Chapter 10: Chapter 10Notes:
Oh, hello again. Enjoy :)
CW: Some strong BDSM themes and scenes, dubious consent, reference to underage sex, drug use.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Late!
Hermione tapped her foot on the pavement, grumbling under her breath. She ground her teeth together and checked the time again. Late. Late. Late. Fleur was so late. She had said 3:45PM, had she not? What was so hard about that? She couldn't do this—they couldn't do this—if the blonde wasn't able to follow directions.
She huffed again, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one up as she waited. Inhale. Exhale. Flick. Wait. Inhale. Exhale. Flick. Wait. She looked to her watch again. 4:07. Fucking hell. So Late.
She was burning the cigarette down to the filter, fingertips hot, when she heard a pop. A long sigh in the guise of an exhale, the brunette dropped it and checked the time again, squishing it under her boot as she heard footsteps approaching.
"You're late," she said, watching as the ash beneath her toe smeared across the concrete.
"I'm close enough," Fleur panted, as though she had been running, "Since when do you smoke?"
She turned to face her, "If you're late again, I'm leaving without you."
Fleur huffed and rolled her eyes, "Didn't we determine that we could work more efficiently together?"
Hermione was already shaking her head, "Efficiency is being on time. Efficiency is respecting my time and my plans, just as I will respect yours if it comes to that. Efficiency is us not fighting over everything every two bloody seconds," she closed her eyes and inhaled deep through her nose. She needed another cigarette already. "This is my lead," she started again softly, "My lead, my direction. You're either on time or you're alone. It's as simple as that."
Fleur chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment, watching her, seemingly biting back a comment.
She finally nodded, "Very well, you are right," she opened her arms, "I will be on time."
"Good."
"Good."
They stood awkwardly for a moment. Fleur looked around, up and down the street, and Hermione took the opportunity to look her over. She snorted.
Fleur looked to her sharply, "What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
"What the hell are you wearing?" the Gryffindor asked, her eyes still roaming over her get-up.
"You said wear something to move in," Fleur whisper-shouted back, "I can move in this!" she gestured to her outfit—black trainers, black yoga pants, a black long sleeve and black vest zipped halfway up.
"You look like you're going to a goth pilates class," Hermione commented.
"Well, excuse me for trying to prepare given your vague instructions," she replied scathingly, "I am comfortable, and I will blend in if I need to. The same can't be said for you," she crossed her arms, as if that was that.
Hermione scoffed. She, herself, was in a pair of washed jeans and a navy turtleneck, "I don't know what you think we're doing, but I will be just fine."
"Hm," Fleur grumbled.
There was another beat of uncomfortable silence. Hermione rocked on her heels, muttered, "Well, follow me then," and started to walk down the alley behind the café. She could hear Fleur's trainers shuffling behind her, the blonde's long legs catching her quickly.
"Where are we going?" she asked after a few seconds, looking around. The afternoon light was coming in at a slant across the narrow street, partially bathing the darkened sandstone of the city walls in gold as the other side remained untouched. Florence was an absolutely stunning place, particularly at this time of day.
"We need to get to Piazza Nascosto," she said. Fleur hummed and nodded once.
She looked sideways to the blonde, "Been there before?" she asked, mildly surprised,
Fleur nodded curtly, "Once, for work," she replied.
"Mm. Good," she said, casting her eyes forward again. They walked past a group of teenage boys sipping soda on the curb before she spoke again, "Then you'll know it's similar to Diagon Alley or Place Cachée, in that there's usually a few seedy areas nearby for business owners such as myself."
It was Fleur's turn to snort—somehow she made it sound elegant—but she didn't comment any further, just nodded once more.
"Right, well that's where we're going. Surveillance."
Fleur muttered under her breath.
Hermione looked over to her, noting a distinct change in posture, "What?"
She shrugged, "I just 'ate surveillance."
"Why?" she asked, eyes narrowing, "It's safe. Effective."
"Exactly. Both are boring," she shrugged again.
Hermione sighed, "You can't just go striding into an assassination agency and expect to lay on the veela charm, you know."
Fleur cocked her head slightly, "Arguably, you can," she said, looking pensive. Hermione made an exasperated noise.
"What I mean to say is you shouldn't. We need to know what we are walking into."
"As you wish," she shrugged a final time, and they fell into silence again.
For what felt like the tenth time in no longer than four minutes, Hermione let out another deep sigh. This was going to be an excruciatingly long evening at this rate. They obviously had different methods of working.
Hermione was calculative. Everything had a plan, an order, an intended outcome. It was all about being swift, thorough, and making sure she could get up and do the work again tomorrow. She didn't make mistakes because she couldn't afford to.
For whatever illogical reason, Fleur didn't seem to share those sentiments. Hermione just hoped they could find a middle ground somewhere.
The pair walked a few more minutes before walking through a stone wall that melted away, allowing them passage into the Italian wizarding world. Another five minutes heading south, and the atmosphere already started to change around them again. Excited chatter turned to hushed whispers. Clean glass storefronts shops morphed into shuttered windows and curtains that fluttered as they passed. The smell was heavier, and stale, as if the air itself was choking between crumbling grey walls. The streets narrowed as they wound farther and farther into the testy streets of Piazzo Nascosto, and the breeze was as still and weighty as the dingy shop owners when they passed.
Fleur stood out like a sore thumb. Hermione might as well have been walking alongside a unicorn at this rate. Her silver-blonde hair was practically glowing in contrast to the dampened brick and darkened mood. Dirty men gaped and wrinkled women glowered, but Fleur was unbothered, her bright blue eyes continuing to scan the surroundings. She should have told her to wear a hat or something. It certainly didn't help she was in those bloody leggings.
