Unenviable

Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with Harry Potter; I do not earn money from writing this story.

A/N: Eternal thanks to my beta, nastygrl, who was utterly swamped this week and still found time for this chapter.

Unenviable

Pressing her shoulder into the wall of the crumbling building, Hermione clutched the small vegetable close and hurriedly grasped a handful of her robes to raise the hem of her robes at one side. Like all the other girls around her, she was now showing one leg nearly to her knee. She hoped that nobody would notice that she did not wear the usual white stockings held up by frippery garters.

Men ran by looking around searchingly, and Hermione turned her face and let her hair fall to the front, effectively shielding her face.

"Need any business, sirs?"

The girls around her were pushing out their chests and twirling their magically enhanced ringlets around their fingers.

"Any business?"

Glancing through her curls that were tousled from the chase, she saw two huge Death Eaters approaching the group.

She tried to melt into the shadows. Apparating was not entirely impossible within the Warren, but the risk of splinching was made insanely high by a sheer net of magic dampening spells.

"Out of the way, strumpets."

One of the Death Eaters roughly shoved a brightly painted girl to the side, while the other grabbed chins and turned them to the light of the single gas lamp dimly illuminating this corner of the street.

Clearly, they were searching for somebody specific and were not just out for some after-terrorising-relaxation.

Willing to embrace the possibility of not reassembling after vanishing, Hermione let the skirt of her robes fall and inched her hand towards her wand when a huge, strong hand slid into the curtain of her hair, closed to a fist near her scalp and drew her head back.

"I think we found exactly what we were looking for."

This was it then. No death in battle, defending the world against darkness, no quiet slumbering into peace after a long and fulfilled life. No, she would meet her end at the hands of some lowly dark henchmen for stealing a piece of veg.

The sheer madness of it all would have been hilarious had it not been for the two wizards in signature black robes, each gripping an arm and dragging her to the Apparition point outside the Warren gates, Apparating her to an unfamiliar part of town.

After a few minutes of silent walking, they arrived at a dark, looming building. The windows were darkened by sturdy shutters with a few slim stripes of light around the edges betraying that there were actually inhabitants inside.

Although she had never seen it before, she instantly knew that she had been brought to Blackhearth, the policing headquarters of all of southern England.

When the heavy double doors opened, Hermione was assaulted by bright light and the loud noise of a large feast or party.

While she was marched through one hall after the other, scantily clad women would stumble in her way with Death Eaters touching them openly and unashamedly in public.

At one point they had to stop for a few moments for her captors to briefly talk with another Death Eater.

Hermione had time to look down a gallery onto the ongoing festivities.

Was this a dark revel? Or just a revel? Or simply an average evening in this place?

She felt reminded of the old monumental films about Roman times. Dancing girls performed in the midst of dozens of low tables; soft couches and pillows were available to couples and groups talking, eating, coupling.

She half expected to see Voldemort himself, lounging on a dais, a ruby or sapphire-cut looking glass in front of his insane red eyes, like Nero.

Their journey recommenced, and soon, they were standing in front of a tall wooden door.

A Death Eater held her by the shoulders while the other let his hands glide over her body. He took his time and was very thorough, finding her wand in the special sheath in her sleeve and taking the bell pepper from her that she was still holding.

She tried to get away when he slid his hands under her robes, up her legs and even over her most private parts. His touch was clinical, but that did nothing to lessen her anxiety.

The Death Eater knocked on a tall wooden door and entered shortly thereafter.

"We have found you something," he announced while the other one kept his steely grip on her upper arms and pushed her through the door.

Malfoy.

She was dead. And it would be a slow death, of that she was sure.

The Death Eater who had entered the room first, placed her wand in a small wooden chest. For a moment, he held up the bright red bell pepper.

"We searched her; this was all she had on her."

Malfoy drew up his eyebrows questioningly for a second, then shrugged it off.

The room was warmed by a fire and comfortably furnished with gleaming furniture and thick carpets over stone floors.

The blond hoisted himself from his overstuffed seat and came to stand close to her. One of his hands came up and lifted her chin; with the other he held her rioting curls out of her face. Her occlumentic barriers trembling but still firmly in place, she was determined not to give anything away if she could somehow prevent it. His eyes looked directly into hers, and for several seconds she thought her knees might give way.

The girl looked nothing like he had expected; she was his age or possibly a bit younger, although he did not remember her from Hogwarts. But then, she could have been home-schooled or have attended one of the other magical schools on the continent. There was no make up on her face. She was wearing simple robes adorned by the mandatory, bright red trimming of halfblooded witches and wizards around the hems of the skirt and the long sleeves. She looked like something he had not seen in a long time.

She looked decent.

He nearly laughed at the irony.

