Chapter Two
The Sugarhouse, The Madame's Tea Room (i.e. brothel), was decorated tastefully with light colored wood on the ground and expensive wallpaper clinging to every vertical wall. It was no wonder, the Sugarhouse was the best serviced business in the brothel district. Hermione had seen snatches of news clippings (when they had still been legal to print) that speculated that the Sugarhouse was so far above the other brothels that the Mage Bishops had considered making the tea room it's own district. Hermione imagined that it was that article that had gotten the free newspaper shut down. Everyone knew that the Mage Bishops didn't appreciate any gossip about them or their movements, and Hermione wouldn't have been surprised to learn that the Sugarhouse hadn't been given its own district to spite the journalists.
If she were honest, Hermione could admit that she wasn't entirely sure what went on at the Sugarhouse. Most brothels and service houses were known for something, even if it was only that house's ill repute, but not the Sugarhouse. The comings and goings and services rendered here were under lock and spell, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. This service house catered to the upper echelon, to the Philosopher's Sacarmens and the Mage Bishops, and whatever went on inside the establishment was of the strictest confidence.
Again, if Hermione were honest with herself, she'd admit that she was lucky that Neville's Gran had procured for her one of the Madame's cuffs, even if it put them further on the Ministry's radar. She could have been working for Dentley's which everyone knew was a slaughterhouse, catering to the blood lusting and depraved, who enjoyed slicing up girls and putting them back together again but not always in the most caring of ways. Or even the Cakehouse, where the Master whipped the girls and forced them to bear any customer's child, so that he could extort the father into paying for the child, to keep the Master from alerting the Mage Bishops about the indiscretion. It truly was a blessing, not that Hermione could go on her knees in prayer to give thanks. She wasn't that appreciative.
She knew her place at the Sugarhouse depended heavily on her first few performances. The one grace, in this new life, was the soft quiet solitude of her room. Hermione was no stranger to silence, but silence had almost always come with critical stipulations, when she'd been battle worn, during the deadly quiet after a killing, or that small moment that came between crucios. This silence was almost shy, as if edging around the perimeter, afraid to disturb anyone. She knew her sleep would be restless tonight.
Her room was not grandiose by any means, but it was far more richly appointed than she'd been expecting. There was a small bed, already dressed with linens and quilts. The room had a writing desk and chair in the far corner, along with a small wooden chest, intended for storing personal items and clothes; a quick peek inside the chest let her know that there were already a few cotton dresses and well made, durable flats inside. She pulled out a pair and was amazed that they resized to fit her feet perfectly. It had been a long time since she'd bothered with such frivolous comforts. Behind a door to her left, there was also a small water closet complete with a standing shower. Hermione had never had a bathroom to herself before and found it incredibly strange that current events were what led her to have such a space. She then wondered if she was given this luxury to account for the fact that she wouldn't be leaving her room enough to warrant a shared bathroom.
The most bizarre aspect of the room was the material it had been constructed from. The walls were made of shiny metal like that of the inside of a tunnel, and it puzzled her. The substance was undoubtedly expensive, and quite frankly, it seemed rather excessive. Hermione could not, for the life of herself, imagine why metal walls were used when building and what the metal walls could possibly be for.
A whisper of hollow, metal clanking disturbed the calm mood in her frenzied study session. She looked to the left of her steel suite and found a small opening between the metallic sheets that made up her walls. The slit was too small for anything of substance to pass through, and the whispered words had to shrink and shimmy their way to fit through.
A soft voice said, "New neighbor?"
Not feeling particularly charitable, Hermione managed a strained response, "That's right."
"It's so lovely to meet you. What brings you home?"
Wrinkling her nose, Hermione replied, "I'd hardly quantify this as a home. It's just another prison."
"Closest thing." The soft voice said in the darkness.
Hoping a noncommittal reply would end the conversation, Hermione barely managed a "Hmm. I suppose."
"So, what sort of illusion will you make? The more impressive your creation is, the more interest you'll garner, and the more interest you get, the more customers you'll attain. And, more customers equals more new friends. And, you know what more friends equals."
"I am actually in the middle of planning, if you don't mind," Hermione said, cutting off the other hidden girl. With only house elves and a quiet Neville for company, for the better part of the last three years, Hermione's ability to make small talk had dwindled down to nothing. She knew, objectively, that she ought to make a connection with this person, whoever she was. She'd only have so many learning gaps allowed in this initial adjustment period. When it came to this new government, their expectations, the expectations of a brothel employee and all others that came with those things, Hermione figured that simply speaking out of turn could easily result in her committing some grand faux pas, for which she would of course be reprimanded. Did brothel employees get citations? Would she become a slave if her performance was not well received? How did any of this actually work?
Hermione did know that making an ally of this girl would be prudent, and yet, she was not ready for a new friend. She'd only ever been capable of managing and maintaining a few social connections at a time, before the inevitable annoyance set in, and she wasn't quite ready to replace Neville and the elves' place of importance in her life. They were out there, somewhere, and that they were well. She hoped if Neville had plans to come for her, that he didn't go off half cocked and get himself killed. He was her brother, her family and her heart. Her deeply-tattered spirit couldn't take the thought of what his loss would do to her. And so, Hermione stayed quiet,did not engage, and slipped further into her thoughts.
There was a long winding moment of blessed peace and then, "Very important to plan… say, when you earn your first time off, we could go have some scones and cream? Lovely shop up the road, and they don't mind catering to us brothel girls. And sometimes, if we're lucky, we'll be able to hear the news on the wireless, for a while. Mr. Fingerbutress tries to pass it off secretly, so no one knows he's doing it. Such a kind soul, that man."
"This is all very intriguing, but if you wouldn't mind..." Hermione tried hinting, in vain, to the other girl that she was tiring of their one sided conversation.
"I certainly don't. Haven't had a proper chat in an age. Perhaps-"
"I really must get back to my-"
"Oh of course, well, my favorite trick to bring in men is to create a honey-backed willer womp hunt. It goes over so well, and nothing is truly hurt!"
Her eyes closed, as the voice from long memories and short nights came back into the forefront of her mind. She was a right idiot. Who else could it have been but..."Luna?"
"Yes, it's me."
"My god, Luna." Tears sprang from her eyes unbidden, "It's Hermione! I had no idea you were still alive. My god."
A twinkling laugh, "I knew it was you."
"Why didn't you say anything? I thought you were an oblivious loon."
"Haven't you always?"
"Oh Luna...I- that's not-"
"I didn't say that in offense. I am a bit loony. And, I've never had a problem with that."
Unsure of how to respond, Hermione settled on, "Well, I'm glad you're still the same Luna you've always been."
"How lovely to be exactly who you are. I've found it rather freeing."
"I'm not sure that I can say the same for myself. This life doesn't allow too much of that. No matter, how are you?"
Being the curious Ravenclaw, Luna was not so easily put off and ignored Hermione's question to ask one of her own. It was a trait Hermione could deeply respect, now that she knew who it was coming from, "Well, why ever not?"
"I guess I don't really know."
For once, Luna only replied, "Hmm."
Hermione was too excited and nervous now to let the silence rest, "Luna, please. How are you? What's happened?" Luna's response was as soothing as it was lengthy, and Hermione put her hand to the wall; the space felt warm. Hermione knew Luna's hand was directly across from hers over that deep, metal divide. After their much needed chat, Hermione was surprised to find that sleep took her softly that night. Something that had not happened since those long ago, snowy Christmas nights snuggled under her father's firm arms.
