Chapter Three

Hermione heard Luna trill out a good morning, and knew it was nearly approaching the time of the official start to her new life. A small house elf popped into her room, dropping a breakfast tray on her small desk, and disappeared before Hermione had the opportunity to give her a once over. She felt a pang in her chest for the elves that she may never see again, and she hoped they were taking good care of her dear Neville.

She approached her tray, like a blood thirsty wolf stalking its oblivious prey, afraid that the nutrient-rich meal might scamper off like a skittish bunny. She slid into her chair and scooped up a heaping bite of porridge with her spoon, hastily shoving the contents down her mouth without tasting. After allowing herself a few more bites, Hermione slowed her attack, upon seeing that the food would not disappear and forced her teeth to chew and tear at the beans and toast until they were turned mush in her mouth. She and Neville had lived on a simple fare, but those meager meals were never quite filling or satisfying enough, and they were certainly never truly warm enough.

Hermione had been lucky that she'd arrived rather late in the day and ushered to her room, without the benefit of being given a proper tour. She hadn't been ready to face the other women or her future customers. There must have been a silencing spell on the hallways because no foot traffic awoke her during the night. She was a light sleeper now; even the brush of a foot on dry leaves alerted her in the silence of the night. It had taken Neville a devil of a time to get used to her ticks. There was no question that uninterrupted sleep was a luxury, and she felt almost dizzy with the amount of energy bubbling within her body and fueling her formerly sleep-deprived mind.

Luna had mentioned last night that the girls rarely had early morning guests; although, everyone was expected to be awake at a reasonable hour and preparing to perform for their numerous afternoon guests. The Sugarhouse was unlike the other brothel houses, in that much of the work expected truly was in a mannerly and genial nature. Many of their clients did actually come for afternoon tea with colleagues and the like, being served with tea sandwiches and delicate arrangements. To hear it described, the scene was almost like the revival of a simpler time in British history, for those who could afford such play-acting, where men dressed in formal attire for meals and women changed from day to evening wear regularly.

As such, the Madame's girls were experts in genteel behavior, manner, and dress. Each girl was polished and often studied or trained to improve their overall appearance and speech. Furthermore, they also often found entertainment in refined pursuits from the likes of needlework, penmanship, linguistic studies, decor designing, gardening (with large brim hats to keep their skin clear and as pale as their natural skin color would allow), musical practice, and of course, extensive, even excessive, reading. It seemed silly to have a finishing school for prostitutes, but apparently, attention to the preparation of the girls' social reception, of sorts, allowed the Madame a certain power. Her girls were not coarse or slovenly; moreover, they were able to serve as a release for the Ministry's upper echelon, a task bestowed on very few.

The only reason the Brothel district existed was to provide a means of blowing off steam. The district the establishment fell in was the smallest district, with the lowest population of all three but was arguably the most powerful, and that was by the good Madame's cunning skill alone. The entire country, save for the Brothel District, doubled down on faux religion and the ridiculous edicts they chose to perpetrate upon their populace. No bedding before marriage, no independent or single women, no raucous parties, no extensive magical use, and no excitement whatsoever. Such a life was like swimming in a sea of dark gray with no color to distinguish up from down. But, the Brothel district was the Ministry's playground, and they most assuredly did play. Sex, alcohol, potions, murder, and all delicious pestilence dwelled in the hotbed of sin that was the Brothels, and out of the limelight, the men of the Ministry reveled in the depravity like dung-covered pigs.

But, even in the pits, a man could sometimes find himself wishing for the finer, more decadent slices of immorality. These were devilish safe havens where a man could dream and play act, a place where a man could forget and forget well. And, that was the Madame's true specialty; cultivating a delicacy in a field full of substandard and often rotting apples; they flocked to it like flies, the lot of them.

Hermione felt her disgust grow, etching itself a place of permanence in her new life, as the bile rose up in her throat. She closed her lips and shook it away. This was a time to be strong; after all, somewhere out there, Neville was waiting.

There was a knock at her door, and it startled Hermione in its briskness. For a brief moment, she feared that it was someone coming to hurt her, but she pushed such silliness aside. On the other side was a girl with white blonde hair and the stormiest gray eyes she'd ever seen. At first, she mistook her for Luna, as she had not seen her friend in many years. But, it merely took a moment's observance, and she knew this was a stranger. The girl's hair was not bone straight like Luna's, but instead, the tresses fell down her shoulders before curling slightly at the ends. Hermione guessed that, if the girl's hair had been cut short, no one would even know it had a small curl. The girl was beautiful, not that Luna wasn't. But, Luna's loveliness stemmed from her soft, round eyes and delicate features. Whereas, this girl's face was all sharp lines and jutting cheekbones; she reminded Hermione of those hauntingly gorgeous fashion models stalking up and down Muggle runways like predators.

