Slut
Показать бы тебе, насмешнице
И любимице всех друзей,
Царскосельской весёлой грешнице,
Что случилось с жизнью твоей…
Анна Ахматова
A woman walked out of the Assistant's Minister of Magic office, it seemed like she was floating.
Young secretary disdainfully pursed her lips: what do they all see in this old mudbloody slut? She's really neither fish nor flesh... So she's a war hero, big deal. And Hogwarts's headmistress, so what. So what, if she doesn't have enough place on her chest to put all of those medals, she doesn't even have boobs to speak of! Gryffindor bitch. Everybody knows how she made her career. They say she even slept with a Minister himself... That's just gossip, ok, but she definitely slept with Assistant Minister. She wouldn't have worn that silver comb encrusted with emeralds for two months in her hair otherwise. Who else but Lord Malfoy would have gotten that? Even magazines are afraid to publish anything about this fucking reptile: they say she was the Head of the Unspeakables and played with Dark Magic, so now everyone is terrified of saying even one word wrong... And she has a Minister on a string, walks in any office without knocking, Aurors are practically kissing her feet, the school just worships her. Bitch. Old gaunt hag. Or do you think that wise elderly secretary to the Minister is wrong when she shakes her head at her and whispers at her back: 'Slut!'?
The woman unhurriedly strode past the secretary, not bothering to hide a smirk. Thoughts and emotions of that foolish girl weren't a secret to her. The woman knew all about her reputation, moreover, she scrupulously crafted it herself. Results exceeded all expectations. She untied her own hands: what wouldn't be forgiven if you are known as an unscrupulous cold bitch, almost anything, really. What is taboo for a brave and honest war heroine, unprincipled slut can do on any given day, and it won't bring her much trouble or indignation from the public.
The woman slowed down a bit before a door, casually straightened her hair - this move of hers drove all men from six to one hundred and sixty mad - she trained it for that purpose. Today her hair was in a golden net with rubies all over it. You didn't have to read gossip columns to know she was a sucker for a piece of hair jewelry and they were the only gifts she accepted from her lovers. For example, today's 'wrapping' meant that yet another one of her neverending paramours probably went to Gryffindor. All her new jewels were talked about incessantly, but a witch of her rank had a right to a whim or two.
The woman walked through the Ministry to the Department of Mysteries. Sincere smiles, dutiful greetings, looks - greedy, curious, amazed, dirty, cold, and whispers behind her back. A normal reaction to her rare visits. Overhearing someone whispering:' What a slut!', the woman smiled ironically, but not without satisfaction.
Tomorrow all the magical Britain is going to discuss Hermione Granger's new lover.
note: the original work is by Чернокнижница /fic1088