Unacceptable

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

A/N: A big thank you to nastygrl and Sempra for the beta-work, the input and constant encouragement.

Unacceptable.

Bloody hell.

That mousy brown was all wrong on her. Maybe he should approach her discreetly after this business was taken care of. With a few Glamour charms...

The two girls had parted ways, and Cutbush was instantly alert. It was 11 o'clock already. At 8 this morning, he had given out even fuzzier duplicates of the girl's Pensieve shot. He had started to become worried when, forty-two minutes later, none of his men had reported back to him. At forty-six minutes, his 'assistant' had owled him the girl's whereabouts. He had spent the next two hours carefully watching the two girls, following them through narrow alleys, crowded, narrow streets full of dilapidated stalls and into dingy basement shops, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Observing his target, he wondered what attracted a man like Draco Malfoy to a girl that was pretty enough, but no great beauty. Her status as a Warren-dweller did not promise gain of wealth or influence through an alliance either. Or had she or her family angered the High Reeve?

It was none of his concern.

If he had to deliver some girl to the High Reeve in order for the Death Eaters to turn a blind eye, so be it.

Cutbush gave the signal to move in. When the girl was level with a small alley, two of his men moved in front of her to block the view, and Cutbush knew that his most trusted henchmen had hit her in the back with a stupefy. The passersby in the busy High Street of the Warren were either oblivious of the unconscious girl being carried away or chose to ignore it.

Wise choice.

Cutbush moved past the two men guarding the entry of the alleyway. Comparing one last time the image Malfoy had given him to the girl on the filthy ground, he folded the glossy parchment and slipped it into his robes.

Crouching down, he poured a bright yellow liquid on a rag and pressed it to her nose and mouth. Her eyes were both frightened and enraged.

"I know you are scared. It is better for all of us if you sleep a bit. When you wake up, you will feel like a whole new person."

He held the cloth until the panic in her eyes dimmed and her eyelids fluttered shut.

***

The orb did not give the clearest picture, but it did alert him to movement the moment the sleeping girl stirred. He had not had the heart to leave her in her soiled and torn robes, but had the house-elves dress her in a soft, pale blue nightgown. The hem reached her ankles had long sleeves and allowed only the tiniest hint of cleavage to show. He did not want to frighten her.

Draco Malfoy leaned back in his desk chair and observed the sluggish movements of the waking girl. He had already suspected that she had been drugged. No spell would last as long and have such heavy after effects. He had checked her for dark magic the instant Cutbush had delivered the lifeless girl to his office at Blackhearth.

He had been prepared for a business discussion with her, a meeting in which he would offer her an income and protection. But Cutbush had levitated the girl into his rooms, her robes torn and dirty, her hair full of sand and dead leaves.

His heart had plummeted. She had not come voluntarily. What had the panderer done to her?

With barely suppressed rage, he had listened to the ludicrous explanations of the pimp that she had not been willing to even consider leaving her family and that he was sure, at that point the revolting man had bowed, that the High Reeve had much better means to convince her than a simple panderer.

Malfoy had sent him on his way as quickly as possible and had Apparated to the Manor with the girl in his arms.

He left her in the care of his house-elves. He needed time to plan.

Now, several hours later, she had finally woken. Instantly, her hands had flown to the cheap choker necklace around her neck, relief evident when she could feel it was still in place.

Bracing her hands against walls and furniture, she made her way to the window. The ward made it impossible for her to even touch the glass. After the first sting, she stood and seemed to ponder. A few moments later, she aligned her palm with the windowpanes and concentrated. The wards shimmered blue.

The orb distorted the image at the edges like a warped mirror or lens, but it was undeniable. Wandless magic. Even though it was not a complicated spell, she was much more powerful than he had given her credit for. Good to know.

Time to send Nippy to her.

***

Her brain seemed to be wrapped in cotton wool. Coherent thought wasn't possible. She had some strange, unclear memories that pushed to the forefront of her mind whenever she tried to concentrate.

Her signing a contract with some greasy looking man; he had reminded her of Peter Pettigrew, even though he bore little resemblance physically. Standing in a long line of girls leaning against grimy walls. Men. Touching her, above her, sweat dripping from their red faces onto her, stale breath hitting her face in ragged puffs...

She shook her head violently. Those were not her memories. It must have been a sloppily cast memory charm.

Nevertheless, she just knew that some of those false memories would haunt her for a long time.

Getting up from the bed took considerable effort, and for a moment she allowed herself to wonder who had put the nightgown on her.

After she had found her balance, she kept one hand on her choker necklace and steadied herself with the other, using chairs, the small vanity and the honey-coloured wall panelling as leverage.

Her prison, if this was indeed one, was of the comfortable and opulent kind. The furniture matched the panelling and was clearly made for this very room. Sky blue and silver-patterned silk covered the seats of chairs, the chaise longue and framed the windows. Hermione felt reminded of a luxurious B&B she had stayed in for a night while travelling the country.

