Prompt: Pretty Woman (1990)
This story was written for the Harmony & Co. Harmony At The Movies:A Film Fest. Our task was to choose a movie and adapt a Harmony story from it. I did not follow all of the Pretty Woman plot; this is very much a Potterverse Fusion into the Pretty Woman plot. There is a scene in Pretty Woman that depicts mild sexual aggression/assault and that scene was adapted into this story. It is not a graphic, violent, nor long scene - but it does exist. Readers, I implore you, be cautious of your triggers when reading this fic.
My endless love and gratitude to mcal for her wonderful words of encouragement and support and help with this story. Without which, this would not exist. I adore you and am so glad to call you friend. 3
This story is unbeta'd at the time of posting. All errors are my own.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its familiar elements, nor do I own Pretty Woman or its familiar elements. No profit is being made from this work.
"Lavender!" Hermione weaves through the crowd of people walking down the pavement. She reaches a hand out and curls it around Lavender's bare elbow. "Lav! Are you seriously telling me that you spent all of our money?"
Lavender's thick waves of hair whip around her face. A stunning, toothy grin meet Hermione and it does nothing to put her nerves to rest. She's done this before, she has no concept of money or what it means for them if all their cash is blown on the wrong things.
"Calm down, Hermione." Lavender pulls them aside and out of the way of the busy Parisian crowds bustling along the path. "Merlin, we can make that money back in three nights. It's no big deal."
"No big deal? No big deal, she says!" Hermione tugs herself out of Lavender's grip and narrows her eyes as she plants her fists firmly on her bare hips. "We can't keep spending our savings, Lav! We'll never get out of here."
"Look, Hermione." Lavender's gaze swings right and left down the pavement and then lands back on her glare. "It was only a little bit, and we're going to have a great time before work tonight, alright? Just — take a calming draught and enjoy the night. We have champagne!"
"No," Hermione hisses. This is exactly what they don't need — more champagne, more small things that keep them tied to the street like addiction. She's watched too many of their friends suffer here and she's determined to make things better for them. "No more champagne, no more potions. Lavender, we want the business to thrive and that won't happen if you're drunk or high all the time."
"We'll make the money back! Godric, Hermione, you're such a buzzkill." Lavender sways on the spot and grabs a corked potion from her pocket. She touches just the smallest amount to the tip of her tongue and breathes through her nose as the effects take over. "It's the biggest weekend of the quarter. The Ministry Summit will have desperate blokes up and down this street seeking companionship. We'll make the money back, plus some."
There's no arguing with Lavender when she's like this. She doesn't understand the value of a galleon and Hermione can't make her understand what saving the galleons will do for them in the future. Their business is a lucrative one; they're doing well and they're happy — if you don't count the bad moments or Lavender's growing dependence on potions. Hermione grabs her again with tight fingers and pulls her onto the edge of the pathway of a quieter section of the street.
"See, look!" Lavender yanks her arm away and gestures to a tall, dark, and handsome man in a tailored suit. "Ministry. Bulgarian by the looks of him — dibs!"
"Lavender, you can't just—"
"Oi! Handsome and broody, yeah, you!" She waves at the gentleman, who offers her a kind, sparkling smile but doesn't steer from his path down the street. "Ugh, he's probably married or, you know… wrong tree."
Hermione rolls her eyes. Perhaps, and it is just a guess, the bloke saw Lavender in the shorts that kiss her arse and halter top that bares far too much cleavage. With the growing crowd of fancy dressed officials, she has to assume that none of them want to be seen with their company. Not out in the open, at least.
"Let's go around the corner, see if we can lure them into the shadows." Hermione tugs on Lavender and she follows. "There's an apparition point right over here. It's where the hire cars are. No one else has claimed this place yet."
"You're a genius!" Lavender adjusts her halter to show a little more skin and applies another smudge of sparkling pink on her lips. "You know, if we joined a service, we could make even more money. There are standards they offer that we can't."
"I'm not working for a—" Hermione takes a deep breath. "Pimp. That's what all this is for now, right? We should own the service, Lavender. We shouldn't let someone take a percent of what we make. We're better than that."
