Then

It seemed as though Rhys's overachiever attitude was one to match Hermione as one date turned to two, and two to three.

With each passing good-bye Hermione felt her facial muscles aching from smiling so hard, her stomach burning from the belly-laughs he induced. The first date seemed to build right off of the conversation in Flourish and Botts. The two took turns showing each other videos of Tristan Fenlock's seminars, Rhys even pulling out a small notepad and quill to make notes as she balanced the phone against a cup of coffee. Smartphones, she remembered thinking, the wizarding world needs to get on board with this faster. Glancing over, the intensity in his eyes seemed to hold her. He was so concentrated on the subject at hand that his expression may have been considered blank, if not for the furious movement of the quill.

"I used to do the same thing in school," she laughed, fondness resounding as she remembered how furiously she would jot down notes during lectures, Ron once calling her a weirdo for her ability to perfectly write without even looking at the page. It unfortunately didn't transfer over to texting, almost identical to the peck and tap motion that her parents used when she saw them text. Rhy's ears burned slightly. "Oh, I picked it up in primary school. Guess it's pretty useful now! Lots of paperwork at the Auror's office." Hermione's eyes brightened a bit. "I didn't know you were an Auror! How exciting that must be."

Rhy's finger tapped the pause button on the lecture, giving a dazzling grin. He pushed his glasses up a bit on the bridge of his nose, and Hermione wondered if his eyesight was that bad considering the lenses seemed so thin. Should she ask him one day? It seemed weird and intrusive. Jesus, I haven't done this in a while. With Ron, it was different; a truly slow burn, friendship that blossomed into more but crumbled into less. Viktor Krum hardly counted considering she had gone to the ball with him partially to make Ron jealous. It had worked, but looking back, it was ultimately juvenile. No, already she knew Rhys would be around for at least a little while. If his neuroses matched hers, they were set...and it seems they did.

His mannerisms were so much like hers had been described that it felt more than natural talking with him, laughing with him. They had so many common interests, sure, but even the minute things were similar. The way they gripped their silverware, reached instantly for a napkin to rest on their laps upon sitting. A perfect cross between the manners of a muggle-born and someone raised in the echelon of the Wizarding world.

Rhys scratched the back of his head, seemingly embarrassed. "I'm new to it, but it definitely is interesting. I work adjacent to the Department of Magical Drug Enforcement, mostly just giving dumb teenagers a slap on the wrist to be completely honest. Every kid has tried Buffalo Elixir, it just comes with age." Not me, Hermione almost said, but smiled instead. "Yeah, I figured. We used to sneak Firewhisky into Hogwarts through the prefect bathroom. Kids do dumb shit, for sure."

The date was wonderful, and she felt her cheeks flush as his soft lips pressed against her brown as he neatly deposited her on her front porch and disappeared in a flurry of cloaks. It was only a few hours after when she noticed a Makira owl tap-tap-tapping against her window pane, a letter inviting her on their second date.

The second date is when their lips actually collided, forgetting the subtleties of a brush of skin across the forehead. The kiss was kind, his lips soft with the soft hair of a five o'clock shadow tickling her as she leaned in. He smelled sweet and earth, like freshly cut roots, like spring after the flowers are planted, and everything about it was utterly intoxicating. He had made the first move inward; she was nearly frozen in place, shyness causing her heart to flutter and the tips of her ears to turn bright pink. Hermione closed her eyes and leaned in though, like a question waiting for an answer, and her stomach clenched when they connected. The kiss couldn't have felt more natural though; she had been waiting for it afterward.

It wasn't until the third date that she realized things were getting...intimate. Rhys had invited her over to his flat for a glass of Merlot and homemade pasta, from scratch. "My mom is Sicilian," he chirped, which explained his slightly olive toned skin, the spray of brown freckles that dusted his arms and peak from under the collar of his cardigan as he chopped pancetta. Hermione caught herself lingering on the peak of skin showing. He was toned, no doubt from working with the Aurors. Their training was rigorous.