They rounded a corner. Hermione risked a glance behind them, and then to her right and left, cataloguing every detail in her organised mind. There was an old witch watching them through a window they had just walked by, and the men they passed a few moments ago had started talking in low tones again, but nothing was out of the ordinary. She glanced to the right. Fleur's eyes were darting around, looking up at the rooftops and Juliet balconies lined above them. At least she knew they were getting close.
The brunette glanced behind them one more time before grabbing Fleur's wrist and pulling her down an alley to their left. If you could call it an alley, that is. It was essentially a pathway crammed tightly between two grimy buildings. Not wide enough for a Cormac McLaggen-set-of-shoulders, but enough that the two of them slide through with a few shifts and shuffles here and there.
They wiggled their way farther into the tight passage, breaths reverberating off the high walls to either side of them. Hermione stopped next to a dark brown door. A little too abruptly, apparently, for Fleur bumped into the back of her and they both stumbled forward slightly. A hand reached out to steady the both of them, gripping her just above the hip bone before it was gone in a flash, the print of heat the only evidence it actually happened.
Hermione straightened. Fleur straightened. Both a little red in the face, staring at the dark brown door with their echoed breath taunting them. Her palm was hot, and with a start she realised she still had the veela's wrist in her grip. She released it as though it was burning her hand, pointedly looking away to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks.
"Erm, sorry," she cleared her throat, nodding her chin towards the door, "This is us." She could see Fleur nod curtly out of the corner of her eye, grateful she chose to stay silent once again.
The brunette waved her hand over the handle, unlocking it quickly and watching it swing open with a creak. Fleur moved to step inside, but Hermione held out a hand to stop her.
"Wards," she cautioned, before stepping inside. It was nearly pitch black when the door shut behind them. A few beams of dusty light streaming down from a window at the top of the staircase. Hermione moved up the stairs, gesticulating slightly and muttering under her breath to let down the wards as she went. Fleur followed silently behind.
The staircase climbed and climbed. It was an old Roman building, held up by decaying wood, smooth stone, and disintegrating plaster. Despite the close steps of the staircase—warped and twisted in their age—the steepness increased to the point that it required the witches to play a sort of vertical hopscotch, teetering foot by foot up the treacherous maze. The layers of wards on top of it made it all feel like an obstacle course. By the top landing, there was a rope tied to the side of the walls that they had to hold on to, as the footholds were so misplaced it was more like climbing a ladder than a stairwell. Hermione huffed when she reached the final door, letting down the last ward just as Fleur pulled herself up the last few steps.
"Merde," she panted, looking down at the steep, warped stairs, "'Ow do you get down these?"
"Ha," Hermione huffed, "You don't. Trust me," she replied gloomily, cringing as she recalled attempted descent involving too much Italian wine and a snapped wrist. "You can't apparate in, but we'll apparate out."
"Thank Merlin," Fleur muttered behind her as the brunette let down the final ward.
Rusty hinges cried in protest as the door swung open. The first thing Fleur noted was the dust. Everywhere there was dust. It piled high on the floor and left a thin layer on the single chair by the window. The curtains were drawn, plunging the flat in a grey, sooty darkness. It wasn't pretty and it was unlikely that it was meant to be. Hermione moved forward silently, tugging on the chain for the light switch in the kitchen. It flickered. Once, twice, then went off again.
"Great," she murmured, conjuring a few glass jars and filling them with blue flames before sending them across the tiny flat. Fleur went to stand by the chair. Her fingers lightly traced the curtain before she made a soft, disgusted noise in the back of her throat, wiping her dirtied fingers across her leggings.
She looked over to Hermione again, who was pulling out a tiny object from her back pocket. It was no bigger than a toothpick, but she waved her hand over it, and it elongated to just over a foot.
"What's that?" Fleur asked curiously.
"Telescope," she replied curtly. The veela rolled her eyes, but the Gryffindor wasn't paying attention. She muttered to herself, pulling a few more items from her pockets. Fleur came over and hovered nearby before moving back to the window. It wasn't like there was much else to look at. Her feet shifted restfully as the silence endured.
"Well, it is charming place," she said, "I really like what you've done with the floors," dragging a toe through a thick layer of dust as if to make her point.
"Yeah, yeah," the brunette replied absentmindedly, not taking her eyes off the telescope, "I'm sure you've had your fair share of shitty surveillance posts."
Fleur hummed and moved to the curtain again, trying to see between the small gap and out the window to no avail.
"I take it beyond this window we 'ave something of a view, then?"
Hermione hummed in agreement, her hands busy twisting a dial onto the telescope before muttering a charm.
"And…I take it that it 'as something to do with Sandoval?" she tried again.
Hermione hummed again, focusing on another dial she was trying to attach. The veela sighed and pulled her want out, casting a silent cleaning charm that managed to pick up a fraction of the grime on the floor and chair. The brunette didn't look up.
"Great talk," Fleur grumbled to herself, flopping down on the chair petulantly. It creaked ominously under her weight. She crossed her legs and huffed, inspecting her nails. The Gryffindor continued to ignore her and mutter charms in the kitchen. It took another five minutes, but finally she finished with a, "Hah!" and came over to the window.
She did some intricate charms work with her hand before pulling open the curtain. Fleur peered out, only to frown. There was nothing there to the untrained eye. To the veela, it looked as though they were on the very outskirts of Piazza Nascosto, overlooking the river and fields beyond the magical barrier.
