Draco's POV

Everything fucking hurt.

From his head down to the balls of his feet, Draco's body ached as he briskly padded down the hallway that had led him right to Hermione Granger's door. A headache was beginning to form right between his temples, and while the actual pain and cuts from the lashings had been removed with just a wave of the dominant woman's wand, he swore that there was a phantom ache that continued to blossom across his extremities. To make matters even worse though was the stinging in his eyes, brilliant grey contrasting with the heavy redness that rimmed them.

It had been almost 5 years since he had cried like that in front of another person. Not even his mother had seen him sob like that, like a child that had just been reprimanded. The shame that remained hot in his veins wasn't one that would leave easily; he was dazed, after all, unsure of what had truly occurred to him emotionally or physically during that one hour period. There were no other physical marks though. Whatever magic Granger had used on him had soothed the bruises, the welts smoothing back into the pale skin, the cuts knitting back together neatly. The physical marks be damned though; she hadn't bothered to even try to help him hide the tears. She was probably reveling in his shame, smirking at how he had admitted to his faults at her feet. He truly was pathetic, waltzing in expecting forgiveness and leaving in shambles. This was not a man that Lucious Malfoy would have been proud of. Nor would I ever want to be one like that, Draco corrected himself mentally. His father had been dead for years, buried in the ground with a portion of the disgrace the Malfoy name held.

Footsteps nearly drowned out by the music in the lounge below, Draco was nearly silent as he made his way back down to the lower level of the Chateau. Some of the men and women that occupied the space peered curiously from the doors of each room; a tall, dark skinned man grinned at him and winked, his shorter counterpart peeking from under his arm and flashing him with a dazzling smile. "Come play with us," she purred, hand leaning up to rest against her partner's bare chest. Without a look of acknowledgement, the blond wizard strode right past them, his ears red from embarrassment. The last thing he needed right now was for another person from this fucking place recognizing him. He took each step two at a time, trying desperately to get outside of this damn club and leave. Fresh air. That was what he needed, something cool in his lungs to keep the pressure from exploding outwards.

Angel seemed to be waiting for him when his feet finally hit the base of the steps, her legs crossed daintily as she perched atop the receptionists desk. If Hermione Granger reveled in the state that she had deduced him too, the front desk woman seemed to as well. The smile plastered across her face would almost be polite had she not known everything that occurred in that room as soon as his feet crossed the threshold. "Aw, going somewhere so soon, Mr. Malfoy?" She whined, long acrylics tracing patterns on her bare thigh. His teeth gritted in frustration, and he kept his head ducked to avoid eye contact. "Yes, and if you don't mind, I have places to be," he started, attempting to pass by the desk to hit that blackened exit. Instantly, her hand was around the fabric of his cloak, drawing him in. The sudden movement made him flinch; Hermione had done something so similar. It would have aroused him had it been at the hands of the woman he had just seen, but with Angel, it was damn near unnerving.

"One last question, before you go, Mr. Malfoy!" The petite woman chirped, and Draco could feel his jaw clenching in anger. Taking a deep breath to keep the bark in his tone at bay, he gritted out, "What do you possibly need from me now? I've paid already." A devilish smile met him, white and straight. "What was the name of the individual that you met this evening?" He swallowed quickly, managing to only say "Mistress J-" before breaking out into a fit of coughs. No matter how much he wanted to say her name, fake or otherwise, it would not leave his lips. The more he tried, the more the pressure in his chest mounted, threatening to choke him indefinitely. Running a palm once more over his swollen cheeks, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can I just fucking leave now?" Angel readjusted her skirt, rocking down so that she swiftly hopped from her seat on the desk to land softly on the floor. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Malfoy, and we hope to see you again soon!"

