Severus apparated back to his home. Only once he was inside and had the door warded did he remove his anonymity charm. He was exhausted, sexually sated, and overall quite pleased with how the night had gone.
His weekly deliveries to the brothels were normally far less interesting, but as Anne had quit working at Madam Hazel's whorehouse, he'd been in need of a new regular. The task of replacing Anne had seemed rather daunting at first. Severus had been seeing her for years quite contentedly. She was familiar with his tastes and needs; they had a no nonsense business relationship that suited him perfectly. And he'd had no inclination to attempt dalliances with a dozen different whores before he found another that he approved of. He'd been right to go to Madam Peony with his request. Not only had she been eager to make a bargain with him, but she'd had exactly what he was looking for.
Hyacinth was beautiful -from what he'd seen with the anonymity charm- obedient, and seemed just as eager as her mistress to make a deal with him. Even after he'd fucked her ass mercilessly. Though with all the potions she took, he could see how she would benefit from their arrangement. She was smart, not only to take the deal, but also to be so singular about taking the potions. He knew there were only a handful of whores in all of Ireland who took care of themselves half so well. The fact that she was unwilling to take the chance of contracting a disease or an unwanted pregnancy spoke highly of her intelligence.
Not that intelligence was necessary for the job she was doing. Far from it. But still, Severus had always felt more relaxed in the presence of those with sound mind. After so many years of teaching dolts at Hogwarts, he preferred to only spend his time with his intellectual equals. It was a criteria very few met.
Briefly, he wondered how a woman like Hyacinth had ended up at Madam Peony's. Over their years together, he'd learned that Anne had begun working for Madam Hazel after she'd dropped out of school. For her, a whore's life was just fine. With no higher education and no special skills outside the bedroom, a comfortable place in a respected house was an excellent position. Hyacinth, though, was obviously not like that. Suddenly he recalled his stupidity of asking her if she'd planned to stay at the whorehouse. As if her plans for the future were any of his concern. No, as long as she spread her legs for him when he told her, then the rest of her affairs were her own business.
Instead, he turned his mind to her orgasm- as he was now certain that's what it was. He'd been truly shocked, a feat which wasn't easy to accomplish. There had been no overblown cries of pleasure, no feigned shrieks. Only that gasp of her own surprise and then the obvious reaction of her body. Severus had no illusions about his prowess in bed. He knew he was selfish and demanding, so much so that there was little chance his partners would reach climax. One of the many reasons he frequented brothels. But he was also aware he was adequate in size and that given enough time it was possible for a woman to use his equipment for her pleasure. Apparently Hyacinth had been able, with a little leverage and well timed lifts of her hips, to extract such pleasure from their romp. Idly, he wondered if she was merely sensitive or if they were fortunate enough to match each other in size and rhythm which made her orgasm possible.
Not that it made a significant difference to him. Admittedly, he'd enjoyed the feel of her orgasming on his cock. Her sex had squeezed and massaged him in a way even the most talented whore couldn't duplicate. A treat, certainly, but not necessary for him. If he was paying for sex he wasn't going to waste any of his time or energy on how much the whore was enjoying it.
It wasn't that he didn't have any respect for women in general or even women who practiced the oldest profession. Quite the contrary. But had his students ever cared for his contentment as their teacher? Did he make sure the book shop owner was satisfied with the experience when he purchased books? No. A job was a job. Without brothels, Severus would have no outlet for his considerable sexual appetite. He was extremely grateful for the convenience of them. But that didn't mean he was going to romanticize the women who worked there.
Of it's own accord, his mind wandered back to the question of what had driven Hyacinth to Madam Peony's. Sure, there were women who enjoyed sex and happily made their living by it. There were those like Anne who saw it as an easy means to provide for themselves. There were even those so destitute that no matter how deplorable whoring was to them they were left no other choice. The woman he'd been with hadn't seemed any of those. She hadn't turned her face away from him in shame as he'd fucked her, nor did she revel in the act. Perhaps she'd merely accustomed herself to sex with strangers and it no longer bothered her. A means to an end? How long had she been working for Madam Peony?