Dinner consisted of carbonara, everything down to the sauce handmade. They sat side by side at the little oak table, and Hermione nearly choked when she felt his hand drift from her hand to run a single finger across her knee. The touch itself wasn't sexual, but warmth danced across her flesh as she recognized the familiar slickness pooling in her panties. The attraction was there and all she needed was a spark to ignite her. Rhys caught the glazed look in her eyes, the flutter of her lashes as she glanced at him. No words needed to be spoken to know that the connection was inevitable. She was the one who leaned in for this kiss.

What had started as slow and tentative turned hungry as he stood from the table, only pausing the kiss to lead her to the couch. He nipped at her lower lip, enough to hurt a bit though she let out a small, breathy gasp in response. She felt him slip his hand up the length of her ribcage, hovering above the hem of her blouse before pulling back. "May I?" He whispered, pupils blown behind the rims. Feverous nods followed, and he wasted no time feeling back the fabric to slide his hand over the left breast. In this moment, Hermione was in bliss, letting him lead. It felt good to let go, to relinquish control. It was...freeing. Her cheeks were flushed, and when she caught his gaze, his pupils were dilated and large enough to see in the dimly lit room. He wanted her. Me, of all people, she thought to herself as he ran his thumb over the small bump where her nipple had become erect. His lips found a place on her neck, his tongue dancing across the sensitive flesh and sending a shiver down her spine.

It would have been so easy, to just rip her clothes off and lay naked on his faded gray couch, to fully release control. However, he cut her short of the fantasy, pulling back suddenly. Confusion must have crossed her features, as he rested a reassuring palm against the soft skin of her cheek. "Did I do something wrong?" Hermione asked shyly, ears heating up. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she was a bad kisser, or had done something wrong. Rhys simply smiled, though his brow furrowed slightly. "Oh, heavens no, love," she didn't miss the little flutter in her stomach when he had called her that, though she leaned back a bit, enough for him to peel his hand from her breast. "I just...I need to tell you something".

Ah. There it was. A girlfriend, or maybe a fiancee, or maybe he just wasn't into her that much. Hermione paused slightly, though nodded as she readjusted the chiffon fabric of her blouse, modesty still a small whisper in the back of her mind. "You can tell me anything, you know. I promise I won't be offended or upse-"

"I'm a Dominant."

Well, that certainly wasn't what she had expected. Confusion crossed her features and she knew that her nose wrinkled slightly. Dread was pooling into her stomach though it was fast becoming replaced with curiosity. She was no fool, nor was she a virgin, though to hear the word "dominant" in this context was so foreign to her. Slowly, she dipped her head, indicating for him to continue. Rhy swallowed what must have been the lump in his throat, taking off his fogged over glasses to meet her eye. "I, uhm...can only really have sex if its in that context." His hands went up slightly, rubbing his arm. "I understand if that's a bit much for you. It's still taboo, even now, ya know?". Hermione wasn't disgusted though, more intrigued than anything. "What exactly does that entail?"

His eyes seemed to light up a bit; he must be relaxing, she thought. "For me, it means that I can only...ya know, get off, if I'm in a position to be dominant. Do you know much about the Community? Bondage, dominance, that sort?" With a shake of her head, Hermione crossed her legs and rested her head on her chin, absorbed in what he was saying. The soft smile he returned could have melted her. "It sounds much scarier than it is, I promise. For a submissive, it means to relinquish control. You put the power of protection, pain, and pleasure into the hands of your dominant and you allow them to guide you through what we call a scene."

Control. That word seemed to come to Hermione's mind a lot recently. She controlled her affairs, her relationships, the restraint to not deck Pansy Parkinson right in her nose every time she saw the sneering witch in public. Control over herself to not reach out to Harry and Ron. It was truly exhausting. Every day, she woke up with the world balanced atop her shoulder blades, and every day, she danced on one foot in hopes that it wouldn't topple over and crush her in the process. Sexually, it was even worse. Navigating hook-ups was a failed endeavor when Hermione left Hogwarts, urged by Lavender and Parvati to just "give it a try". She had to control herself even in the bedroom. It was then that it clicked for her; she was tired of maintaining her own control. Maybe giving it over was just what she needed to try.