Hermione held up the telescope to one eye, clicking a few of the dials over.
"What…exactly are you looking at?" she asked.
The brunette handed over the device. Fleur took it cautiously, putting it to one eye before looking for herself. She let out a gasp. It was completely different. Buildings, not the scenic river. Offices, from the look of it, in great detail and focus.
Hermione began as Fleur took it all in, "It can see through most wards and charms. Not a Fidelius Charm, for obvious reasons. I used some Muggle logic around learning algorithms, which basically means the telescope gets smarter the more I use it. Magic always leaves a trace in some way or another, and though the ward can often be unique to the caster, there are foundations, which, after removing individual signatures, are easily deconstructed. This device can essentially detect those traces, configure the necessary counter-spells, and then it basically spits out a lens that renders the wards momentarily transparent. A f—uh, an acquaintance of mine helped me develop it."
"This is…Mon Dieu," Fleur said, unable to look away from what she was seeing, "The amount of charm work that must 'ave gone into this," she muttered.
"It took over a year to develop. Like I said, I had some help," she shrugged.
"So, what am I looking for?" she asked, still absorbed in the lens. She reached her hand up and tentatively clicked a dial to the left. It zoomed the lens in too far and she pulled it back.
"That's his office," Hermione pointed straight ahead, "He doesn't seem to be there right now, but hopefully he'll show up."
"What if 'e doesn't?" the veela asked distractedly.
"We come back until he does."
She groaned, "So boring."
"Not boring, effective," she corrected. Fleur could feel her watching her watch the window. Another tick to the dial. She mouthed "Boring."
Hermione sighed.
"This is miserable," Fleur whined, "'E is just sitting there! Can't we get in some'ow?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because."
"Because what?"
"Because I said so," Hermione said, removing her eye from the telescope to glare at the veela.
"That's an answer for children," she frowned.
"What an insightful assessment," the brunette muttered, setting her eye on the lens again.
"Not funny," she leaned her head back against the wall. They switched an hour ago. Fleur spent nearly ten minutes scourgifying a one-meter area, but even with a conjured cushion she was uncomfortable.
"And you're sure we can't order a pizza?"
"Jesus Fleur, we've been here for—" she checked her watch, "Sixty-eight minutes. It's not even dinnertime."
"I bring snacks to my 'ide-outs."
"Good for you."
"And wine."
"I've tried that," she winced again at the memory of her snapped wrists.
"We should 'ave come prepared."
"Well, by all means, bring something next time."
The blonde huffed. Hermione sighed.
"What even 'appens if 'e comes in? It's not as if we can go barging in, non?"
She twisted a dial, "No. We're waiting to see where he goes after work. There's no chance we can get through to him in there."
"'Ow is that going to work? Couldn't 'e just apparate?"
"Normally, yes…" Hermione murmured distractedly, twisting one of the dials and squinting her eye tighter, "but I have a feeling…ah, yes…I mean, there's something…there. Right? I think—I mean, it's hard to say for certain, but maybe it could be…"
"You're rambling," Fleur said, not unkindly.
"Oh, sorry, um," she pulled the telescope away and looked up at the blonde lingering by her shoulder, "I think he's grounded."
Fleur raised her eyebrows. Grounded was an industry term, and no doubt the veela had grounded a fair share of wizards and witches before. It meant Sandoval was tagged—normally with an anklet device—and limited with an anti-apparation charm, completely unable to move freely. The Ministry will have fit him with a few dedicated locations he could go—generally just between home and work.
Fleur let out a small hum in the back of her throat after looking herself for a few moments, "You're right, 'e is definitely grounded. You can see it in his gait. They're quite 'eavy, those anklets, and 'e over-exaggerates drawing 'is leg up. You see?" she handed the telescope back.
Hermione stuck her eye to it and felt Fleur shift beside her. Something warm grazed against her left shoulder as she focused on Sandoval again, peering through the lens. He was standing in the corner of his office talking to the same young wizard, gesturing wildly. He looked unhappy.
The Raven squinted into the telescope and waited, watching with interest when he finally moved around his office. Fleur was right. He picked his left leg up too high. He was overcompensating, as if there was a weight strapped to the end of it.
A voice spoke softly by her ear, "Do you see it?"
Hermione pulled away from the eyepiece reflexively, startled by how close Fleur was to her. Inches away from her face, looking at her.
Their eyes met, and the brunette suddenly had a moment of déjà vu. A memory she tried to stow away years ago flicked through her mind like a highlight reel. Grimy floors and low light. A loud creak as the walls groaned. The scent of vanilla in the air as a breath moved across her cheek. The same look in Fleur's eyes as she glanced down at her lips.
Fleur chewed on the skin of her lip for a moment before releasing it. Hermione tracked the movement and then some, watching the fine muscles in her neck as she swallowed, and then glanced back to her lips. Someone's jaw clicked and she didn't know who. She snapped her eyes back up and found Fleur's on her again, her mouth set. Eyes blackened blue and burning into her.
She took a step back.
"Yeah, I-I saw it too," she said lightly, letting out a shaky breath and avoiding that crystalline gaze.
She looked back out the window.
"It's good news," she cleared her dry throat, "If he can only Floo between a few guarded locations, it means he's more likely to hang around here—"
"'Ermione," Fleur said softly.
"And then we can tail him easily. Or at least—"
"'Emione," she said, even quieter this time.
The Raven ignored her, stepping closer to the window. She yanked the magical telescope back to her eye. Sandoval's office was empty.
"Fuck! He's gone."
"Gone?" Fleur asked, coming to stand next to her again, her attention out the window now.