Yeah, fucking right, he thought to himself, though he knew deep down that this one visit wouldn't satisfy any sort of dissonance in his life. It would have been so much easier to talk to her, though he knew that she would have never agreed to it outright. Any attempts he had made prior to research what she had been doing all these years was met with a brick wall. Potter was busy doing field work god knows where, outsourced from the Ministry's main branch to other agencies across the world. The few times he did see the dark-haired man, he barely acknowledged him. Reaching out to the Weasel, the second in the Golden Trio, was obsolete. That was a man who could hold grudges, who spit venom in his direction the one time they did cross paths, calling him a "Disgusting traitor" and stalking in the other direction. No, she was elusive that one, seeming to disappear from the wizarding world up until this point.

More than anything after tonight, all that Draco wanted to do was poor himself a glass of whisky and go to bed. The headache was roaring between his ears and no amount of rubbing his temples seemed to soothe it. As he turned to face the door, however, he was met with a familiar piercing gaze, one that was shooting daggers in his direction.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Pansy Parkinson held her shoulders square as she approached the disheveled man, her stride long and menacing. Despite her short stature, even smaller than Hermione, she had every ounce of menace and power that a grown man would. Even clad in her dance uniform, the danger that was prevalent in her gaze was clear. "Pansy, I don't want to do this right now," Draco signed, gaze darting to the floor as he attempted to slip past her. Her body slid easily in front of him though, blocking the Chateau's exit. "I don't give a shit whether you want to do this. Why. Are. You. Here?" Her emphasis almost made him flinch, and if he was less worried about the strength of her hexes and his own state of being, he would have shoved right past her. "I was just visiting. I wanted to see what your work was like."

Wrong answer. He knew it as soon as he met her stare, which felt as though it was piercing through the back of his skull. It took a moment before her eyes grew wide, nails digging into his arm. "You fucking didn't," she whispered, all of it hitting her at once. She knew. She knew exactly why he was here. "I told you, Draco. I fucking told you to leave it alone." Her voice was growing in volume, and several patrons shot them looks as they entered the building. Angel shooed them off though; they must have been regulars, ones who didn't need to go through the process of verifying anonymity. "But no, you were too fucking arrogant to listen to anything I had to say. Do you understand how disrespectful this little stunt you pulled was? Showing up to my work, harassing my girls?" The nails dug in deeper, where the phantom marks of the whip had struck just minutes earlier.

"What I do in my spare time with my money is none of your concern. You're not my fucking keeper, so bugger off so I can go home," he hissed out, shaking his arm free of her grasp. "Oh perfect, run away, just like you always do." Pansy's lithe form blocked him once more as he tried to side step her, and his eyes darted to the door as someone else entered. The individual who was standing there was enough to divert his attention from the fiery woman essentially holding him hostage, large blue eyes staring at him in surprise. Ginny Weasley had changed a lot in the last few years, a name he had pretty much forgotten about; she was a year below him after all, flying under the radar other than when she managed to snag Potter. It didn't take a genius to understand that those days were behind her; she was wearing a similar outfit to Pansy, almost her foil.

In an instant, Ginny's arms folded over her chest, stepping to duck behind Pansy. Still though, she stared at him, at the arm where she knew his tattoo was. "What the fuck are you staring at?", he snapped, leaning in closer to sneer at her. The last thing he needed or wanted was somebody else from his past wiggling their way into this moment in his life. Why didn't she just let him go to sleep? He just wanted to go home, not be held hostage. The ginger haired woman visibly recoiled, an expression of fear crossing her features as she folded closer to her companion. If Pansy's tone was dangerous a few moments prior, it was deadly now. "Don't you ever speak to her like that again. I swear to fucking god, Malfoy, it will be the last happy thing you do for a long time." Nothing happy has happened in a long time, he nearly said aloud, though he refused to give her anything. He didn't need her pity. If he hadn't been sublimating, trying to focus on anything except for this confrontation, he would have nearly missed Ginny's hand snaking up to rest on Pansy's hip. Interesting.

"Get off your high horse and get the fuck out of my way, Pansy. You can finish yelling at me and I can finish pretending I give a shit tomorrow, but until then, move." This time, he did manage to squeeze past her, though she caught him quickly enough so that he turned to face her once more. Even with the music blaring in the background, and the rush of his own blood roaring in his ears, it was as if the world was stock still and silent. "I told you to leave her alone. I fucking told you to drop it, and you promised you would. You promised me, Malfoy, you told me-" her mouth shut quickly as she actually had a chance to look at him, to see him in the different lighting. "Jesus christ, have you been crying?" Her anger faded into concern and it was in that moment that every bit of composure he had been reserving snapped.