Rhys continued. "It's not all leather and spankings like people make it out to be. It's so much more; you can trust your dominant, and you always should, you keep you out of harm's way. I just...it's all I can do now and I didn't want you to get the wrong idea and think that I was some freak who-" He didn't have time to finish before she was leaning across to kiss him, to feel the softness of his mouth against hers once more. Her mind felt heavy in all the right ways.

"For you...I think I'd like to try it."

Now

Another fucking nightmare. A night of seeing green eyes, the glint of lenses reflecting in the dark lit living room. To many, the fondness of the memory may have rang true. It wasn't an eventful scene, and to someone looking in, may have been sweet. To her, it was reliving the beginning of the end. And it killed her every time she cracked open mascara crusted eyes to stare at the black of The Chateau ceiling. Hermione rolled onto her side, peeking at the alarm clock that rested on her bedside table. It was nearing 8 o'clock at night, her nap not calming her nerves any more than they were. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew who her most recent booking was, and despite her protests, the Madam had insisted that she at least meet the individual to determine if they were a new client or not.

They couldn't be, though, not when she knew that behind teary gray eyes, a desire for more burned within them.

Hermione pushed herself into a sitting position and observed the room. It was immaculate, as always, but felt emptier than normal. She reached for her wand and flicked it once, conjuring her vanity beside the bed so that she wouldn't have to get up from her "nest" to get ready for tonight's set. Her mind was so heavy it felt like it may explode, and she made note to ask the bartender for an extra dose of the muggle over the counter medication that she had stashed under the oaken tables. Magical medications were great, but the familiarity of the little orange Ibuprofen pills brought her a little bit of familiarity regarding a world she had long since abandoned. She had two hours before she had to return to room 13 for her client, enough time for maybe a set or two and some drinks. Lord knew she needed a nip of Firewhisky to make it through whatever bullshit Draco might put her through tonight.

She knew his eyes were still full of questions, and she wasn't quite sure they were questions he deserved the answer to. It was not like their history was simply grade school bickering; he had outright attempted terrorism, the once pariah of the wizarding world before his mother (like always) bailed him out and put him back in societal good standing. Even thinking about the dark ink on his arm caused her stomach to churn, despite the delicate flowering that had been added as a failed attempt to cover the cursed mark. Many had tried to remove the mark, death finding them swiftly, and even more attempted magical means of tattooing to mitigate the damage it had done to their body and soul. You could dress a Pukwudgie up as an opera singer, but it would still be a Pukwudgie in the end.

Carefully, Hermione set to work readying herself for the night. A black bustier, gold chains hanging from the rims and across the nipples to form a cage had been her selection of dress, a matching faux-leather thong and belt to adorn it. Her flogger clipped easily to the belt; it rarely left her side, all of her set clothing designed specifically for it. She knew the whip was almost sentient, and could feel its warmth whenever it brushed against the soft skin of her thigh.

After removing the crusted mascara from her last session, a client she saw bi-weekly who asked to be hit so hard she had teared up at the pain of her own hand striking his cheek. It would have been in poor taste for him to see her shed the tears, the mask thankfully obscuring his vision from her reddened palm and running makeup. Tonight was for her. Tonight, she would put on the red lipstick that made her feel powerful, the kohl that made her look more dangerous than sexy; everything about her screamed predator by the time her leather galleon bag was slung over her shoulder for her descent into the lower portion of the club. The walk from Room 13 wasn't long, though she dragged it out, making sure that the sharpness of her heels resounded throughout the hallways and alerted the other Chateau workers of her approach. No one could ever say she didn't love making an entrance, at least these days. The Hermione that would meander in the back during school dances was gone, replaced by a Lioness who knew exactly what her audience wanted.