Even putting aside her physical features, this girl had an aura about her that even Hermione, the un-prescient skeptic, could not avoid. She vibrated with something that felt somewhat familiar and yet remarkably shocking to her own senses. It was as though Hermione was standing in a room she'd never seen before, but somehow, she had an innate sense of where all the trap doors were. It was uncanny, and Hermione took a step back to regain her bearings. It was only with the additional space between them that Hermione could breathe again and notice that the woman held a covered basket that moved of its own accord.

"Good Morning. I am Hydra, the resident healer. I've come to administer your initial examination. The process will be somewhat longer than my typical health examinations, but as you are new to us and without any recent exams to reference in your medical records, I must be thorough."

"You're a healer?" Even to her own ears, Hermione knew she sounded idiotic, but of all the professions she imagined this person would have, none of her guesses had leaned towards the healthcare field. She looked more like someone who'd wrangle feral kneazles with only her strong stare.

The woman merely tilted her head and raised an eyebrow but did not respond to Hermione's comment. "Am I to be let in, or shall I stand out here and perform the procedure in front of the entire floor?"

Hermione didn't find that necessary and ushered the woman inside nervously. Gripping her hands into fists inside her pockets, so that nothing would appear outwardly amiss, she asked politely, "May I inquire as to what sort of examination is this and what will the subsequent results be used for?"

Her visitor had already started unpacking the contents of her basket on Hermione's desk and gestured for Hermione to sit on the edge of her bed, but Hermione hesitated. The woman sighed saying, " I'll give you a moment to collect yourself, before asking you to undress and place this sheet over your womanly parts."

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione testily questioned the directive "Why?"

"I will be giving you a thorough inspection in order to determine several key pieces of information required for your stay here. Perhaps the most important to you will be your daily price. I will also analyze your natural magical output, your physical health, and your child-bearing ability. Of course, I will take your infamous celebrity status into account. All these factors will come together to give you an initial rate for services rendered and a composite physical fitness rating."

Shocked into silent disgust, Hermione did not respond. Hydra continued, sounding incredibly bored and monotone. "I wouldn't worry about the exam too much. You'll fetch a fair unit even if your insides are made of pudding. You are, after all, the Hermione Granger."

Hydra's tone had been a bit weary if not a little blank, but at the mention of Hermione's name, Hydra sounded a bit different. She said Hermione's name, like merely pronouncing the words themselves, making the letter sounds come together correctly, would physically wound the healer if given the chance. She spoke the name like a dagger waiting to stab its intended victim.

Alerts triggering the synapses in her brain to fire, Hermione said in a strangely calm voice, "I'm afraid I have a meeting with the Madame this morning, for a private matter. I couldn't possibly do this inspection and see her at the same moment. Perhaps, you could come back later?"

Hydra's face flashed with something, but Hermione didn't have time to decide what it was before the girl used a wand to pack up her instruments. Hermione hadn't seen a wand more powerful than Neville's in a long time; she could surmise that the magical output was still capped but to a much lesser degree. "Very well, I wouldn't want you to miss such an important appointment either. I'm sure you know that the Madame is an extremely busy person. As a matter of fact, I just saw her head into an interview with the Brothel's Mage Bishop. Why don't I take you there?"

Cursing inwardly at the daring look on the other girl's face, Hermione weighed her options. She could retract her statement and admit some level of deception on her part or she could play along with the girl, who clearly thought she was lying. She decided that playing it honest hadn't really helped her much and going with her gut had often worked well enough. So, she made what she hoped to be the right decision and continued with the ruse, "I'd very much appreciate that, but the Madame asked me to come alone. And, I should get changed before I see her."

Smiling like a tiger with large teeth, the healer gave her a signal of agreement before striding to the door. "I will be back soon. The exam cannot be avoided." Hermione nodded, as the door closed, before collapsing on her bed. Her mind would not cease wondering why the strange girl made her feel so uneasy.


As luck would have it, Hermione did not have to pretend to see the Madame to get out of her physical examination. A light tapping at her door interrupted Hermione's fretting. She slowly made her way over to answer it; Hermione feared that it would be Hydra again with proof that she had been lying. Still, she opened the door to find that no one was there. The hallway was clear with soft sunlight streaming in through the open windows on either side of the long, skinny hallway. She looked up and down the corridor, but found no one ducking around corners or softly closing doors. In fact, the only thing Hermione noticed was the sound of light piano playing from another room, but she could not distinguish which one. It was unobtrusive and lovely as a single flower bud flowering on a fence from faraway. However, it was a marked difference from the quiet of her room and she realized her room was silenced, which brought on a host of uneasiness.