Taking into consideration the way she had been brought here and the nature of the memories that had been implanted, the probability of being held in a brothel was high.

Again, memories flooded her mind and surprised her with their ferocity. Desperately trying to rid herself of the images and the feeling of being pushed up against a cold and uneven brick wall in a dark corner of a Warren street, her skirts hiked up... Her hands were swatting and beating the air in front of her. Nobody was there. It was all in her head.

How dare they invade her like that! Hermione nearly regretted not having returned to see Malfoy. He could have been a powerful ally, someone to turn to if in need of help. But the risk had been too high. How long would it have taken him to see through the choker's glamour? How many meetings until he would have asked questions she would have been unable to answer?

Would she have been in the High Reeve's favour, would those men have had the nerve to kidnap her?

Hermione suppressed a shudder at the thought that she might not have escaped the fate of a whore when she had slipped through the fingers of the Death Eaters unrecognised. Forcing herself to focus on gathering information about her location, she crept toward the window on unsteady feet.

It seemed to take a long time to cross the few metres between the bed and the window.

The scene outside did not tell her anything. A landscaped, decidedly English garden, gradually flowing into the more and more untamed woods and hills beyond the park. South of England. Perhaps.

Were those white peacocks?

She tried to touch the glass and recoiled in shock. A stinging sensation shot up her hand and arm up to the elbow. When the pain had receded somewhat, she placed her hand near the window, careful not to touch it.

Revelio Incantatem, she thought with all the concentration she could muster.

The window glowed light blue.

Wards keyed to blood. There was no way she could break through something as old and powerful as that. Just for the sake of being thorough, she would try the door next, although she harboured no illusions as to its state of lock.

The low pop of Apparition left her reaching for her wand in her sleeve, her body remembering the motion although there was no sheath and no wand to give protection.

A small house-elf looked at her, ears rotating back and forth as if straining to pick up far away sounds.

"I is Nippy." The small creature bowed deeply. "I has drawn Miss a bath."

Hermione bent down slightly.

"Nice to meet you, Nippy. I am ... Jeanne. Nippy, where am I?"

The elf pulled on her ears.

"I is not to tell miss. Master wills be telling miss tonight at dinner Nippy is to make miss comfortable and help miss get ready. There is robes in the wardrobe."

The tiny creature bounced excitedly on the balls of its feet.

Hermione had not actually expected the elf to reveal anything. Anxious to see what kind of dinner arrangements were planned in this strange captivity, she opened the wardrobe doors.

A single robe of swirling, jewel-tone greens hung in the wardrobe. It was beautiful, and to her great relief, it was neither low cut, nor too short or see-through.

Misjudging her silence, the elf stepped closer.

"Miss is not liking robes? There is plenties to choose from!"

Nippy snapped her fingers, and the wardrobe turned into a swirling rainbow of robes after robes swishing by.

Hermione stepped back in horror. Cold fear spreading through her body at the sight.

"Nippy. How many are there?"

She stepped back further, bringing distance between herself and the spelled wardrobe.

"One hundred and thirty seven," the elf proclaimed proudly.

A hand went to her throat, making sure her choker was secure and in place.

"How long am I supposed to stay here?"

***

The stupid elf has scared her!

He could see her tremble when the elf helped her into the bathroom and shut the door behind them.

Cut off from visual contact, he turned away from the orb that had its twin sitting on a shelf in the guest room and started his own preparations for what he felt could be one of the more important evenings of his life.

***

One polished, creamy marble step at a time, Hermione descended from the first floor landing into the entrance hall.

The building was truly grand with countless doors leading away from spacious corridors and exquisite paintings adorning the spaces in between. It fitted the image of an ancient seat of a noble family much more than the top notch brothel she had been dreading to discover. Goblin tapestries covered the walls to the left and right of the staircase, recounting fables of magical folk and creatures of long ago in intricate images. A unicorn raised its head from nuzzling the cheek of a young girl in flowing white robes to look at her.

One step at a time, Hermione told herself she was strong enough for whatever might await her behind the tall, double doors half way opened to let warm, flickering light spill into the hall.

One smooth, slippery step at a time, Hermione tried to imagine what she would do if, against all odds after being housed rather comfortably, her worst nightmare came true in the form of Voldemort, standing in front of that invitingly warm fire she heard crackling.

Nippy paused in front of the doors and gestured for Hermione to enter. Head held high, Hermione summoned her courage and pushed the doors fully open.

A man was standing in front of the large, open fire. With his back turned and the mantle higher than the tall man's head, the light engulfed him completely and let him appear a dark outline against the flames.

At the sound of the opening door, he turned and stepped closer, white blond hair and a familiar face coming into view.