"There's no one in his office," she shrunk the telescope back down. "Come on, I think we can catch him leaving," she held a hand out. Fleur took it and felt the pull as they apparated and landed behind the brown door they started their climb at. Hermione wasted no time to pull it open, scurrying down the alley with the veela hot on her heels.
They took a left and ran up the road until the street narrowed. Another left, past an empty market until Hermione held her arm out, halting them both to peer around the corner of a building.
Their rapid breaths were loud, but the veela could still hear Hermione mutter, "Oh, shit."
"What is it?" Fleur panted, finding Sandoval's jet-black hair through the 5PM crowd.
"Noooo, no…" she groaned.
"What? What is it?"
"Please don't, please…" she begged to no one, hissing through her teeth as Sandoval took a left and knocked on a black door with a golden handle.
Fleur frowned. The door opened a sliver and Sandoval was speaking to someone in low tones. Hermione anxiously ran her hand through her hair as the back of Sandoval disappeared from view behind the door.
Her shoulders sagged as she exhaled with a quiet, "Fuck," Fleur's eyes kept bouncing between the forlorn witch and the black door.
"What is it?" she asked, "Where did he go?"
"It's…" she trailed off, grimacing.
"Yes?"
"He went into a clubhouse," she offered. Fleur frowned.
"A clubhouse? What kind of clubhouse?"
"It's a place for…specific tastes?" she said lamely, cringing as it came out.
"Mon Dieu, stop speaking it riddles and say it!"
She took a deep breath. Her throat bobbed before she replied, "It's a sex club."
A bell was ringing in the distance. Some birds fluttered past them before Fleur could speak again.
"A sex club?" she asked.
"Yes."
"What does that…entail exactly?"
Hermione looked sharply to her. Her eyes narrowed, "You're not stupid. I'm sure you can put it together."
She nodded, swallowing thickly and looking back to the black door with the gold handle.
"Do we go in?"
"No. No," she straightened, shaking her head, "We need to know his routine. Who knows," Hermione said, feigning a chipper attitude that didn't match to the dread in her eyes, "maybe this is a one-off."
Fleur nodded.
It wasn't a one-off.
Sandoval left his office at 4:59PM every day, and by 5:07PM he was knocking on the black door with the gold handle. Hermione and Fleur would wait across the street, silently stewing in their own thoughts as his back disappeared into the shadows.
It was now the fifth day since they had first seen him enter. On the fourth day, Fleur had seen enough.
The gold handle clicked tauntingly back into place from across the street, Sandoval disappearing behind it again. Fleur shook her head, muttering in French to herself and kicked off the wall to face the grumpy Gryffindor.
"We need to go in," she said resolutely.
Hermione sighed, running a hand through her curls, "I know."
"Tomorrow?" she crossed her arms.
"Tomorrow," she echoed, her eyes focusing on a stone behind the blonde's shoulder.
"Same time?"
She shook her head, "Later. I'll meet you here at seven. Better if he has a head start."
Fleur nodded. Hermione swallowed and cleared her throat quietly.
"You know what we need to do, right?"
"Oui."
"It works better together."
"Oui."
"It will draw less attention."
"Oui."
"In some ways, at least," she murmured to herself with a grimace before shaking her head, her eyes focusing on Fleur again, "We'll need to…act…a bit. Are you okay with that?"
"I 'ave been undercover before," Fleur replied. After a pause, "We can do this."
Her jaw tightened, "I'll see you tomorrow at seven."
The sound of the zipper echoed around the expanse of her bathroom, hurdling her back to reality. Merlin, did she hate these boots. They would be killing her by the end of the night. She moved over to her left foot, slipping her wand into the small space by her ankle before she dragged the zipper up over the inside of her calf and just over her knee. Standing up, the veela walked to her bathroom mirror and grabbed a tube of lipstick. Leaning forward over the counter and pursing her lips, she swept the bright ruby across her lips and rubbed them together in a practiced movement. Placing the tube back into her makeup back, and took a step took back a moment to assess herself in the full-length mirror.
The reflection looking back was satisfactory enough, she thought. The woman in the mirror had her glamoured brunette hair in a strict bun with smoky eye make-up framing her eyes. Knee-length leather boots draped out from under her black overcoat, to which she pulled on the belt, synching it tightly around her waist. All in all, it was the impression she was going for.
She gave her reflection another affirming nod before turning on the spot, landing in the alcove at 6:59PM. Hermione was already there. Fleur nodded and walked over, eagerly taking her in as she did so.
Her hair was tumbling down in shiny curls. Her shoulders were bare, olive skin contrasting wonderfully against a deep, wine-red dress made of some silk material. The fabric hugged her lightly in some areas and draped elegantly in others. The low back and slit up the mid-thigh just about left just too little to the imagination, much like seeing a gleaming present wrapped up neatly under a Christmas tree.
"You look…good," Fleur finally said.
Hermione's eyes—green today—were on her, taking her in as she did the same. Fleur vaguely noticed the facial changes of her glamour—a slightly wider jaw and different nose shape. She would have cared if she wasn't so distracted by her cleavage.
"As do you," she cleared her throat, "We should…probably cover off some ground rules."
Fleur quirked an eyebrow, trying to keep her eyes up, and waited.
"Have you ever been to a place like this before?" she asked quietly, nodding to the infernal door in question.
"Non, not personally. We did an arrest once but all…activity 'ad ceased by then."
"Okay," she took slow breath in, "There are open areas and private rooms. There will be a lot to look at, but don't act as if you've never seen it before. We'll need to look as comfortable as possible."
"Okay."
