Vengeance

Vengeance
Chapter Two


By Vashka


Disclaimer: I don’t own anything… really I don’t. It all belongs to J.K. Rowling.

000

The object of art is to crystallize emotion into thought and then give it form.
-Delsarte

000

Draco Malfoy was long accustomed to the finer things in life. In fact, many would say that he was the wizarding world’s foremost connoisseur of all things decadent and disgustingly expensive. Which is why, when meeting with his associates, he preferred to meet at less… conspicuous… places. The sort of places he usually would drop dead before he would even sneer in their direction.


Draco Malfoy walked through a narrow passageway off the main corridors of Knockturn Alley a few days after the robbery. As he observed the decaying bricks with disgust, a hag with most of her teeth missing tugged on his robes.


She grinned. “What’s your pleasure, lordling?”


Draco stared in disbelief and disgust for a few seconds, before giving her his best glare. “Get away from me you disgusting creature, and don’t ever speak to me that way again!”


As she scuttled away in fright, Draco shuddered at what ‘pleasures’ she had possibly alluded to. Oh, that is an absolutely disgusting mental image! Ugh. Mental note: have the house elves burn these robes. If it wasn’t so necessary to keep a low profile, I think I would have hexed her nose off.


Draco plodded along, mentally cursing the nasty old woman to dust. As it were, Draco was so preoccupied he almost missed his destination. He abruptly stopped at a small, rickety wooden entrance with a large sign overhead depicting a fat, ugly green animal-like thing. Faded letters over this monstrosity read ‘The Lizard’s Tongue.’

Before stepping into the pub, Draco casually took in his surroundings. No one was in the dank corridor except a passed-out old man lying on a heap of refuse a few feet away. Looking at the man suspiciously, he cast a quick spell to see if the old man was really unconscious. (Hey, it never hurt to be a bit paranoid these days) Finding all was as it seemed, he quickly pulled out a small bottle from his robes and unstoppered it. He plugged his nose delicately, grimaced, and then chugged the contents very quickly.


Draco’s pale complexion looked a bit green for a moment, but then his features began to change. His blond hair darkened to brown, his pointed chin became rounded and soft, and his tall, lanky body shortened and gained weight. In a few moments, Draco Malfoy was gone, and in his place stood a rather uncomfortable looking Vincent Crabbe in ill-fitting robes.


Damn it! Why can’t Crabbe go on a bloody diet? I can’t breathe! What the heck was that tailoring charm again? Argh… Let’s see… Engorgement, elongation… Ah! Yes, that’s it! Draco, you are a genius. I can make even Vince look good.


After straightening his clothing, Draco rather smugly entered the pub, and then immediately wished he hadn’t. The décor really wasn’t so bad for such a low-level establishment, not up to snuff for the Malfoy family, but then, not much was. The establishment really wasn’t that dirty either. What was so off-putting was the smell. A mixture of old socks, tobacco smoke, and sour ale made Draco’s sensitive olfactory nerves go haywire. He had to stop his gagging reflex, and he barely checked himself from pulling out his handkerchief and covering his nose and mouth. Not very manly, that.


Draco quickly scanned the Lizard for his target. Spotting him casually sipping a glass of ale, he casually sauntered over to his table and took the seat across from him in front of another glass. He carefully inspected it, and upon finding it dirty, gave his companion a sneer.


“Next time, I choose the destination”


His companion smirked, “What? This place is quiet, out of the way… Everything you asked for.”


Draco glared, but as he was in Crabbe’s body, the effect was lost on his companion. “You know my sense of smell is incredibly strong… Greg. Even as Vince, I can still feel this stench permeate me.”


Gregory Goyle simply smiled. “Let’s talk business, shall we? I assume you want to get out of here as quickly as possible.”


“Merlin, yes. Let’s skip the pleasantries.”


Goyle leaned closer to Draco, “I know that I could lose my head for this, but I think you need to know that you’re being set up.”


Draco sucked in a deep breath, almost choking on the stale air. When he had sufficiently recovered, he stammered, “What?!? I’m a bloody legend! They can’t get rid of me!”


Goyle quickly glanced around the bar, and leaned closer to Draco and hissed, “Quiet! Remember who we are.”


Draco remembered that he was currently occupying the body of one Vincent Crabbe, and that Crabbe was not in the habit of sitting blot upright with an expression of bloody murder. He slowly slouched down into his seat and managed to put on a dully puzzled expression.