"I'm done. I'm done with you and I'm done with this bullshit tonight," he nearly shouted, breaking free of her grasp and almost running to the exit. Pansy didn't pursue him, luckily, and he took the opportunity to gasp in deep lungfuls of the crisp autumn air. The streets were desolate. Any trace of the music that had boomed inside the Chateau's walls had gone silent, leaving him only to focus on his own rapid breathing and the soft rustling of fallen leaves. His vision was fuzzy, almost spinning as he stumbled back to where the Floo station was. Even when the powder had engulfed him and he was deposited within his own home, his gasping didn't secede, escalating into a state of shaking. Pansy knew. Pansy knew why he was there, probably knew what he had done to him.

Everything was too loud, too hot, his own body too small for the feelings that threatened to escape. The world went dark as Draco stumbled to his knees, eyes closing as he fell to the floor. It was a dreamless night; a rare one, at that.

Hermione's POV

Hermione let out a deep breath as soon as the door clicked closed behind Draco, one she had been subconsciously holding. Her skin felt sticky with his tears, the ones that had fallen on her wrists when she pulled that leather mask off, the same one that lay abandoned atop the ruffled sheets. Every emotion seemed to be running through her at once; the fear that she had been wrong about his intentions being here, the anger that he had dared showed his face, the resentment of seeing that tattoo once more. It was enough to need another drink; it was only the beginning of the night for her, and seeing as she only booked one client tonight, the lower level would be her domain unless another client walked through her doors. Even though the desire to feel Cherry Fireball in the back of her throat beckoned her to leave, she remained firmly planted on the mattress, curling her toes in her boots absentmindedly.

It took nearly an hour of staring at the floor, of allowing her defenses to be dropped, before she rose and began to prepare for a night of dancing. An outfit change; a bodysuit made of slick latex, the fishnets peeking out beneath it. Her flogger was nearly clipped to her hip, writhing with anticipation. When she was first gifted the strange, magical object, the constant movement terrified her. It would stroke her lightly tanned skin without warning, almost needy. Now, it was an extension of her body, part of who Mistress Jade was. Hermione let her fingers trace over the material, murmuring out a "Not now", before she began her ascent to the lower level of the Chateau. Her head was held high, curls tangled and almost matted together in some places. It was part of her look; a feral, wild Lioness. The Lioness of the Chateau, she had been dubbed, a mistress to all of the escorts that lined the hallways of the second level. She prided herself in this title, as well as the reputation that followed.

As soon as her feet crossed the threshold to the club's lounge, she immediately scouted the area for familiar faces. Pansy was one she tended to stick close to; the customer's loved to see how freely they expressed affection, though it didn't seem to occur to them that it was genuine affection, nothing more or less. Here, in the safety of the lounge, the lines between platonic indifference and romantic expression were blurred, a safe place to be warm and kind to those who you loved. It took only a few moments before she recognized the black bob through the crowd, shiny under the shifting lights illuminating the club. It always intrigued her how the witch kept her hair so neat between sets, the black reflecting the light like an oil spill. Several patrons turned their heads to watch her stride through the crowd, knocking the shoulders of men who assumed she would move around them. Idiots, the lot of them.

Pansy rested against the dark velvet of one of the plush couches lining the walls, Ginny Weasely perched atop her lap and giggling. A dry martini sat untouched on the table, and Hermione could tell in an instant that something was bothering her friend. Nearly flopping down, she kicked up a heeled shoe, resting it on the edge of the table. Pansy barely met her expression though, instead stroking her hands down Ginny's exposed thigh and occasionally planting a kiss on her girlfriend's cheek. They'd been together for a few months though, Pansy taking Ginny under her wing as a dancer until it blossomed into something more. She did occasionally see Blaise here too, though that relationship dynamic was sticky enough that she didn't dare ask. Moments of silence passed, long enough for Hermione to flag a waitress down for three of the Cherry Firewhisky shots that she craved. Pansy spoke first though, never one to avoid addressing the issue.