She continued, "I've done some research. This is…not a place where there are many bystanders. It's wealthy. Socialites and platinum memberships; that kind of thing. They are very selective, so we will need to…engage, in some capacity or another, to avoid outright suspicion. Does that make sense?"
"It does."
"Good. Okay, we need to talk, um, logistics then. Do—"
"What are your limits? Kinks? Do you 'ave a safe word?" Fleur interrupted.
Hermione's eyes widened briefly at the directness, and she looked away, trying to fight the blush in her cheeks.
"I'm…not certain it needs to get that far…"
"It might or might not, but the more I know the better."
"I thought you hadn't been to a place like this?"
"That doesn't mean I live under a rock," she rolled her eyes, "One doesn't need to be in a restaurant to enjoy a bottle of wine, hm?"
The brunette blushed, and nodded in agreement, "Alright, well, I don't like abuse. Or humiliation, or anything like that. I need to know anything that is happening, and I'd like to consent to it."
"Bon. Anything else?"
Hermione's throat bobbed. The movement drew blue eyes to the expanse of her chest.
"I…No kissing. We aren't going to be kissing," she said, "And you? Any limits?"
Fleur met her strange, wrong green eyes, "I don't share. Real or fake, that's just not my style. My safe word is 'short snout', but feel free to come up with something else," she shrugged.
Hermione coughed in surprise, "Erm, no. No, that's fine."
"Bon," she smirked, "Let's go."
She walked towards the black door and heard the quick pace of heels behind her.
She put her hand on the handle just as Hermione caught up.
"Ready?"
Hermione nodded.
"It will be fine. Let's find this ass'ole," and she turned the knob and pushed the door open.
It was impenetrably dark when they gazed inside. An empty shell of colour and light, eerily lacking in movement and texture. A voice suddenly echoed in Fleur's ears.
"Qual'e 'il tuo scopo?"
She turned to Hermione, who apparently heard the same thing. Her eyes were darting into the inky blackness, her brow furrowing. Thinking. Fleur didn't know what the voice said, but she had a vague idea.
"Siamo qui per diventare," Hermione replied.
"Allora diventa," the voice sounded in her head again, and the door opened farther. They stepped inside, swathed in the blanket of blackness as the door closed behind them.
Once it clicked shut, it was if all the lights came on. They were in a lavish entryway. Walls painted a deep, dark green, with a modern leather couch and some tasteful artwork hanging above it. Two doors broke up the space ahead, and the door they came through was no longer there.
The door to their immediate right suddenly opened and a women stepped out. She had black hair in braids piled neatly atop her head, a black cocktail dress, and dragonhide heel boots. She smiled, dagger-sharp white teeth shining between her full lips.
"Welcome to The Palace. My name is Adaora. How do you do?"
"Very well, thank you. And thank you for having us," Hermione answered in Italian.
"Do I detect an English accent?" she asked in a thick accent of her own.
"Ah, yes. My Italian is rusty," she admitted, "Actually, if you don't mind, could we speak in English? My partner is not fluent," she gestured to Fleur, who gave a confirming nod.
"Of course. Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable," she gestured to her door.
They walked through and were met with a simple, stereotypical scene before them; a deep red couch, black paint, and silver ornaments teemed around the spacious room. Hermione and Fleur took a seat in front of her desk. Fleur reached over to grab her hand.
Adaora took a seat at her desk. With another smile, she asked, "So, may I ask what how you found us if you are not native to this area?"
"We have an acquaintance who is a fond member here," Hermione answered.
"Ah wonderful. References are such a flattering aspect of this business."
"I imagine. May I ask what the membership requirements are? My partner and I are looking at a few options on this side of the channel," she explained, lifting up Fleur's hand and placing a small kiss to the spot between two joints. Fleur's skin buzzed. She gave her a practiced smile with laden eyes, and they both drew their attention back to their host.
Adaora's smile didn't move, but her eyes gleamed at the movement.
"You two have a wonderful energy together," she commented before pulling out two pamphlets from a drawer, "To answer your question, we require a severe deposit for our club, and our fees are outlined here. We do not tolerate any practices ill-suited for this community, and consent from all parties must be given for any activity you wish to participate it."
Fleur reached her free hand forward the brochure.
"Thank you," Hermione nodded, "We're seeking a safe space for our adventures. Do you have a "free pass" policy here at all?"
"Of course. We would still need a deposit, but you'd be welcome to try our club for free for a week if you so wish."
Fleur gripped her hand lightly as she flipped casually through the brochure's pages with her free hand.
Hermione shifted in her seat, "Do you need identification?"
Fleur looked up, feigning nonchalance at the question.
Adaora smiled tightly. Her hands clasped in front her, "Whilst we appreciate and respect the journeys and passions of all our members, we do require the identities of our members to ensure safety and protection. I do hope you understand."
Fleur slowly closed the brochure. She didn't know why, but she leaned closer to the brunette and whispered in her native language against her ear.
"Do you trust me?"
A slow, subtle nod.
"Look at me."
The wrong colour eyes met hers, but Fleur stared into them anyway. She let a hand slide up Hermione's arm, over her shoulder, and wound into the hair at the nape of her neck. Green eyes fluttered slightly when she tugged, her nails scratching slightly against her skin.
Fleur leaned in again, "Now look at her," she said quietly.
Hermione met eyes with Adaora and Fleur held her hair tighter as she leaned in further and licked the shell of her ear. Both women jolted. Fleur tightened her grip again. She reversed directions and felt the brunette shudder slightly when her teeth pulled against her earlobe. A hand fell on her thigh and a shaky breath left the woman beside her. She pulled back to find a pretty blush across the Raven's cheeks, her eyes still on the hostess as she had asked.