"You have done well. Leave us."

When the door had closed with a low thudding sound, Malfoy sat back down, his long legs stretched out before him.

Hermione stood and waited. Would he draw it out? Make her suffer for hours? Days? Longer? He had always enjoyed tormenting her in school.

"Very demure." She looked up at him with wide eyes. "Is that your specialty?"

The girl had not sauntered up to him to rub herself all over him and arouse his interest. Intriguing.

He stood back up and advanced on her, taking his time.

Oh gods, please make me strong. Please let me die well.

Draco circled her slowly before he finally stopped to stand at her side. Hermione could not suppress a fearful shiver when she felt his hands on her waist and hot breath against her neck.

"Take off your dress. I want to see more."

Would it be worth trying to fight? There were so many of them. Even if she managed to get past Malfoy and maybe out of the door, she would never make it out of the building, and then, her fate would be even worse than what it promised now.

She tugged at the laces of her boned bodice. The robes she wore were faded and worn. Though she hardly had the opportunity to wash them properly, even perfectly executed cleaning spells left some wear and tear behind. With the magic-dampening wards of the Warren, their few pieces of clothing had soon become thin and acquired a washed out look.

Before she slid the neckline off her shoulders and down her arms, she hesitated for a few seconds. Baring herself in front of Malfoy made the bile rise to her throat, and her instincts told her to turn and run.

The robes fell to pool around her feet, and the thin greyish white chemise followed. The witches' robes that everybody was required to wear made it unnecessary to wear a bra, so she stood in her white cotton panties, her arms crossed over her stomach because she did not dare to cover her breasts, her head bowed in shame.

Suddenly he was so close to her, his fingers trailing lightly over her exposed skin of her shoulders, down to her breasts and then rubbing his rough palm over her nipples in a circular motion before cupping them firmly. To her utmost embarrassment, she could feel her nipples grow hard against his hands.

"You are really very good at what you do, aren't you?"

Surprised, her head shot up.

She looked at him with confused, frightened eyes.

"Or are you truly afraid of me?"

What kind of game was he playing? What did he want to hear?

"I ... You are a powerful man."

"I am, indeed," he said softly and started kissing her jaw, her neck, her shoulders, all the while gently walking her backwards until she felt his bed against the back of her legs.

He pushed her down, making it clear that he wanted her to lie down. She complied hesitantly and pressed her legs together tightly.

While he admired how her dark hair spilled over his crisp, white pillows, he unclasped his robes and disposed of his shoes, shirt and trousers quickly.

Curling his fingers around the stiff hollows of her knees, he lifted them up so she had to raise her legs and pushed them apart after a moment of resistance.

He knelt between her knees. His cock could not have been any harder. Straining to find his release in her, he reached between her thighs and found her dry.

His brow furrowed. Did she not use a potion or spell to keep herself ready? Or maybe her usual clients did not like her to be too slick?

Well, now he was her client. And although he could have felt offended at her lack of arousal by him, he decided that it did not matter, he did not know her usual business.

Taking a small vial of oil out of a drawer in the bedside cabinet, he opened it and poured some into his palm. After smoothing it over his erection, he carefully applied the remaining oil to her pussy, letting his fingertips roam over her sensitive flesh.

She jumped a little at the first contact and felt tears of humiliation start to form in her eyes. When he was satisfied with his work, he slid his arms under her knees, opening her wide, effectively immobilising her.

She could feel his cock between her thighs, and the horror of what was going to happen washed over her.

"Guide me in."

She glanced up with a stricken look. Trembling like a virgin, she moved her hand between their bodies, and he felt her small hand around him, positioning him.

For a moment she thought she would lose it and start struggling violently.

"Oh gods!"

Malfoy pushed into her slowly. Hermione could not help but clench her muscles. The man above her creased his brow in puzzlement. Grounding himself more strongly, he nuzzled the spot right behind her ear.

"Open up," he said softly, an instant before he pressed down on her with force. Her body suddenly gave way, and he was enveloped in tight, hot flesh.

Only several seconds later he registered her anguished cry and her hands pushing against him.

This was all wrong.

But her muscles were holding him, clutching at him. A foggy haze clouded his vision of the distressed girl beneath him. He could not stop, even if he had wanted to.

With small movements he started pushing his hips into her. The tight grip of her cunt was driving him mad. He felt as if he was back in Hogwarts, taking a girl for the first time, unable to rein in his excitement and desire. Soon, all too soon he felt the familiar sensation of exquisite pleasure in his abdomen.

He was compelled to move faster, deeper, completely unaware of the rigid state of the female beneath him.

Giving a final violent thrust, he held her down and himself deeply inside her while ecstasy took him over and granted that moment of pure bliss that he had craved.