"Did Draco come to see you tonight?" Her tone was low and controlled, though Hermione knew it was the calm AFTER the storm with Pansy. It was always an outburst and then rationale with her friend, a balance that took quite a while for her to fully understand. Ginny went quiet at this, fiddling with a stray lace on her cropped bustier. Honesty had always been key in their relationship though, and Hermione spoke almost flippantly. "He did, indeed. Left an hour or two ago," she studied her cuticles, digging her wands out of her pockets and waving it over the digits. The chipped nail polish knitted together, nail elongated; had to keep them short for the more intimate customers. A sigh was released, and Pansy replaced the palm on Ginny's thigh to rub her eyes. "What did he have to say? Please don't tell me he made an ass of himself…" her voice trailed off, guilt tugging at it. "I'm so sorry, I swear I don't know how, Jade. He must have seen you in one of my advertisement photos and recognized you, I don't know how, you were all blurry an-"

A hand went up to silence her friend, a soft smile tugging at Hermione's lips. "Don't apologize. It's the trick of the trade," Pansy's shoulders sagged in relief at Hermione's words; she sounded like guilt was eating at her. Despite the anger Hermione initially felt, the urge to be cross with the other woman, it ultimately wasn't her fault. It was only a matter of time before a face from her past appeared at the Chateau foyer, a risk she always knew would be evident. "He paid for my time and left. Nothing more or less". She let the words settle in, let Pansy and Ginny both soak up the information. They knew exactly what went on behind the doors of room 13, knew that "Jade" was never one to let a man dominate or penetrate her. The understanding hit them suddenly, Pansy jolting so hard that her red-headed girlfriend nearly tumbled from her lap. "No fucking way," she whispered, though Hermione only met her with a coy smile, hiding any trace of the anger she had felt upon seeing Draco at her door. "Confidentiality, Dais, that's all I can say". The sternness in her tone was enough to make both girls drop the questioning, going back instead to eying the floor and the dancers surrounding them.

It was simple enough to distract herself from the altercation for the remainder of her shift; the dancing and drinking kept the night fun, kept it interesting. She let fingers grip the jaws of men and women who gawked at her, let laughter bubble from her chest at the piss-poor jokes they told her in an attempt to impress the dominatrix. Everything about the club exuded energy that couldn't be matched by the mundaneness of the "real world", for it was it's own world. Nothing was off limits here, so when she did take the stage for a set or two, it was second nature. Hermione danced until Draco's voice was a blur, drank until she couldn't remember his features or the remorse that had filled her following his visit. It was serene in the most destructive ways.

When it finally was time to clock out, she almost stumbled to the bouncer that was stationed on the Floo exit, giggling as the toe of her boot caught the wall. Finn was everything a bouncer needed to be; menacing and silent, a man of few words. It didn't hurt that he was easy on the eyes, with high cheekbones, a roman nose, and deeply tanned skin. Just his stature and demeanor alone were enough to keep the unruly patrons at bay. "Mind helping me get back?" she chirped, leaning hard against his form. A chuckle left his throat, that solemn demeanor breaking. He would do anything for the girls in the club, even if it meant holding their hand to steady themselves through the chimney and into the Floo networks most lavisvious portal. "On three?" Finn asked in a deep voice, to which Hermione nodded enthusiastically.

"One…"

"Two…"

A flash; he never really waited until three before tossing a handful of the green powder into the fireplace, leaving her laughing and dizzy as she was dropped into her own home. The world spun around her, and she instantly knew that the night had gotten away from her as she threw herself on the bare sofa. Closing her eyes was the only thing that could quell the nausea, thoughts rushing back to her in glimmers of the night. Hermione didn't even register that sleep was taking her over, only that her nightmares consisted of white-haired young man watching her body writhe against the cold tile floor. She could almost feel the Crucio, as well as the disdain that bore through his expression.