Fleur stood slowly. Adaora was watching Hermione with hungry eyes, but at her movement they shifted to her. Pools of black met her own blue and the veela smirked.
"'Ow about we go back now, and per'aps you'll see us play for real?"
They walked further into The Palace in silence, Hermione's brow drawn together in what Fleur was coming to understand as her overthinking face. A long corridor swathed in inky colours echoed as their heels clicked against the hardwood floors, leaving Adaora's office and sharp-toothed leer far behind them. They met another black door with a gold handle and Fleur looked over to Hermione's questioning gaze.
Ready? she seemed to ask.
The veela nodded.
Hermione pulled on the handle and the door swung open.
The first thing to reach her was the smell; the thick, musky wall of sweat and sex mixed with a faint sweet aroma that filled her nostrils and sat heavily in the back of her throat.
Then were the sounds, coming in waves once she paid attention to them in turn; the hum of low conversations interrupted by the crack of a whip behind an unknown wall. A deep groan. Tinkering laughter. Clinking glasses. There was a rhythmic slapping sound somewhere, but Fleur couldn't be sure where it was coming from.
Finally, the two of them turned the corner and were able to feast their eyes to the other senses.
It was unlike anything she has seen.
There were rooms, cages, and stages positioned tactfully around the venue. Six corridors webbed out from the main area, with doors lining the walls as far as her eyes could see. The floor was teeming with witches, wizards, goblins, vampires, and more. On the main stage was a masked woman in a beaded thong, her raspy voice singing along to a slow, sultry tune that sent shivers down Fleur's spine.
"I am the twisted and wandered
Come to see heaven below
Journey where no light is captured
In the place only dark souls will go"
On the smaller stages of the main floor were the usual tricks Fleur might have expected; a witch dripping hot wax onto open skin; a man being whipped with a riding crop, groaning into a gag nestled between his teeth; a live orgy show with five individuals shimmering in sweat under the low lights.
And then there the things she could never have imagined; a woman pleasing herself with an elongated tongue; a vampire chained to a chair, skin sizzling as a wizard draped silver jewellery over his chest; a man being tickled with a transfigured feather walking across his chest and tugging at his nipples; a dominatrix in leather performing Shibari bondage with a spell that vibrated and tightened the rope the more the submissive moved.
"Fleur."
"Hmm?" she looked over, eyes wide.
Hermione gave her a crooked smile, "You're staring." Her eyes dipping to her lips, down past her neck, and back up, "We belong here, don't we honey?"
Fleur felt her face relax into the façade she'd always bore so well. She smirked. An eyebrow rose in challenge, "Bien sûr, ma cherie. Where to?"
It was a delicate dance as it turned out. The first time they were, there they went in, walked a few laps to get their bearings, and left. The next time, Adaora gave them another free pass along with a dark, coveting smile, and the two spent more time figuring out what areas were meant for what.
By their fourth visit, Adaora had waived the need for identification and Fleur footed the cost of their premium memberships, including full access to all areas and private rooms. She made a mental note to have another awkward conversation with Rambourg about her expenses.
They still hadn't spotted Sandoval, and the more they visited the harder it was to go unnoticed in more reclusive rooms. So, they moved in circles, never landing in one room long enough to attract any real attention, but long enough to know what the room was deemed for and if a certain black-haired Italian was present or not.
It really was acting. If they looked too unengaged, they were more likely to be approached by an interested party or couple. If too engaged, they would lose focus, which is what seemed to keep Hermione frustratingly just at arm's bay despite the circumstances.
It meant a lot of smiles that meant nothing and touches that went nowhere. Sometimes it was her fake-kissing down Hermione's neck as she looked around a private room. Sometimes it was the brunette pulling her hair, mouth on her ear, her hands running up her sides. It was quite the game, and Fleur much preferred this to sitting in some dusty, dingy death trap of an apartment waiting for scraps of information.
What she didn't prefer was the brunette's insistence that they couldn't kiss despite Fleur trying to convince her it would make things ten times easier. She felt dizzy, overheated, and uncomfortable with their mess of "acting skills" thus far. She had resolved herself to staying focused on the job at hand, but every time she felt fingertips pressing into her hips, as they were doing now, she felt a twisting heat rock her through her abdomen. She didn't feel as though she were acting at all, and she didn't know if Hermione felt the same, but this point she'd kill Sandoval herself if it meant she could have more.
The bass of the music rung in her ears as a deft mouth pulled on an earlobe. Another ripple ran down her spine, and her eyes rolled back for a moment before training them on the room again.
"Anything here?" she heard hotly in her ear, hands winding into her hair once more. She knew the tug by now. Nails scratching slightly, and a pull against her temples that wasn't hard enough. Her skin was on fire after days of light foreplay and she just wanted more.
Fleur let out a long breath, ducking her nose into the witch's neck.
"Non," she murmured, kissing at her collarbone. A sharper tug on her hair only made it worse.
"'E's not 'ere."
"Are you sure?"
"Oui," she placed a kiss against her collarbone and drew in her scent not unlike an addict.
"Did you look in the corner?"
"Oui," she sighed, her tongue darting out for a taste of her like a woman starved.
"A—" Hermione's head dropped forward when she bit down. Her chest pressed against hers, and back, "Are you sure?"
Fleur pulled back to look into her eyes. Green and wrong again. She exhaled, "I need a moment."
She extricated herself from the tangle of limbs that had become comfortably uncomfortable over the past week and moved towards the door.