He reminded himself that these were questions he didn't need answered. His desire to know everything about everything would simply have to be unfulfilled. No doubt if he asked, she would see it as cause to flaunt her whole life story to him and would spend their next session together chattering endlessly. The very idea made his lips twitch into a snarl. Not worth it. Perhaps he would simply inquire as to how much longer she expected to be at the whorehouse. A practical question, at least. Would be be needing to find a new regular in a few months? A few years? He would piece together what he could from her answer and let that satisfy his curiosity.
Surprisingly, he found himself looking forward to postulating on her background almost as much as he was looking forward to fucking her again. Maybe he'd visit sooner than he'd originally planned...
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Hermione wrote a short list on a bit of parchment and slipped it into the box her new regular had left on her vanity. How long was it supposed to take to work? A vanishing cabinet worked nearly instantly. But she recalled he'd said 'a few minutes' when describing the transferring box to her. Two minutes ticked by. Then five. She was just about to open the box and see if her list was still inside when there was a slight rush of air from the edges of the box, followed by light clinking. As soon as it stopped, she opened the box and inside were three healing potions, three contraceptive potions, three immunity potions, and one health potion. The little bottles were crowded together in the tight space. Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Nearly a dozen galleons worth of potions were sitting so innocuously in front of her. She could hardly believe what she was seeing was real.
The deal she'd struck the night before hadn't been just a dream. Now, she no longer had to spend precious money on buying potions to protect herself from the various evils of the brothel. Her mind went into overdrive calculating the rate at which she could now accumulate her savings. Depending on how much of the commission Madam Peony was making went toward Hermione's contract, the half a year she'd been expecting to remain in the brothel could be whittled down to three months. Three months and Hermione could be back on her own feet. Living in a home that was hers alone, buying clothing with her own money, doing whatever she pleased whenever she pleased. And she would never have to sell her body to put food on the table again.
She shivered in delight. How long had it been since she'd felt this happy? Three years, at least. Maybe five. After Harry had gone into hiding, things had changed. Not that she blamed him for his decision to disappear. Reporters had hounded his every step. He and Ginny couldn't step foot outside their home without having their picture snapped a thousand times and their actions dissected by unscrupulous paparazzi. Ginny had gone to see Dean, his wife, and their new baby one afternoon. Despite her caution, Ginny had been photographed hugging Dean when he answered the door. The story had hit the papers the next day with the headline Harry Potter's Fiance Sneaks Out to See Old Flame. The content of the article itself hadn't been damaging to their relationship. Harry trusted Ginny completely and had been the one to encourage her to see Dean and his family. But when the first death threats had arrived from outraged admirers, Harry drew the line.
After understanding, reluctant, heartbroken, and even hysterical goodbyes to their family and friends, Harry preformed a Chainfire spell and erased he and Ginny from the existence of the wizarding world. They were untraceable. Even the people who knew them best could pass them on the street and not recognize them. Over the years there had been the occasional note to let their loved ones know they were safe and happy, but nothing more.
With Harry Potter out of the eyes of the media, it was Hermione and Ron that became gossip fodder when current news stories had been scarce. Their break up had been made public knowledge, private details aired for all and sundry. Despite the fact that the split had been amiable, the spin the Prophet put on the story made it appear that Hermione had jilted her lover and spurned his family. No matter how many times Ron stood up for her, Hermione was always seen as the minx who'd broken his heart.
When living with that mantle had become too stifling, she'd moved to Ireland to start over. The Golden Trio was famous everywhere, but outside of London it was easier to claim a small stake of anonymity. For a little while, it seemed things would settle down. But then tragedy struck. Ron had been killed during a raid. A group of unsavory wizards had been jinxing muggles to smuggle non-magic items to them, where they would enchant them and then sell them to muggle witchcraft shops. When the aurors had raided their workshop, things had gotten bloody. As if his death wasn't heartbreaking enough for Hermione, she'd learned from the papers that the workshop had been only two towns over from where she lived.