Goyle, assured that Draco was sufficiently chastened, continued. “Now, through certain… sources… I have learned that someone has been planting ideas into our Dark Majesty’s head. It seems that he is being fed information that you are not satisfied with your current status, and that you are planning an insurgence to take the Crown for yourself.”


Draco choked on his ale. “And he believes this rubbish? With my heritage? With my record of service?”


His companion looked at him almost apologetically. “Sorry mate, but I can almost see his point. Your family is incredibly powerful, and you have proven yourself a very competent wizard. You are almost too perfect a follower. Our king has become very paranoid now that the threat of Potter and Company is out of the way. It’s only natural that he would turn and destroy any perceived threats to his power.”


Draco leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. He looked at his companion and sighed. “Bloody hell.”


Goyle grimaced, “Indeed. Bloody, bloody hell. I heartily agree. As I am closely associated with you, if you take the fall, I likely will as well.” He glanced at his watch and slowly drained the last of his tankard. “Well, hour’s almost up. Want to leave and go somewhere more… sanitary?”


Draco smirked, “Please. But I think I will need to scrub my whole body ten times before I get this filth out of my skin. Never mind that polyjuice always makes me feel so… dirty afterwards.”


Goyle stood up and headed for the door. “Lovely. I have the perfect place in mind.”


000

The club was ancient, large, made completely out of moss-covered stone; it looked like something straight out of the middle ages. Which, of course, it was. The massive oak doors had intricate carvings of hideous demons and sadistic scenes from the underworld. The place even came complete with its own gloomy atmosphere. Elsewhere, it was a bright, almost cheerful night. Here, there was a feeling of danger, of some vague threat.


There was a sudden loud –crack- and two figures appeared.


Gregory Goyle checked his watch quickly and sighed. “Only a few more minutes. Thank Merlin for small favours.”


Draco, meanwhile, was examining the club with a detached air. “‘The White Devil’? I haven’t been here in ages. Isn’t this the club frequented by all of those doddering men too old to get it up anymore?”


Goyle chuckled a bit and said, “Now, now, no need for vulgarity. You really haven’t been socializing much recently, have you? This is the most popular place for the socially conscious Wizard to be on Friday and Saturday nights these days.”


“Really? This mouldering dump? Why is that my friend?”


Goyle shot him wicked smile that looked completely out of place on his usually slack face. “You’ll see.”


“Hmph. I do hate being out of the loop on these things.”


“I know, that’s what makes you so fun to tease.”


Suddenly, Draco felt a tingling sensation, starting from his fingertips. “Finally! I think this bloody potion is wearing off.”


As his form slowly returned to its natural state, he contemplated how truly superior his body was. Ahhh, I am a sexy bastard. Polyjuice gives me such a dirty feeling, I need a bath. A long one. Preferably with those self-scrubbing bubbles.


He quickly adjusted his clothing to his figure. Not his usual exquisite tailoring, but it would do in a pinch. While he was at it, he cast a freshening charm to rid himself of the residual stench of the bar. Primping complete, he turned to his companion. “Oi, Zabini, you finished yet?”


The newly transformed Blaise Zabini was in the middle of straightening his robes. Draco walked over gave a quick sniff, and sneered “Hmmm, better cast a Freshening charm, you stink! Did you roll around in filth before you went to that dump?”


Instead of being offended by this comment, Blaise merely raised a single eyebrow and said calmly, “Well, I did have to do some research before our meeting, and I couldn’t be too conspicuous. But then, you do live to stand out, don’t you Draco? Spying doesn’t suit you at all.”


Draco, noticeably miffed, “I can go unnoticed if I want. However, who would want to miss my entrance? I make things much more interesting.”


Blaise rolled his eyes, “Yes, yes, you are a god. Now have you finished primping yet? I am freezing my arse off out here.”


The two men walked through the large doors, and the majordomo quickly rushed to their side. “Lord Zabini, so good to see you again! And Lord Malfoy! It has been too long since you have graced our establishment with your presence. Can I take your cloaks?”


Blaise gave the man a small smile and said, “That would be splendid Roderick. I have to ask, is Helena going to entertain tonight?”


“Yes milord, Helena performs every Friday and Saturday night.”


“Splendid! My friend here has never had the pleasure of seeing Miss Gardiner perform.”


“Indeed? Well, then he is in for a treat! Can I do anything for you, anything at all?”


“My usual table and a bottle of wine shall suffice.”


The man looked slightly offended at such a simple request, but took it in stride. “Of course, follow me.”