"I'm just saying, they offer a certain amount of protection. Your spellwork is shotty since your wand broke and I would feel safer if—"
"My spellwork is just fine, thanks." Hermione checks her pocket for her wand. It's the most important thing she owns now. Blokes tend to get a little rough, so she keeps herself protected the only way she knows how. "Look, let's just talk about this tomorrow when you're sober, yeah? I'll charge double tonight."
"Well, if you're going to charge double…" Lavender pulls Hermione's hair down from its messy, wrapped bun, and fluffs out the wild curls. "Take off the jumper— it's July, how are you wearing a jumper? —and here."
Lavender swishes her wand. Hermione's jumper disappears, the long, tight jeans transform into a short, black skirt, and her stomach-baring shirt tightens around her breasts and splits up the sides.
"There." Lavender gives a perfunctory nod of her head. "Now you're worth double."
The words hit Hermione hard. Worth. Tied to how appealing she is to a man who will pay her for an evening. She swallows and shoves down the thought just as she's done for the past several years, and adjusts her bra so that it shoves her breasts to the edge of the tight shirt.
"Alright. Look — that car. He's got money." Hermione tilts her chin toward a shiny, silver car that's pulling along the edge of their night's territory. "Dibs."
Lavender pushes her forward with a cheeky smile and tinkling laugh. "Go get 'em, Cinderella."
The darkened windows of the car start to roll down as Hermione makes her way to the car. She sashays toward it, tall heels clicking on the cement as she approaches. She ducks down and nearly falls over into the street. A mass of chaotic raven hair falls over shocking, bright green eyes. Eyes she'd know anywhere.
Harry .
His hand grips the gear stick as he leans over toward the window she peers in. Her heart slams in her throat. It's been years since she's seen those eyes in the flesh. Years, and it still feels like yesterday that she'd fled without saying goodbye. For a moment, she's worried that he'll recognize her, but his eyes flick over her face and he gives her a brief, pained smile as if he's never seen her before in his life.
The glamour works. She's never been so relieved or so devastated in her entire life. She's blonde now, with higher cheekbones, and fuller lips. It's a small charm, but it's already saved her so much heartache as she hid herself away from her friends. They haven't found her, not until now, and Harry has no idea. She clears her throat and adopts a false Parisian accent, something she's cultivated over the years.
"Bonsoir, monsieur." She forces a big smile onto her face and wraps her hand over the space where the window had disappeared. "You seem lost. Need directions?"
He snorts a laugh. "I can't seem to find my hotel, to be honest. I don't suppose you're able to give me directions?"
"A hundred Euro and I'll take you there myself." Her sultry voice belies the tremors she feels rushing through every vessel of her body.
"One hundred—" Harry shakes his head. "Are you having a laugh?"
Hermione shrugs and pretends to start walking away. "Have fun on the streets of Paris, monsieur. Watch out for the hags."
"Wait!"
She's going to wait anyway, but makes it appear as if he's made her change her mind. She doesn't turn around, just stands with his back to the car. Lavender's eyes are round as saucers as she stares at Hermione. She mouths 'Harry Potter!' to her and Hermione sucks her lips between her teeth to try and gain control over her emotions. She gestures for Lavender to leave, but the girl is firmly rooted to the spot as she watches Hermione turns around slowly and approach Harry's car again.
Hermione lifts an eyebrow without saying a word.
"Alright, one hundred Euro. Just… get in and roll up the window."
His eyes fall to her chest and the scant bit of fabric covering her legs. She does what he asks and quickly buckles herself in. Her ears are positively slamming with the beat of her heart. Her hands feel clammy. Harry, of all people, in Paris and accepting help from an escort.
The world is truly a bizarre place.
"So…" He sticks the car into gear and pulls away slowly from the curb. Hermione's eyes watch Lavender as she disappears in the distance. "What's your name, love?"
Her lips adopt a small smirk. "What do you want it to be?"
He isn't amused and raises a thick eyebrow in her direction. She points for him to take the next right and he does. "I don't want a fake name. I'd rather know the real you."
A sharp breath leaves her and she turns to Harry, half expecting him to call her a liar when she says, "Jean."
"Well, Jean. I'm Harry—"
She laughs. "Everyone knows who you are, Harry Potter —The Boy Who Lived." He seems to bristle at the words, just as she expects. He's always hated his fame, and she's always loved that about him. "What are you doing in Paris, Harry?"