As soon as the connection had been made, Hermione was once more dragged unwillingly into the spotlight. Only this time, it wasn't as the harlot who'd broken Ron Weasley's heart, but as the dubious suspect who might have somehow had a hand in his death.
There had been many changes in the ministry after Voldermort's downfall, but with enough public outcry, even the reformed inquisition board had be called in on the case. They were just, and ruled that Hermione had nothing to do with the death. But even cleared of all charges, the suspicion remained. Suddenly, doors that had previously been open to her were shut. She was dismissed from her post as spell mistress, and evicted from her flat not long after that. Staying in a hotel as she fruitlessly searched for another flat depleted her savings quickly. She moved to increasingly poorer accommodations. Once or twice she was able to take a menial job and earn a small amount of money, but soon even jobs that paid under the table weren't to be found.
Hermione had no one to turn to. Her parents had no memory of her. Harry was untraceable. Ron was dead, and while his family didn't blame her for his death, she just couldn't turn to them. In desperation, she had even sent letters to several old teachers asking for information about job opportunities, but she never got any replies. Often she wondered if her messages hadn't been somehow intercepted and confiscated. Or perhaps they had simply washed their hands of her as well.
One night she realized she didn't have money for even the cheapest motel. She'd gone into the alley and given into the urge to cry. After a few minutes, when her sobs eased, she heard groans and panting. Only a few feet away from her, a man had a woman pressed against the filthy wall and was thrusting into her sharply. The witch was making exaggerated moans of pleasure. She opened her eyes for a moment and noticed Hermione staring at them, flabbergasted. She winked, then went back to servicing her customer. Hermione turned her face away in disgust. How could the woman allow herself to be used that way?
But just when she started to rise and flee the alley, the John finished and dropped a galleon at the woman's feet. As he walked away, she snatched it up off the ground. Hermione froze, thinking of a clean bed and a hot meal. Things that could easily be had for a galleon. The witch saw her staring again and cocked her head.
"Bonnie lass like you don't belong in back alleys. Oughta be workin in one'o those high class establishments up on the Main. Ye could do better than the likes of tha' one. Make more gold, too." Then she walked back into the night.
Hermione stayed in the alley thinking about what she'd said until a rat scuttled up behind her. She found herself walking with no idea where she was going. All she could think about were the hooker's words. One customer. Just one and she could have a safe place to stay for the night. A full belly. A bath. And if she got that customer at a full service brothel, she was likely to get more than just one galleon. Perhaps enough to provide lodgings for a week.
When she looked around, she found that her feet had taken her to Main road. Taverns lined the street, and interspersed among them were brothels. The red lights dotted the road like a pox on an otherwise dark street. She wandered past the first few, still trying to bring order to the chaos whirling in her mind. What was she willing to sacrifice to stay alive? To feed herself?
She had always had a healthy view of sex. Her self worth wasn't wrapped up in what she could provide for a partner in bed. It was an enjoyable past time, a fun way to share intimacy, and maybe someday when she was ready it would be how she started a family. She had never been prudish about any form of sex, preferring to be adventurous and open to experimentation with her lovers. And it wasn't that she'd never slept with someone she didn't love. There had been one night stands along the way. Times when all she wanted was physical gratification with no strings attached.
The only question was if she could see sex as a business transaction. Could she trade her body for money? Surprisingly, the answer was easy. Her ambitious, analytical brain said yes. Didn't she put her blood, sweat, and tears into making a potion or creating a spell? And she was able to sell those with no emotional attachment. Her body was just the same. It was a tool at her disposal. Something that she could use to her advantage. Use to survive.
When the resolve solidified in her, she was standing in front of a brothel with two huge peony bushes on either side of the door. Their perfume wafted through the night air and filled her nose. A good omen? Perhaps. The only way to tell was to go inside...