The man led them from the entrance into a dark, winding hallway. The hallway looked very long, but there must have been some spell to keep the walk from becoming tiresome to the guests, as they arrived at the main lounge very quickly.


Roderick paused, then opened the door. As Draco stepped into the room, he felt that he had been transported to a far away, exotic land. The walls and ceiling were covered in a light, filmy, white material, making the room look, for all intents and purposes, like a large tent. The floors were covered with rich Persian carpets, enchanted to change their patterns the closer one looked at them. Small, low tables were dotted around the room, each with two to six young wizards chatting around them, lounging on lush, inviting pillows provided for their comfort. Lit only by strategically placed torches, and small lamps on each table, the room seemed to reek with mystery, and seemed about as far away from England as one could get.


As Roderick led them to their table, Draco leaned towards Blaise and murmured, “Well, they have certainly changed this place, haven’t they? The clientele, certainly, has improved. Though I don’t remember the Arabian theme being altogether popular these days, I suppose it is quite intriguing, isn’t it?”


Blaise slanted a look over to Draco and said, “Well, to tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure what the room would look like.”


Draco was confused. “But I thought you said that you came here regularly?”


“Yes I do, but that’s the beauty of this club. Every Friday, Helena sings a set of regular music, takes requests, the usual entertainer routine. But every Saturday, Miss Gardiner does a new type of extravagent performance. Muggle, wizard, it doesn’t matter. And every time, the décor changes to complement the performance. It’s all about the atmosphere, you see. Very clever woman, Helena is.”


Intrigued, Draco said, “So she actually performs muggle music?”


Blaise gave a little self-deprecating smirk, “We purebloods are nothing if not hypocritical. The minute we win the battle against the muggle-lovers and mudbloods, their music comes into fashion. I have to admit, it is quite entertaining, and I rather like some of the more… risqué… attributes of it.”


By now, Roderick had stopped at a table with a particularly good view of the stage. As he pulled out a corkscrew, a bottle of wine appeared on the table. With a flourish, Roderick presented it to the two men.


“Here is a bottle of Merlot from the Ever-Blooming Vineyards in the South of France, vintage 1935, as you requested Lord Zabini.”


He opened the bottle, let Blaise smell the cork, and had him taste to see if all was to his satisfaction. Bored, Blaise gestured for the man to hurry up and fill their glasses. Ritual completed, the man took his leave.


Draco, swirling his wine around in his glass, took a deep sniff. “Ahhh, that’s what I like. Hopefully this will take my mind off all of the shit happening at Court.”


Blaise, jerked out of his contemplation of the stage and the strange instruments lined up by it, looked curious. “Ah, yes, your investigation of the already infamous robbery, how could I forget? Going well, is it?”


Draco leaned back into his cushy pillows and ran his hand through his hair frustrated. “There is no sign of forced entry, no sign of tampering with the wards around the vault, and the guard remembers nothing. So, no, the investigation is most definitely not going well, thank you very much. His Majesty is most displeased with the situation. Thank Merlin I wasn’t the one to design security on that thing.” Draco gave a delicate shudder, and continued. “The strange thing is there was no way to enter that vault without a key, absolutely no way. And with His Majesty at Hogwarts, the key would be impossible to obtain. Which is why there was only one guard on duty at the vault. No point in guarding something impossible to get into, is there?”


Blaise, looking into his wineglass thoughtfully, was silent for a moment. When he looked up, his eyes had taken a dark cast. “Draco, what was in that vault?”


Draco’s eyes narrowed as he glanced around the room surreptitiously. He leaned into the table, and under the cover of pouring himself more wine, spoke lowly into Blaise’s ear. “Have you ever heard of the Goddess’s Orb?”


Blaise looked at Draco sharply and searched his eyes carefully. Determining that Draco was telling the truth, he sat back on his pillows and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they had taken an odd shimmer, one that Draco recognized form their school days, the one they had when Blaise had cooked up a particularly sneaky plan.


Draco, understanding that now was not the best time or place to follow this line of thought, turned his attention to the stage. “This is certainly a long break isn’t it? Shouldn’t the performance have started up by now?”


Blaise, obviously understanding Draco’s pointed topic change, smiled a little and said, “Helena Gardiner is a smart woman, she knows that a little anticipation is what really gets an audience’s juices flowing. She’ll be out in no time, and with all this opulence, I am sure to be highly entertained.”


Draco, noting a strange look in his companion’s eyes when he mentioned this Helena, said nothing.