Just as Hermione was about to close her door again, she noticed a small black box sitting right beside her door, like an old style mail slot like her parents had had. Upon further observation, she saw that some of the seven room doors had a black mail slot in front of them while others did not. Unsure of what to do, Hermione waited as she saw a door a few paces away open. A tall girl with sleek black hair with curlers wrapped at the ends emerged and bent down to open her mail slot and retrieve several notes and letters. The girl looked up and saw Hermione staring at her and nodded her head genially.

"Good Morning, Newbie. You've got mail already?" Hermione must have looked puzzled and the other girl laughed softly and nodded towards the mail slot. "That's the one thing about this place. They never tell you anything unless you ask. So, that's your mail slot. There'll be a tapping at your door when you have new correspondence. Once you retrieve your mail, the mail slot disappears until the next time you get something."

Hermione said, "Brothel employees get mail?" The other girl walked over to Hermione's mailbox and indicated that Hermione ought to open it and so she did. There was a single letter resting in the box and the tall girl nodded.

The other girl's smile almost, but did not quite, meet her dark almond eyes, "Yes, if you're a favorite or popular, you'll get all kinds of love letters, gifts, priceless family heirlooms that won't do a thing for you, extra magical units, marital offers, surrogate offers, payments, tips, and everything in between. And, being the most famous person in the country, I have no doubt that you'll hear tapping at your door all day and night."

Her body reacted without Hermione meaning to do and she trembled, "It's common knowledge that I'm here already?"

"The moment you arrived it was all over the papers and the wireless. But, I wouldn't worry. You're safe here. The Sugarhouse is a favorite of the Philosopher's Sacramens. No one is going to burst in here and take you unless Alba Erica herself wishes it. And if she ever does, there's not a place in the country you could hide."

Picking up Hermione's mail, she inspected it and the girl's perfume wafted in the air calmly. Then, seeing whom it was from, the girl handed it to its intended owner. The expensive and creamy paper felt laden in Hermione's hands and pinpricks hit her on all sides. It was addressed to her and it was from the Madame herself. At once, she felt the weight of the day and night begin rolling over her in waves.

The other girl turned to go and a sense of panic caused Hermione to grab the other girl's hand. She turned and blinked at Hermione before a true smile filled her dark eyes even if it did not show on her face. Hermione found herself unable to speak and unable to ask what she really needed to, but it must have been obvious to spot.

"You'll need to be tough in the most insidious ways. You'll need to wear your femininity and your grace like polished steel or even like a badge of honor. But, you will get through - you're smarter than anything and cunning to boot. But be careful, there are several people who won't like you for the same reasons that I admire you."

Smiling, for perhaps the first time in days, Hermione asked, "How do you know?"

"Hufflepuff, two years behind you. My name is Veronica. I guess I got lucky that it just happened to also be the name of a flower. Come by anytime." With a squeeze to Hermione's shoulder, Veronica disappeared into her own room. Hermione stood in the doorway for a few more moments, listening to the soft piano playing, and wondered what else this day would bring her.

When the tune faded away, Hermione closed her door and went back into her room. She sat at her writing desk and opened the note. Inside was a standard memo outlining behavioral expectations and the like and also had an appointment time at the bottom letting Hermione know that she would in fact have an interview with the Madame in two days' time. Further, she would be reporting to Moonflower's room for training. Hermione couldn't think of a single person that could be more than Luna. Seeing that it was already half past 9 by the clock on the far wall, Hermione nervously walked next door.

She had not seen her friend in many years. Visions of a battered or hurt Luna flew through her mind even though nothing in the Sugarhouse at all seemed abusive or scary. But, all the same, Hermione was worried to see a friend she'd longed assumed imprisoned or dead. A part of her wondered how many other friends and acquaintances she assumed had met bad ends were actually right under her nose. There had been so much chaos as the two factions fought over who had bragging rights after both the Dark Lord and Harry Potter died together and Hermione had thought many of her friends were gone or lost in the wind, like Neville. Her best friend who she worried she'd never see again.

She need not have worried for as soon as Luna opened the door of her room, it was as if no time had passed at all. Luna had grown more willowy and her strange manner of dress was less flashy or gauche. She looked eccentric, yes, but with expertly crafted refinements that displayed the taller girl's maturity. Luna or rather, Moon Flower, was confidently self-possessed, polished, and impossibly lovely. She would be a perfectly competent professor, and it made Hermione feel a sense of tranquility to be in the presence of an older, more experienced version of her dear friend.

Luna reached down and pulled Hermione into her and the two women embraced. Luna's normally flimsy grip was strong as she held Hermione like a child. Hermione felt a wet sensation hitting the top of her braided head and heard a soft sniffing. She realized that perhaps she was not the only one emotional at this impromptu reunion. When Luna pulled back, her face was dry but had splotchy, red cheeks and a resplendent smile.

And for one shining moment, everything was as okay as it could be.


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