A charm must have been put in place to surround the foyer of the main club room, because as soon as she passed the threshold, deep, sultry music invaded her ears. It was much more upbeat than what was normally played in the dance hall, a tell-tale of a certain redhead who must have bribed the DJ once again to play whatever set she wanted. Sure enough, Ginny Weasley locked eyes with Hermione as she dove down to the hard stage, clacking peacock blush heels together in a rain of illusionary glitter. The grin plastered on her face was so unbound it almost choked the witch up, twirling and running hands through her short locks as she twisted on the stage.

Ginny, albeit shy, was beginning to really make a home for herself at The Chateau. It started because of Pansy, because her girlfriend was making enough money at the club that she could afford to apply and see how she liked it. Ginny wasn't like Pansy; she didn't have her own room upstairs, only serving and dancing in the main lounge. Even if they told the young witch tomorrow that her pay would be docked, Hermione had a sneaking suspicion she would stay; she always looked so free, so unblemished when she did her sets. Sickles and galleons were tossed into the small pail that sat on top of the stage, already piling almost to the rim of the bucket. Each dancer was allotted three songs; Hermione sometimes four. She must be nearing the end of her set.

Hermione approached the long oak bar, acrylics tapping twice to alert Charlie she was in need of a drink. Two firewhisky's appeared and she downed them easily, barely feeling the burn as she approached the black haired witch sitting front row to the stage. Her fingers fondly looped through the soft, sleek hair as she ran her nails across Pansy's scalp. Pansy, in return, leaned back to grin up at the Mistress. "She's pretty amazing, isn't she?" Her grin was full of admiration, gesturing to the redheaded witch twirling around the brass pole. "She looks more comfortable for sure…" Hermione crossed to sit beside the witch, instinctively reaching for her soft hand. Calluses marred both of their palms, either from the pole or from the various devices they used upon their clients.

Pansy gave her a comforting squeeze, worry crossing her features and wrinkling her button nose, "Everything okay, J?".

It wasn't. She knew that Draco was coming back tonight without seeing the name on the list. It wasn't like she couldn't say no either, simply that she wouldn't. On one hand it was a bit of a challenge, on the other, something deeper urged Hermione to allow him to return to her sanctuary. She was still so fucking angry. It had bubbled over last time, and she was ashamed to know that the rage once inflicted upon her was thrust upon someone else- even if that person was her enemy. It had been a promise to herself that she would never act like him, and yet she still felt that burn, the guilt threatening to escape in the form of sobs if she thought too much about it. Pansy didn't need that on her shoulders though, so Hermione simply lifted the other girl's hand to her mouth and kissed her delicate pinky softly. "Yeah, everything is fine, P."

Ginny's set was finishing, her long legs twirling faster and faster with the tempo of the closing song. The crowd was feeding off of that energy; everyone loved "Rosie" as she had called herself, an homage to her girlfriend's own name. Something about the slight innocence and uncertainty seemed to appeal to their frequent clientele, though Hermione didn't dare think too long on why; creeps obviously got off on her co-workers younger expression, the glossy newness of adventure in her eyes that never quite escaped after Hogwarts. The younger witch gracefully descended the stage set, taking her seat in Pansy's open around and throwing her own around her girlfriend's neck, planting a quick kiss on her forehead. Sweat slicked her hair back, minus a few stray strands.

Hermione downed the last of her Firewhisky, pausing only to tuck a stray strand of red hair behind Ginny's ear. Her friend leaned into the touch, and Hermione allowed her thumb to trace over the freckled skin of Ginny's cheek. "Are you going to dance tonight?" She asked in awe, clapping her hands together. "I never get a chance to see your sets, please tell me you are!"

Hermione nearly laughed. Ginny had definitely seen her dance before, and she almost reminded the girl to stay off the rail this time; her friend was quite the encouragement when she reached into her own Galleon bag to drop money into the bucket. As if on cue, she heard the unmistakable voice of the DJ booming over the speakers.