"Ministry Summit. It's the first time since the war that we've all come together. The British Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, sent me in his place."
It surprises her. She's never known Harry to be a very political person. In fact, he always seemed too volatile for such a position. She's mildly impressed and it must show on her face, because he releases a small chuckle.
"Yeah, that was the reaction of most people who know me, as well." He shoves the car into the next gear and it jerks the car. "Sorry —not used to the manual transmissions. How much do you make a night, doing what you do?"
"A hundred Euro," she tells him quietly, still angry with Lavender for splurging all their savings on fine champagne and potions.
"That's…" Harry searches for something to say and comes up short. She watches as his face falls and then she has a little laugh.
"An hour. It's one hundred euros an hour."
His brows are so high on his head, she fears he'll lose them in his hair. His foot pumps onto the break and the whole car jerks again.
"A hundred euro an hour?" He whistles and shifts the gear a little too quickly. "That's… no wonder your profession is growing post-war. Even Ministry officials don't make that much money."
"It has its perks." She glances out the window at the lights zooming by. "If you can make a career out of it, it's one of the most lucrative businesses going."
"And is that all it is for you?" His eyes flicker across her face and she refuses to let her face divulge any of her feelings. "A lucrative business venture?"
"It has to be," she tells him honestly, her lips twitching at the corner. "Otherwise it gets personal and that's too messy."
They chat about trivial things for the rest of the drive to the hotel. Every once in a while, Hermione will point out things that Harry should see while he's in town. He nods here and there and he's actually quite lovely, just as she remembers. It all feels a bit strange and she's almost relieved when they finally make it to his hotel.
Hermione is about to open the door, when someone in a lush, maroon outfit opens it and takes her hand to help her out of the car. She chews on her lip as the young man's eyes rove her frame. She's not embarrassed by her body — it's been years since she's gotten over that — but, at this fancy hotel, she feels far out of place. So far out of Harry's world, if she's honest. It's all the reminder she needs that she's not meant for his world anymore.
"Here's the, um—" Harry hands her one hundred Euro and smiles nervously at her. "Thanks for the directions. Are you able to get back okay?"
Hermione nods and rolls up the bills. She stuffs them into her bra and Harry looks pointedly away at the ground. She can't stop the little laugh that leaves her.
"Yeah, the closest Apparation point is just a few blocks. I'll be fine."
"Right." Harry watches his luggage as it floats into the hotel. "Well — goodbye, then, Jean."
"Goodbye, Harry Potter." Hermione forces another smile. It's the goodbye she's never been able to say. It lodges in her throat as she turns around to leave him again.
She takes three whole steps and he calls out for her again.
"Jean?" He walks around her with his hands stuffed into his expensive suit pockets. "How much for the night?"
Her eyes grow as she meets his stare. A night with Harry, here in Paris, without losing her anonymity? A chance to say a proper goodbye? How much would she pay for that privilege? It's priceless, really.
"You couldn't afford it," she tells him honestly.
If nothing else, his face seems to brighten. "Try me."
It takes her a moment. She calculates what Lavender has wasted, what she needs to get her business off the ground. And she knows Harry has the money, but she doesn't want to take advantage. Part of her hopes to dissuade him from this. The price tumbles from her mouth and she has to hide the sadness that she's going to say goodbye to Harry for the last time, here and now.
"A thousand Euro."
"Done." He waves his wand over her outfit and suddenly she's outfitted with a long, black coat that falls to her knees. "No need to have the hotel guessing what we're up to."
"No, I suppose not," she says, pulling the coat tighter around her small frame. "Harry Potter with an escort — who would believe it with the countless women who throw themselves at you?"
He laughs and leads her into the hotel without another word. She can't believe that she's here with him, going into his hotel room, being paid by him, and… she gulps; she hadn't considered what comes next, not really.
Hermione can stop it all now, if she wants. She can remove her glamour and show herself for who she really is.
But it's better if he never knows. It's better if he has no idea what she's done after the war.
He might never understand.
He might never forgive her.
So, she says nothing and follows him into the lift with his hand guiding her at the small of her back. If this is all the time she can steal with him, Hermione is going to do it.
Besides, he never has to know it's her.
What can possibly go wrong?