Written For:
- The Restricted Section, Shelf 1: Restriction/Guideline - Write a story based in the Trio Era, but you cannot include or mention Harry Potter, Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger.
- Gringotts Prompt Bank/Secret Diary of a Call Girl: (plot/action) Smoking in bed, (dialogue) "I know you don't believe I enjoy the sex, but I do.", (AU) Prostitute!AU, (object) Bed with a canopy, (object) Basque, (dialogue) "I lost my virginity to him. Professionally speaking.", (dialogue) "He wants me to tell him that he's different from all of the rest.", (dialogue) "It starts off all exciting and passionate. Then I get bored, sleep with someone else and leave."
Word Count: 872
"You really expect me to believe that you enjoy leading this kind of life?"
Pansy rolled her eyes across the table at her old friend, Millicent Bulstrode. Millicent was the only person who Pansy had remained in contact with after leaving Hogwarts, and they had become very close friends. Not close enough, however, for Pansy to have told Millicent prior what her true profession was.
For a long time, Pansy let her family and her friends believe that she worked late nights at a wizarding nightclub in Camden. However, that was a lie, and when someone from her past had happened upon her profession, she had desperately needed to tell someone. Anyone.
"I know you don't believe I enjoy the sex, but I do," Pansy retorted, ignoring the sidelong glares she received from the old couple who were sitting at the table beside them. She took a long sip from her glass of wine before replying. "And anyway—it's the only thing I'm good at."
"I don't believe that," Millicent insisted. "I wasn't a model student, yet I still managed to get a proper job."
"You work in the Administration department at the Ministry of Magic, sorting through death and birth certificates," chided Pansy. "How boring."
(She enters the dimly lit room, dressed in lace black lingerie consisting of fishnet stockings and a waist-clinching basque—his request. Her usual choices were red or purple, something that contrasted against her pale skin and cropped, ebony hair. Pushing back the canopy curtains to the bed, a gasp catches in her throat as she glimpses familiar white-blonde hair and ice cold eyes.)
"I saw Draco again," Pansy continued, closing her eyes. She didn't want to see the look of horror on Millicents face when the reality dawned on her—Draco Malfoy was cheating on his wife with a prostitute.
"Again?" Millicent repeated. Pansy cracked open an eye, noting the aghast expression on her friends face. "What do you mean, again?"
"He was my first," Pansy replied. "I lost my virginity to him—professionally speaking, of course," she added. "He was my first client. It was years ago, right after leaving Hogwarts. I never expected I'd even see him again, and he swore that he'd never tell. But...then he booked an appointment with me."
"And you went?"
"He used a fake name!" snapped Pansy. "I wouldn't have dreamt of doing it otherwise. If word came about that Draco had cheated on his wife with a whore, that would be bad enough. But to cheat on his wife with me, someone who is supposed to be respected within the Pureblood community—hell would break loose. My parents would go insane, and I'm sure that Draco's father would have me murdered, or something."
"I don't know what to say."
"Don't say. Just listen."
(Her intention was never to fall into bed with Draco. She had meant to turn his money away, insist that something had come up—a 'family emergency. But something about the look in Draco's eye filled her with something she hadn't felt in a long time—nostalgia.
Soon the nostalgia is filled with something else, and all else is forgotten as Pansy rocks herself back and forth on top of Draco, screaming a wet crimson cry into the night.)
"I didn't take his money. It wasn't about the money."
"Then what was it about."
Pansy put her head in her hands. "I still love him."
(He tries to hand her a sack of Galleons after the act, but she shakes her head, concentrating on the cigarette in her hand instead. She pretends not to pay attention as he pulls his clothes back on, and then shoots a look back in her direction, the smirk on his face as crude as ever. It makes her stomach churn with longing, but she'll never show it. Instead, her face is impassive and pale, dry, uncracked porcelain against the moonlight.)
"He wants to meet me again. But not as a client. He wants to go for dinner."
"What are you going to do?" Millicent asked hesitantly.
"I'm not, of course," Pansy hissed. "They are all the same, these men. He wants me to tell him that he's different from all of the rest. That I'll stop the work, and he'll leave his wife, and we can be together and play happy families. But things don't work out like that." She leaned back, folding her arms. "He should have taken me when he had the chance."
"It could work out, Pansy," Millicent offered quietly. Pansy envied her eternal optimism.
"It won't work out." She drained her glass. "I am not girlfriend material. It starts off all exciting and passionate. Then I get bored, sleep with someone else, and leave. That's why I'm so good at my job—because there are no ties to clients."
"It's no life, Pansy."
"It's my life, Millicent."
(She covers her raunchy lingerie with a trench coat and knee-high boots, and wraps a scarf around her head and hair. Whilst in the bedroom, she loves the attention and the limelight, and she adores giving her client their own personal show.
But when she leaves the hotel rooms and ventures back out onto the wet, cobbled pave-stones, she wants just one thing. To be invisible.)