"Hey, wait!" she heard behind her.
She ignored it. The moaning and slapping in her ears was making her feel crazy, untethered to reality. She needed some air. Air that didn't smell like sex and someone else's cum and her.
"Stop, Fl—Fuck. Merlin, wait!" she heard again, closer this time.
"Just give me ten minu—"
"I found him."
She spun around. Hermione was glamoured and dishevelled, but Fleur could practically feel the excitement radiating from her. Another slap of skin followed by a deep moan from across the room rang in her ears.
"Where?"
Hermione grabbed her hand. It was soft and cool despite the heat of the room. She pulled her down the corridor they had just left. The bass met her ears again as the lights shifted to a deep, strobing blue. The smell was overwhelming. She could taste it. Salty like the ocean, yet synthetic like new rubber; a sensory overload in the best and worst way. She tuned it all out and focused on the hand pulling her down the dark hallway.
The younger witch weaved between bodies until they reached a door on the left. Another black door with a gold handle. She looked up to her.
"I saw him come in here."
Fleur nodded, putting her hand on her lower back in what she hoped was a comforting touch as her other hand turned the knob.
Her thrall, normally a slow, swelling wave under her control hurdled outward, tensing and testing the room like a muscle she never knew existed. She blinked. It was dark aside from some torches on the wall, a thin layer of steam created a filmy haze across the floor and ceiling. Fleur quickly noted that this room had a frantic, darker, more dangerous energy compared to the other rooms. No one so much as glanced at them. Most of the club members in this room were completely naked, and actively engaged in some sexual acts much more explicit than the public rooms.
Hermione looked up, silently questioning if they should continue. Fleur slowly nodded.
They took four more steps and the door shut behind them. It smelled fresh, somehow. Really good, she couldn't deny that. It was light and airy, yet there were notes of something more complex. Much better than the hallway. She felt a hand in hers and it was soft. Soft. Really soft. She brought it to her face and inhaled.
She smiled. Coffee and springtime. Light, yet rich in flavour. Goddess, it smelled good. She felt so good. She inhaled again and pressed her lips to the back of the hand, but then it was tugged out of her grip.
Hermione was looking at her through a mask. That sick mask she was made to wear looked confused. Fleur felt a shift inside her. Airiness replaced with heaviness. Darkness. Anger, suddenly weighing on her stomach. If it continued she would suffocate in it. Drown from it. She would have to rip that fake face off of her. She wanted to tear it off. Tear it apart.
The fake face moved her lips. Fleur followed them. Hermione. Soft. Smooth. Beautiful. She felt light again. Weightless. Free. Her chest loosened. She was happy. So, so blissfully happy all of a sudden. She could fly if she wanted to. She'd always wanted to fly, like her grand mère. Her coat would weigh her down, surely. It felt too heavy for such a thing. She began to pull it off. The silk lining brushed down her arms and made her shiver.
Oh yes, that was better. She took another deep breath in. Oh, yes. She was in heaven. Alive, hopefully, but that didn't matter. She was drinking in her elixir. Bathing in it. Pure oxygen after a lifetime under sea.
Something touched her again. A hand on her forearm. She exhaled. It felt so nice. It didn't feel like a hand. Too soft. A fur blanket instead. She followed the hand up to find a familiar face again. Her eyes looked the right shape. She could still see her there. She was still lovely regardless. So beautiful. Achingly beautiful.
Fleur covered the hand with her own. Silk on silk. Water the perfect temperature. She could feel it everywhere. Heat. Pressure. A perfect pressure. At the crown of her head, deliciously on the arches of her feet, at the crook of her elbows, her nipples, between her fingers and toes. Between her legs. Just from this one gentle hand. She moved. Closer to the source. She had to get closer. She tucked her head into a neck. Ran her fingers through what must be the softest hair in existence. The scent felt stronger. She was getting lightheaded. Need more. Too good. Too hot.She untucked her blouse and ripped it open. Buttons pinged across the floor. Cool air met her skin, her heaving chest.
She gasped when lips suddenly met her shoulder. They moved to her collarbone. Her neck. The contact left heat in its wake. Stinging heat, coursing through her untamed. Demanding. More. More.
Her hands were still running through silken hair. It all smelled so fucking divine. She tugged, pulling the face, any face, up to hers. She found lips. Soft, marvellous lips. She kissed them, breathing in more life which each drawn breath. Good. It's so good. So, so good.
A tongue slid against hers, tasting her. A moan echoed in her mouth. Her fingers ached. Everything ached. She was hollow. Full and empty. She tore at her own clothes. Their clothes. She didn't care. She would kill, die, if she didn't have more. Take more.
The saccharine air was stifling. Sticky hands heavier, pushing, pulling them down to the floor together, tearing off clothes. Fleur's skirt was bunched up by her hips, her bra strap loosened. Hands gripped her ass hard. She cried out, laughing in hysterical rapture. Please. Please, more. She bit down on whatever flesh was nearest. A soft cry, then a moan. She bit down again and pulled harder on the jeans in her way.
A light suddenly washed the room in dim brightness. It made her slow for a moment. They both slowed. A slight breeze washed through, diluting the thick air with reality. Wrong. Good, but wrong. Something was wrong. A hand was up her skirt. Under the string of her thong, gripping her ass. She frowned. Another slithered up her ribs, nails scratching. Her own hands were scraping, scratching up and down a smooth back. Palming a round ass under soft underwear.
The door shut, taking the light with it. Sounds distorted and the energy grew frantic. Each breath became harder despite tasting cloyingly sweeter. Her skin itched. Crawled. The familiar coil in her abdomen was becoming unbearable. The voice in the back of her head becoming more urgent. More insistent. A deep, foreign instinct demanded her to find release. A craving need to fill and be filled. To thrust. To take.