"Well, tonight, ladies and gentleman, we have a real treat for you! Our very own house Lioness will be joining us on stage. This is a performance you are NOT going to want to miss. Welcoming to the stage: Mistress Jade!".

Jesus, that was fast. At one point her throat would have formed a tight lump at the idea of going on stage, though now, the Firewhisky and familiarity brought forth a new feeling: Joy. Performing was not something Hermione had been keen to 5 years ago, but now, her home was both Room 13 and the red oak stage that lay before her. Her black heels made a small click-clack as she stood. Some patrons whistled as they recognized the mane of chocolate curls, many simply applauded. Ginny and Pansy were among them. "Fuck it up, J!" Pansy cheered out, giving her a slap on the ass as she turned to approach the stage.

Already the beginning of her song was playing, the one she had picked tonight. A hush seemed to fall over the crowd as she ascended the steps smoothly, not once faltering despite the 8 inch stacked heels. The metal of the pole was so familiar, so welcoming as she took an experimental dip, earning another round of whistles. The song was in full effect now, flooding her ears with the sultry tones and sending chills down her spine. It was one of her favorites to dance to. More patrons had paused their drinks and pool to approach the stage, a blond man dropping several sickles into the jar as he leaned against the railing. His expression was hungry.

So was hers.

"Jade" was never one for floor work. She loved it for certain sets, yet the residual rage knowing Draco was most likely her client tonight fueled her, lit her with a fire only the stage could extinguish. No, tricks were what she would do tonight. Legs waved deliciously, the leather panties leaving little to the imagination as she spread them for her audience. Her fingers trailed along her breast shortly before she lifted herself upward, inverting into a straddle position before hooking her legs onto the pole. Cheers erupted as she clacked her heels together, the sound earning her another handful of coins into the bucket.

Hermione didn't know just how long she danced for. She flipped, inverted, used her shoulders as a pendulum to lift herself upward. Ginny loved the static tricks and floor work, though Hermione preferred the pole to spin, to give the audience every angle of her creation that she could. The flogger seemed to dance with her too. It wrapped itself around the brass pole, the leather trailing along the sheen of sweat along her skin to wrap around her left asscheek, giving it a soft slap. It never hurt. The whip loved her, and she it. The audience was invisible to her when she danced like this. Rage was a powerful drug, and it fueled her, until she felt a callus on her hand begin to ache, grounding her.

When she came to, noise flooded her, patrons hooting and hollering for her set. Ginny of course had to quite literally weasel her way to the front, her high pitched squeals both encouraging and slightly grating. Outpouring of support was to blame, and for that, Hermione felt her chest tighten with love. Over her head though, towards the edges of the main lobby, something caught her gaze that nearly paused the dance.

White hair.

Draco fucking Malfoy stared at her with an owl expression, gray eyes wide and mouth slightly open. Even from her position she could see only what she assumed was shock on his expression. And god damn…it pissed her off more than she could know. The anger that was beginning to dissipate returned with a flourish of bitterness, coating her tongue and sending chills down her skin. The arrogant bastard had the nerve to show up at all, but during her sets? When she was off of the clock for mistress worked? The audacity of it would have reddened her cheeks had they not already been flushed from the dance. Pansy didn't seem to notice, but she would soon. Hermione let go of the pole as she approached the steps to the stage smoothly.

Charlie, their DJ, looked at her in confusion though she ignored him. Whatever game of chess Malfoy was playing with her, she refused to be a pawn. She was a goddamned queen and would outplay him every day. She could see the hesitation on his face as he leaned towards the entrance, looking like he wanted to dart out of there at any moment. Hermione was faster though. Money pail be damned, her heels crossed the carpet in 10 long strides, and she caught his jaw in her grasp before he could turn to leave. Half-moon indents began to blossom on the pale skin of his chin though she didn't relinquish her grip. Sweetly, she began to sweet, venom dripping from every single word.

"Care for a dance?"