Madam Peony looked up when the bell on the front door sounded. A customer? This late? But no, the person walking in was a young woman, bedraggled and obviously lacking money of any sort. Rather than be disappointed at the absence of business, Madam Peony's mind immediately switched gears and she started to study the girl. Young- in her early twenties at the latest. Pretty, too- she was slim and long legged, but had full, high breasts and a rounded ass that even the dowdy slacks she wore couldn't hide. Her face was dirty and her clothes obviously on their last leg. It was clear she was looking for a job, and from what Madam Peony could see, the girl might not be a bad investment.
"Are ye lost, lass?" She put on her best face of motherly concern and rounded the counter to stand in front of the girl.
"No, I've come to seek employment."
Otch, an educated girl. And far more confident in herself than Madam Peony would have guessed from the looks of her. "You do know what kind of work goes on under this roof, don't you?" When the girl nodded in assent, Madam Peony gave her a critical once over. "Well you certainly don't look like any lady of the night I've ever seen."
"I haven't been, previously. This would be my first job in this...line of work."
"If you've run away from home, let me save you the trouble and tell you to go back."
"I'm an adult. And I've got no home to go to."
"So you're willing to work for your bread and butter then, are you?" She made a tsking sound between her teeth. "I'm not sure you've got the mettle."
Hermione's chin rose a fraction. "I've got more than enough."
"Fine, fine. How about a demonstration then? If you make it through, then I'll give you breakfast and we'll draw up a contract."
"Alright," Hermione agreed, not letting herself feel any emotion at all. She was cold, numb, impenetrable.
"Follow me, then." Madam Peony led Hermione down a short hall and then through a set of double doors. The room was heavily draped in silk and taffeta and smelled strongly of peony. The bed was enormous and sat in the middle of the room. Hermione had the fleeting thought that it looked like a sacrificial altar. But she shook her head and let her mind go blank once more.
Madam Peony went to the cabinet and drew out a small vial. "You're sure you can go through with this? This potion is rare and very expensive. If I take it and end up wasting it because you back out or aren't any good, I won't be pleased."
Hermione had no idea what the potion was, but she shook her head anyways. "I'm positive."
"Okay then, here we go lass." She tipped the contents of the bottle down her throat and then slipped out of her clothes. By the time she had removed her undergarments, her body had gone through a significant transformation. Shapely female limbs had been replaced by muscular, hairy ones. She'd grown much taller and her hair had shortened. Perhaps the most obvious difference, though, was the sudden appearance of a thick erection between her legs. "Onto the bed with you," she said in a now decidedly masculine voice.
Hermione blinked in shock, almost unable to believe what she'd just seen. That wasn't polyjuice potion the woman had just taken. While she was now most assuredly a he, the features were still the same. Whatever potion she had taken hadn't turned her into a different person, but changed her gender! Hermione had never heard of such a potion. She gaped like a fish out of water.
"Come now, this potion won't last all night. Strip." The command snapped Hermione out of her awe and into action. With fingers that trembled, she unbuttoned her shirt and slipped it off her shoulders, then slid her slacks over her hips. By the time she unfastened her bra, her hands were once more steady. She was here to get a job. This was the interview. And Hermione had never done badly at an interview to date. She wasn't about to start now. Confidence restored, she slipped off her panties and laid on the bed. "This might sting a little," Madam Peony informed her as she settled between her thighs.
When Hermione nodded, her 'interview' began. Her mind slipped into a cold, calm place. She did as she was told, switched positions, let her body be adjusted, all with rational detachment. Madam Peony was thorough in her investigation of Hermione's abilities. She studied Hermione's body for any flaw or deformity. She tested how tight her sex was, how well she could keep her teeth back during oral sex, how well she could follow even the most demeaning orders. Finally, she rose from the bed and wiped the sweat from her brow.
"You just might have what it takes, lass." She took a long drink of water from the carafe on her night stand and smiled. "Why don't you get yourself cleaned up while this potion wears off? There'll be breakfast waiting for you in the front room."