As if their speaking her name had cast an enchantment over the room, the torches around the room sputtered and the flames suddenly died, leaving the small table lamps the only source of illumination.


The silence in the room was sudden and profound. Draco was certain that he could hear the individual beats of his heart the room was so still. Absently, he wondered if any silencing spells had been cast over the room.


Lub-Dub. Lub-Dub. Lub-Dub.


He watched the stage for any traces of movement, and was disappointed to find none. Looking at Blaise, he found the wizard transfixed by the empty stage. Quickly glancing around the room, he found most of the wizards there in a similar state. Irritated by their obvious fixation, he lounged indolently on the pillows. Idiots. All this for a woman. A woman performing muggle music no less.


Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump.


As Draco watched the morons staring at the stage as if it could disappear at any time, he noticed that the steady beating that he had associated with his heart was really a drum, a drum playing slow, soft notes that could be mistaken for heartbeats. He shifted his attention back to the stage and saw that it was now shrouded with mist. The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand up. What the hell?


The drum began to speed up the pulse. Drumming, drumming, drumming, until the beat permeated everything around him, became a part of him, owned him. Drumming until he could stand it no more, until his blood was boiling with anticipation.


Only then, did she appear.


Shrouded in mist, there was only a slight silhouette. Her hips were moving to the beat, pulsing in time to the rhythm that had taken over his consciousness. As the beat sped up, her hips and thighs swayed seductively to the music, her arms lifting above her head, her hands making graceful gestures along her body, suggesting all sorts of dark longings and deeds.


As the mist slowly dissipated, her figure was slowly revealed to his greedy eyes. The first thing that he could see clearly was a flash of leg exposed for a moment, only to be blanketed by the fog once again. He strained his vision to glimpse more pale skin, only to be floored when the fog suddenly dissipated to reveal her in all her glory.


She wasn’t a large woman by any means, but she had a physical presence that filled the stage, keeping every eye fixated on her movements. Her outfit consisted of a handful of brilliant blue scarves, and silver strings of tiny bells, all strategically placed to look as if they were going to fall off at any moment. Shapely, toned legs were bared to his hungry gaze, and at the ankles were fastened those curious little bells that made a shimmering tinkling, providing a mesmerizing counterbeat to the pounding drums.


His gaze slowly traveled up her person as she swayed and pulsed. Her hips were perfect. Absolutely perfect. He had always been fond of a woman’s bottom, and damn him if she didn’t have the best he’s every seen.


Compelled to look upwards, he was fascinated by the movements her stomach was making. He’d never seen anything like it. As her hips were pulsing, her stomach was making incredibly sensual movements. In and out, out and around. The frankly sexual dance was getting to him. He could feel his erection start to rise and pulse in time to the rhythm of her body.


Her breasts were heaving, no doubt from the exertion of the dance. While not as large as some he’d seen, they seemed to fit her small frame better. As he watched, he noticed that they were glistening in the dim light from sweat. Fascinated, he watched a bead of moisture travel from the hollow of her throat, down the slope of her breasts, and into that tiny blue top.


His mouth started to water.


As if he were under a spell, his eyes compulsively traveled up the slender column of her throat to her face. He was mildly disappointed that her face was covered by a short veil, obscuring her features. From the little he could make out, her face was built of bolder, more exotic building blocks than what he was used to. Not a delicate, simpering rose, but a wild orchid, heady and unusual. He could barely see the outline of a full mouth, and see high cheekbones above a haughty nose. He was briefly disappointed that her wavy hair was blonde, as he usually preferred brunettes, but as he hadn’t seen anyone who captured his attention this way since… well, since Hogwarts, he could make a few exceptions.


As he stared hard, trying to catch her eye colour, he was mesmerized by how gracefully she moved, how sensual her body was. He was contemplating how much better she would look under him, naked on the dark silk sheets of his bed when he caught her eyes.


Thump. Thump. Thump.


He couldn’t breathe.


He couldn’t think.


Shock clenched his gut, quickly replaced by feral triumph.


Hermione Granger was here.


A/N: You probably saw that one coming! Anyhow, I am writing this story because I am so sick of reading D/Hr fics where Voldie wins, and then Hermione becomes a prostitute. Personally, I think she is smarter than that. She is so methodical; I think she would have a backup plan in the eventuality Harry might lose. I certainly would! But, alas, there are no stories out there like that (and believe me I have read a lot) So I decided to write one! If you have any suggestions as to what kind of acts Hermione could perform, I am open! (I have a few in mind, but nothing definite) Read and Review!!