In a strange way, it was only a slight surprise when the man waiting for her in the dining room turned out to be Malfoy. On some level, it was even a bit of relief. She should have known better than to think that avoiding their agreed meeting would be sufficient to escape him. In school he had always obtained what he wanted. He was a Malfoy after all.

His dark blue dress robes looked impeccable, and with a bit of surprised amusement, she registered that Draco Malfoy could wear something that was not green, black or silver in colour.

This scenario was not what she had expected. Prepared for flight or fight, she decided to wait and see. Let him come forward, let him set the stage. She had escaped once before by playing the role he had expected her to play; she could do it again. Without a word, she took in her surroundings and waited for him to make the first move.

The room had obviously been built to represent the Malfoy family's prosperity and impress guests, who were so fortunate as to attend a function or meal at the manor. Vaulted ceilings, hundreds of years old, spanned the room, intensifying every sound and making it echo ever so slightly.

"Thank you for joining me," he smiled, made an inviting gesture and came to meet her half way. She only inclined her head and watched in silence as he gently took her hand and kissed the back. "Would you tell me your name?"

"I... Jeanne. My name is Jeanne."

He smiled.

"Would you like some Champagne, Jeanne?"

Never letting go of her hand as if he was afraid that she might bolt at any moment, he led her towards the fireplace where a dark green bottle and Champagne flutes were waiting. Pouring two glasses, he handed her one and took one for himself.

"Please."

He drank and noticed that she held the glass, looking wearily at it. Extracting it from her fingers, he took a sip and handed it back to her.

"It is not drugged." Without her ever noticing what he was doing, he had somehow walked her over to the ridiculously long, polished dining table and pulled out a chair for her. The entire situation felt increasingly surreal. Draco Malfoy was treating her like a woman he was wooing.

She had nearly balked when Nippy had started removing body hair, scared by the implications of what the evening might bring.

"I don't know what Cutbush did to you to bring you to me, but please believe me; I did not intend this to happen. All I wanted was to meet and talk to you. I apologise. Please let me invite you to supper. It is the least I can do."

After a moment's hesitation, she slid between the chair and the table and let him push the chair in while she sat down. Food appeared as soon as he was seated.

Hermione forced herself to eat a few spoonfuls of the rich fragrant soup, but set down her spoon very soon.

"High Reeve?"

"Yes?" He did not like her using his title but was unsure what he should offer her by means of address. Mr. Malfoy or, the gods forbid, Lord Malfoy was too distant, but he did not think that she would be comfortable with calling him Draco.

"Why am I here?"

Her voice was so small, yet her chin was held high, and she looked directly into his eyes, meeting his gaze unflinchingly, something very few people dared to do nowadays. Draco Malfoy also set down his spoon. He had hoped to have more time to make her feel comfortable in his presence.

"I would like to offer you a business proposition."

"Business? What kind of business would you be interested in dealing with me?"

As if to gain time and collect his thoughts, he dabbed the corners of his mouth with his damask napkin and laid it on the table, next to his plate.

"These are difficult times. I am in a position of power, which makes me a person of interest for many different people. People who are lusting after wealth or power or both. They... tire me." He covered her hand with his. Such a small, cold hand. "This house has been empty for years now, and I lack a companion when I am here." He curled his fingers around her hand and squeezed it lightly. "You would not have to go back to the streets."

The streets?

Oh, yes. The streets.

"I am willing to pay you twice as much as you would earn working for Cutbush in return for companionship and ... physical pleasure. I just have one additional request."

"And what would that be?" Her voice sounded breathless upon the enormity of his proposition.

"I want to kiss your mouth."

She could only blink. That was his additional request? She had expected some deeply disturbing practice she had never even heard of. But kissing?

"I realise that you would usually never allow this, but it would mean a great deal to me."

As their soup grew cold, untouched, it vanished and was replaced by a beautiful selection of pheasant and vegetables. Things she had not been able to afford for months that felt like years.

"High Reeve?" He looked at her expectantly. "Do I truly have a choice?"

His heart dropped. No, he wanted to scream. Stay here; don't go back to that dangerous place. Just see how easy it was for Cutbush to hurt you.

"Of course, you do."

"If I said to you now that I wish to return to my family, would you let me?"

He struggled to rein in his rioting emotions. Was she rejecting him?

"Then I would escort you and make sure you would reach home safely." Please don't say it! "But I request that you be my guest for tonight and sleep over my proposition. Tell me your decision at breakfast tomorrow." He saw the fear and trepidation in her eyes. "I assure you that nothing untoward will happen." Not as long as we do not have an agreement.

***

That night, when Nippy helped her out of the delicate robes and into a comfortable nightgown, Hermione could not help but wonder.

Draco Malfoy was a lonely man.

And he had just offered her the well-paid, vacant position of his girlfriend.