Hands were under her bra. A weight on top on her, mouth on her neck. Her chin. Lips. A tongue against hers. The warmth between her legs was agonizing. She rolled her hips up, moaning when heat blossomed up her spine, down to her toes. Yes. More. Take me. A glass broke somewhere. The body on top of her froze.
She licked the shell of their ear. "Fuck," someone groaned.
The warmth and weight between her legs and on her breasts was suddenly gone.
"Come back," she begged, reaching out, but they were already too far. It hurt now. The aching hurt. She tried moving. Tried to press against the hard floor. Rubbed her knees together to stop the pain. She needed them back. Needed release.
Suddenly the door opened. She was being pulled up to her feet and dragged towards it. She frowned, tugging back on the hand closed around her wrist. Dragged her feet. Panic rose in her chest.
"Non," she whined. She began hyperventilating, sucking down the thick air before it would be gone. She pulled harder against the hand, leaned back towards the darkness. Away from the light.
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" she heard. The hand let go before tight arms circled her waist.
"Excuse me!" she cried as she was lifted a few inches off the ground and rushed towards the hallway. The hallway. She stopped squirming as it all came back to her, gulping down clean air, her breath still laboured.
Hermione set her down gently in the pulsing corridor. It was as if she had awoken from a dream. A terrifying dream. Blue lights were flashing red now. The distortions had ceased. Everything looked as it should—angular and cool beneath the shifting lights. She looked back to see a hazy sea of naked bodies before the black door closed behind them.
The younger witch tentatively brushed her hand against hers. Fleur folded their fingers together and followed as the brunette gently pulled her down the hall in what she knew to be the direction of the exit. She didn't say anything. Neither of them did. She wasn't sure what to say even if she could. There was an uncomfortable wetness in her underwear. A pitiful reminder of last twenty minutes. The two of them took their time collecting themselves outside in their usual spot. The black door with the gold handle close enough to see glinting under the streetlight.
It was Hermione who spoke first.
"Here. Your coat," she offered, holding it out. Fleur pulled it on, not realising she had been without it and how cold she was now.
"Merci," she said softly.
There was a clicking sound as Hermione lit a cigarette. Her hands shook. The flame flickered off and she swore, clicking a few more times until she had it lit. She inhaled deeply, resting her head against the stone wall.
One eye cracked open. Brown again. She held out the cigarette and Fleur took it, her own hands shaking slightly. She pulled in a deep drag, letting the rush to her head settle her nerves. She handed it back. Hermione closed her eyes again and Fleur took the moment to study her. Her jaw looked about the right size again. Nose and lips the right shape. Tattoos still glamoured. She could have been the same women from five years ago, but she wasn't. She knew she wasn't.
"What do you think it was?" Fleur asked.
She didn't answer immediately. Rather, she brought her hand back to her mouth, took a slow inhale of smoke, and handed it back to the auror. The veela took it gratefully. They stood in a cloud of shared smoke for a few more moments before she replied.
"Amorentia, but reformulated. There were spirals when we first walked in. They just looked small and less defined. The smell would make sense. The reaction was just…heightened."
"A mild understatement," she muttered bitterly.
"I'd have to think about how they did it. Maybe I can deconstruct it. Make an antidote," she rambled, losing herself for a moment in possibilities. Fleur waited patiently until she came back.
"Sorry, by the way, for, um…yeah," she gestured awkwardly towards her. Her torn buttons were fixed, but she knew she was still crumpled and dishevelled.
"Me, too. I didn't...I—" she stumbled, "Thank you for getting us out."
The brunette was already shaking her head solemnly, "I very nearly didn't."
They passed the rest of the cigarette between them in silence. Hermione had the embers beneath her shoe when she spoke again.
"I saw Sandoval. When we first got there," she clarified after Fleur raised an eyebrow, "I think it was affecting you first. Your eyes went black. Your thrall was…angry? I could hardly breathe. I was talking to you, but you couldn't really hear me," she paused, memories shifting behind her eyes, "Before it hit me, I could see him in the back with a few men."
"Men?"
"Well, boys might be a better description," she winced, "They looked young."
"Underage?" she looked over sharply.
She thought for a moment, "They must have been over-age. They have age lines all over those places."
"I certainly 'ope so. I'll be back with my badge tomorrow otherwise," she promised. Hermione hummed.
There was a pause. They stood in an alleyway nearby, the Gryffindor halfway done with another cigarette as the smoke curled against the frigid air. Fleur pulled out her wand and cast a heating charm on the both of them.
"I wouldn't have guessed," she started again.
She let out another exhale of smoke, "Is it really something you can see?"
"Non, I suppose not."
There was another pause. Fleur knew she should go. She needed to speak to Julian and Harry tomorrow, and it was far past midnight. Still, she didn't want to just yet.
"What 'appens now?" she finally asked.
Hermione looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since they came outside. Fleur hoped she knew what she was asking.
Will you run away again?
Are you okay?
What will make you stay?
She bit the inside of her cheek. Fleur waited.
"We get some sleep and keep going tomorrow," she said, as if it was the most inconsequential thing. A moment later Fleur was alone. Alone, but smiling.
We.
She laughed softly to herself and turned on the spot, leaving the black door with the gold handle behind her for another day.
Notes:
I will finish this. Life is busy. Beautiful and wild and busy, but I will finish this. Be patient with me darlings, and hope you are all well.
Love,
Psych xx