiny cloth felt cool and light over his eyes. But he also couldn't see a damn thing and there was no easing that particular discomfort.
"It'll come off when your time is up," the receptionist said, creeping back out of the room. "May all your fantasies be fulfilled."
I'm going to have them change that slogan… Curious, Lucius tested the blindfold to see if it would slip or the knot would give. But it was as if the blasted thing was glued to his skin.
Suddenly he was struck by a horrible oversight: what if the girl arrived without a disguise, or in one that wasn't Hermione Granger? He'd taken a liking to that specific illusion, and it was this he wanted back. But to his despair he knew there was nothing he could do―only hope Granger was the girl's preferred disguise and, if it wasn't, and she happened to be ugly, then at least the blindfold would protect him.
At long last, Felice beckoned. It was time.
Hermione had to slow herself down to keep pace with the receptionist as she was being led through the halls. A part of her was terrified again―what if she didn't find her partner attractive? How did one politely turn down a blindfolded man?
"Here we are." Felice stopped at Door 53; Hermione straightened her robe and ran her fingers through her hair one last time. "He's waiting inside." And with that, Felice turned and made her way back to reception.
Hermione took a deep breath, set her shoulders, and entered Door 53―into the closest thing she'd ever come to psychosis.
This room was draped in velvets of the deepest red, and sitting in the middle of the opulent bed in the center of the room was a blindfolded Lucius Malfoy.
Hermione stopped in the doorway, her stomach dropping down into her toes. He turned his head in the direction of the door and despite the black cover over his eyes, he seemed to be looking directly at her.
The silence billowed and expanded out to something truly painful. Hermione couldn't believe what she was seeing. He was leaning back against the headboard, long legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded loosely over his chest, and his distinctive hair hung in a plait over his shoulder―the picture of leisure. She stared at his face; he seemed to be waiting for her to make the first move.
As if that was going to happen.
After some time he spoke. "Are you going to come in, or go back out?"
She would know that voice anywhere, having heard it so recently, but it was lacking something now―ah yes: condescension. Rather, he sounded tense, perhaps impatient for her to make her move, whatever it might be.
This was her chance to disappear. Protected by her anonymity from any sort of backlash, she could walk out the door and never return to Loft X again. She'd now been paired with Lucius Malfoy at least once; was it so outlandish this might not be the first time? Suddenly her two-men-one-cologne theory seemed flimsy at best.
They really hadn't been bluffing when they'd stressed that your partner might be anyone.
As she stood there, paralyzed, she examined the man in the bed. It seemed he'd reached his prime sometime during his early 40s and decided to stay there. His face, noble in every way with its finely carved planes and edges, was curiously absent of wrinkles, though if Hermione remembered anything about him there were a few lines beside his slate-gray eyes under that blindfold. He was pale as alabaster against the red duvet and now that she was looking properly, he might not have been as relaxed as she initially thought: there was tension in his broad shoulders that belied his nerves.
As she stood there in the doorway, watching her nemesis wait on her, she realized two very astounding things.
Firstly, Lucius Malfoy was a man of striking good looks. She'd never given the bigoted old arse a second glance except out of distaste, so she'd never noticed his appearance (or at least, never really let herself notice). But it was true. He was beautiful, and had they not shared a history, Hermione realized she would've been very happy to find the likes of him on the other side of Door 53.
Secondly, there was a chance he didn't know that Hermione Granger, a muggleborn witch and the perpetual thorn in his side, was currently his would-be sex partner. But that raised the question: hadn't he known last time? Surely he hadn't been fooled by her blondeness then―and if he hadn't been that meant he'd known who she was, and still chosen not only to proceed with sex, but engage in a few remarkably intimate acts with her. Her. A muggleborn. Someone he hated…
Drowning in questions that demanded answers, she knew she needed to find out for certain whether or not he'd been on the other side of the blindfold last time. She had to know the cologne wasn't just a coincidence.
And she wouldn't find out just standing in the threshold.
So she stepped into the room, and shut the door behind her.
A/N: This is actually the first half of a gigantic chapter I had to split in two. The second half is finished and will be put up day after tomorrow. If you're getting fed up with all this exposition, don't worry: things get much more action-based very soon ;)
Please leave me a review-they really help me get my shit together!