A few seconds later, he slid out of her and left the bed to walk over to the small table with assorted liquors and crystal glasses of various shapes and sizes. He poured himself a generous drink and swallowed the amber liquid in one gulp.

The girl had turned to her side and drawn up her knees to her chest. He could hear her sobbing softly and could see her shoulders shaking.

The fear, pain and a jumble of other emotions were too strong for her. She lay on her side, waiting for the sound of the door opening to admit the next wizard. Or for the two Death Eaters to take her away to the festivities. Or maybe he would start the process of ending her life now?

This clearly only had been the beginning and she feared what was to come.

Leaning back against the bar table, he looked down on his naked body. His cock and thighs were smeared with blood, as were hers. The crimson stains on the white linen sheets were unmistakable.

Something was not quite right, but he could not grasp what it was. She had come with Crabbe and Goyle without fighting; she had undressed without the slightest protest and had not resisted him until it had already been too late. She had not even pleaded with him to be gentle.

There had been only this enticing shyness, the reluctance to open her legs for him and then the pained cry when he had pushed into her all the way.

There was only one explanation.

"Why did you not negotiate?"

She stilled, unsure of what he was referring to, exactly.

"You could have asked for a lot of Galleons. You didn't tell Cutbush, did you? He would have put you on auction, as usual."

Cutbush? The Warren's panderer? Auction?

Then it hit her like a sledge hammer.

He had not recognised her.

She had not been brought before the High Reeve of South East England for theft.

She had been brought to him as his whore.

Her thoughts were swirling, and she dearly hoped none of all her frantic thinking would show on her much too open face.

"I... didn't want that."

He smiled at her.

"I imagine not."

With this new turn of events, she dared to move her legs over the edge of the bed and then closed the distance to her crumpled dress on the floor.

"Although I could leave it at the usual fare, I will triple the sum. I do appreciate an unspoiled state."

Hermione felt sick. Breathing slowly through her nose, she stepped into her robes and pulled them up around her.

Somehow she managed to pull her bodice laces tight and make a haphazard knot with hands that would not stop shaking and fingers that would not bend at her will. Malfoy had been watching her struggle against the simple garment and extended his hand, a small leather pouch dangling from it.

After a moment of hesitation, Hermione reached for it, but he drew it away, out of her reach.

"Why did you sell yourself?"

Think. Thinkthinkthink.

"I... We live in the Warren. My sister is sick. Potions are watered down and mostly useless. The only apothecary that sells decent quality is expensive. Very expensive."

If you are afraid to be found lying, tell the truth.

He nodded slowly and offered the pouch again to her.

She closed her fingers around it.

The leather was buttery soft and heavy in her hand.

"Thank you."

She felt lightheaded.

A corner of his mouth curled and he smiled a bit, grey eyes warm and soft. It was a disconcerting and frightening sight to see her childhood nemesis smiling down at her.

With a gentle hand on her lower back, he guided her towards the door where he placed his hand on the small wooden chest for a few seconds. The wards around it glowed silver before he opened the lid and extracted her wand.

Malfoy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Come back here next Wednesday. I'll have someone waiting for you at the Apparition point at 7 o'clock in the evening." He brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek. "I'll be generous."

Hermione nodded, vowing to herself that she would be as far away as humanly possible from the Apparition point at the designated time.

Looking at her wand and the dreaded red vegetable that he had placed in her hands in wonderment, she could not believe she was actually going to exit the High Reeve's mansion.

When the door to Malfoy's quarters was opened, Crabbe and Goyle pushed their bodies away from the walls they had been leaning against.

"Escort her back to the Apparition point outside the Warren."

Malfoy took her hand and kissed her vulnerable pulse.

"I'll see you next week, then."

She nodded again. When Crabbe and Goyle guided her through the maze of corridors, she could still feel the warmth of Malfoy's touch on the small of her back.

Her two Death Eater body guards walked her to the Apparition point, and seconds later she was standing before the familiar gates of the Warren.

Crabbe and Goyle kept by her side up to the gates. The guards scrambled to attention and were eager to let her pass without any further search or questioning about her coming back to the Warren after curfew.

Later she would not be able to recall how she had managed to walk down the street calmly. She was sure she felt their eyes burning into her back. Surely, her back appeared too stiff, her steps not measured enough to be inconspicuous.

She forced her legs to walk past the first alleyway branching off from the main street, the second and third alleyway.

At the fourth corner, she finally turned and disappeared from their view. She braced her hand against the grimy wall and vomited violently. After a few minutes she could finally control her breathing. Closing her eyes, she put her forehead to the cold wall, her body limp with emotional and physical exhaustion.

She was alive.

She was alive.