A Secret

Hermione entered the club tenaciously, passing two body guards standing at the entrance, and resisting Ron’s pathetic pleas to go anywhere else but this “weird looking probably Snape-style slum”. She entered a stately room, with Victorian carpeting, a large mahogany welcome table with a receptionist behind it, plush seating cushions, and various sex-oriented implements on the blue silk-clad walls. Ron, seeing an especially cruel looking cat-o-nine tails, shuddered and lagged behind once more, trying to slow their advance towards the table.

“Mione, why would he be in here? Draco’s a git, he has no idea what he’s talking about! Harry’s not like this…”

But Hermione shook her head and began speaking with the black-haired girl behind the welcome desk, which stated, in black gothic font “Your pain is our pleasure.”

“Yes, entrance for two. No, we’re not members. Yes, we’re aware of the rules.”

The receptionist, wearing black latex with black lace trimming and with more piercings than Hermione could count, nodded and smiled.

“Sit down right there for a moment, please.” She went out and seemed to be talking to someone in a back room.”

“Do you think they’ll let us in? I don’t think you’re wearing the right clothes, Hermione…”

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron’s simplistic banter. He, of course, had no idea what a bdsm club was or what dress it required and had an odd notion that they were required to wear spandex, at which she tried to explain to him that it was latex, not spandex, that they preferred.

The girl came back, saying “I’m afraid the gentleman is not properly attired, but you may proceed, if you wish.” Hermione smirked. She was wearing latex pants, and a tight strappy top that accentuated her curves quite nicely, if she did say so herself.

Ron scoffed and looked down at what he was wearing- black shoes, black pants, and a black spandex shirt. “What do you mean, not properly attired?!”

“Shush, Ron,” said Hermione, thinking that this was much better anyway. She was regretting bringing Ron with her from the second she left the Burrow. However, he insisted. “Mione… I’m his friend too, not just some side-kick that can be left behind! I’m worried about his constant mysterious disappearances as much as you are.” So he here was. Brilliant, she thought.

“I’ll go in and look for him, you can just wait here. Look, they have complimentary champagne,” she said cheerily, hoping he would fuck off for once in his life. Knowing him, he’d make his own personal happy hour here if left for long enough.

“Ok, I guess… Be careful!” Hermione rolled her eyes, and headed towards the ornate door at the end of the room. She went in a hallway with more seating and sensual music playing. Some people were here, sipping champagne, eating strawberries, and probably waiting for someone or trying to get a partner to go into another room.

But Hermione had no time for this. She wanted to see where Harry was. At the end of the corridor, she went into the room labeled “whipping sessions”. She went in, seeing some smaller, private rooms, branching off on the left, but a spectacle going on in the middle of the ballroom- sized open area. There, attached to a whipping post by manacles, stood Harry. Behind him was a youth who looked something akin to a Roman god, with eyeliner of course, shirtless and sweating as he hit Harry with a whip. This elicited a groan from Harry and caused some of the by-standors to increase the tempo at which they were touching themselves or a partner. Someone came behind Hermione and lightly touched her arm, propositioning her to join him in a private room for a session. Hermione shook her head shyly and moved through the crowd,closer to where Harry was positioned. He had his eyes closed and tears were streaming down his face.

Hermione couldn’t say she was surprised. She thought something like this would come up. Harry had so much pain in his life that resorting to something baser and more physical might make him feel better about his life-problems. But enough was enough. Who knew what Death-Eater could be lurking in the shadows here, reporting his new fetish to the Dark Lord?

Not wanting to make a scene, Hermione just watched and waited. Harry, she was surprised to acknowledge, never looked so beautiful. His muscles tightened at each stroke (he was shirtless, but had pants on- ever the modest boy) and his moans grew loader as he was trying to take as much as he could. Finally, with a fourth stroke at exactly the same spot on his back, he racked up a sob and the punishment stopped. The delicious man behind him gave him a gentle kiss and released him from the manacles. Harry fell on his knees and slowly stood up, getting his bearings. The crowd starting dissipating as a new public session was beginning to be set up.

That’s when his eyes met Hermione’s. She could feel the flash of fear going through him as he realized he was discovered. His cheeks turned bright red and he began wondering how much she had seen. Hermione, wanting him to see her acceptance, flashed him a small smile, to which he smiled back.

Harry moved towards her, grabbing two champagne glasses from a tuxedo-clad man on his way.

“Hi,” he said quietly. “Champagne?”

Hermione took the glass from his hand. “Harry, you could have told us. If not us, at least me.”

He shrugged and looked away. Hermione reached out and gently smoothed away a tear that was still left from his ordeal. At this, he embraced her. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”

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My dear readers, yes I am just an emerging, just blooming author, so any feedback or ideas on where to take this will not only be read, acknowledged, but will also visibly be used in subsequent chapters. Pinky promise.