Hermione didn't have to be told twice. She gathered her clothes and went to the small bathroom across the hall from Madam Peony's room. Inside, a hot bath was waiting for her. As she sank into the fragrant water, the magnitude of what she was doing hit her. She'd just let herself be used for the prospect of breakfast and a job doing more of the same. While Madam Peony's attentions had been more clinical than lustful, the act was still the same. Could she really do this?
Even as she thought the question, her stomach growled. She could smell bacon and eggs from through the door. Her mouth watered longingly. How long had it been since she had gotten truly full? A month? Two? And if she didn't go through with this, there wasn't an end in sight. This way, she could be safe and well fed until she could get back on her feet. This was temporary. Public opinion swayed as much as a reed in a summer breeze. Soon, people would have forgotten about the scandal of her "involvement" in Ron's death and she would be able to find a real job somewhere.
Her mind already looking to the future, Hermione dried off, re dressed, and went into Madam Peony's front room to eat. While she tucked into a breakfast that replenished itself magically, Madam Peony outlined a standard contract.
"Almost everything you need will be supplied by the house. Your food, clothing, basic necessities. You'll be given a room that you'll entertain clients in, and that will be your own private section of the house when you're not working. Each customer you take, twenty five percent goes to the house as commission. The rest goes to covering your house expenses. I usually start girls out on a two year contract. That's your guarantee to give me two years worth of customers. It's a two thousand galleon contract. While you're here, the house provides the things you need out of the money you earn from customers- minus the commission. If you decide you want to leave the house before your contract is up, you'll owe the house whatever is left on your contract plus expenses you've incurred.
"The only things not covered by the house are potions and liquor. Those you buy on your own. And before you go askin' how you'll have any money to buy them, let me tell you that you keep all the tips you get. Any money that a customer gives you above and beyond his fee is yours alone. You can generally expect a few sickles. Butter him up and you might get a galleon. What you do with it is up to you, but I suggest you invest in a few potions at least. Contract a disease or get yourself knocked up and you'll be out of here so fast your head'll spin. But don't think that'll get you out of your contract. Girls who aren't fit to work in this house go to one of the secondary houses in other towns. You'd be wise not to let that happen to you."
Hermione thought about the contract as she chewed a piece of bacon. It was obviously rigged so that the house profited. But what business wasn't? When she worked as a spell mistress, only a small percentage of what her work was worth actually went to her. Some of it went to fees and various testing, but most was claimed by the company she worked for. The reason anyone put up with it was simple exposure. Merely coming up with a new spell didn't earn money. Marketing that spell, getting it published in books, patented by the ministry, that was how you made money. But one person on their own trying to do those things didn't stand much of a chance. A big company could make a contract with the spell book company.
She assumed whoring worked the same way. Yes, she could go out and work a street corner, but she was far likely to get regular customers, let alone expect to be paid nearly as much. Plus, there was much to be said for safety in a brothel. Not that Hermione was naive enough to believe no atrocities were committed in the house, but they were far less likely to happen than in some dark alley.
"I accept," she said, wiping her mouth daintily and reveling in the feeling of a full belly for the first time in a long while. The magically binding contract had been signed and her life as Hermione Granger was put on hold. Instead, she began a life as Hyacinth, whore at Madam Peony's brothel. She learned to use anonymity charms with ease, perfected her voice alteration spell, amassed a plethora of erotic outfits, and spent her tip money on potion after potion.
The first two years had gone by gruelingly slowly, but they still hadn't been enough for Hermione to go back out on her own. Despite careful saving, she wouldn't be left with enough to start her life over. So she had renewed her contract and kept saving. When she'd finally had how much she felt she needed to get herself started again, she began saving to buy out her contract. Careful planning had gotten her close. And then her new regular had showed up like a fairy god mother.
She was tempted to write up a second list of potions and slip them into the box just to see if they would appear as well, but decided not to push her luck. The opportunity she'd been given was a golden one. She would be a fool to squander it.