A Pound of Flesh

Author's Notes: Well, I know it took a while, but here's the second chapter. It isn't nearly as smutty as the first chapter, but there were a lot of questions that needed clearing up. Never fear. It gets raunchy again in the next chapter

Chapter 2: Research

Ginny was seated at the table, looking somewhat flustered as she watched two men on stage doing a duet. Hermione made her way back to the table and sat down, swallowing heavily as Ginny turned to look at her.

“You have sex hair,” she stated after a moment of observation.

Hermione felt her face flush but didn’t deny anything.

“Was your little meeting informative?” Ginny continued, struggling not to smile.

“Very,” Hermione said, exhaling gustily.

Ginny grinned. “Thanks for the lap dance, by the way.”

Hermione lifted her eyebrow. “The…? Oh, yes. You’re welcome.” She squirmed in her seat for a moment, feeling a little claustrophobic. “Can we…um…do you mind if we go now?”

Ginny laughed. “You just got back and now you’re ready to go.”

Hermione shifted again, shooting a glance at the door off to the side of the stage. “Sorry,” she said. “If you want to stay –”

Ginny looked up at the men on stage, and then back at Hermione. She looked thoughtful for a moment, then picked up the drink sitting in front of her and drank it in one gulp. “As much fun as this should be,” she said, “it isn’t really my thing. But I appreciate the effort.”

Hermione nodded contritely, still not completely sure what had possessed her to bring Ginny into this particular club. “Let’s go somewhere else, then.”

They made their way through the shrieking crowd, and pushed open the door. The air outside the club was cool and clean, and as the door swung shut behind them, Hermione heard the relative quiet of the busy street ringing in her ears. She took a deep breath and smoothed her wrinkled shirt again.

“Where do you want to go now?” Hermione asked. “There are more pubs further up the way.”

“Actually, do you mind if we just go back to your flat?”

Hermione nodded and Ginny led the way into an alley, taking out her wand and lighting it carefully. She searched quickly, and convinced they were alone, she turned to Hermione. “Are you sober enough to Apparate or do I need to take you?”

“I’m sober enough.”

“I’ll see you at your flat, then.” Ginny smiled at Hermione again and turned away. With a quiet pop, she was gone.

Hermione leaned against the brick wall of the club, still trying to grasp everything that happened in the last hour. Something about the encounter struck her as…off. Well, really the entire thing struck her as off, but she felt like there was something that her slightly addled mind was missing. But, what?

Shaking herself, she grabbed her wand from the holster within her knee-high boots and Apparated home. Ginny was waiting on the stoop outside her building, and she stood up as Hermione crossed the street to her.

“I want details,” Ginny said simply.

Hermione bit her lip and nodded, and then stifled a very un-Hermione-like giggle. “Inside, though.”

After they’d settled themselves at her small kitchen table with cups full of tea, Ginny pounced. “Okay, spill.”

Hermione turned her cup on its saucer, trying to think of where to start. “Pansy Parkinson was right to brag,” she began.

Ginny clapped her hands together gleefully. “I knew it!”

“Knew what?” Hermione asked, knowing full well what.

“You had sex with him.”

Hermione smiled.

“Hermione Jane Granger!” Ginny exclaimed, laughing. “You said you were just trying to find out why he was alive when he was supposed to be dead!”

And just like that, Hermione realized what she’d been missing.

“What is it?” Ginny asked, noticing her face paling.

“I told him my name was Jane,” she explained in a rush. “But when I left, he called me Hermione.”

“What?” Ginny yelped, her eyes growing wide. “He knew who you were?”

“No, I don’t think that’s it.” Hermione put her hand to her forehead and tried to concentrate. “He said… he said he sees me in his dreams. So – ”

“So it’s not a complete memory charm,” Ginny mused, taking a sip of tea.

“If I could find out who did the charm…”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Going back for more research, Hermione?”

“No!” she protested.

Finishing her tea, Ginny stood and patted Hermione’s shoulder. “I’m going home to do some research of my own. Thanks for tonight. I had fun!”

Ginny made her way to the door.

“Hey, Ginny!” Hermione called, bolting out of her seat.

“Yeah?”

“Could you not tell Harry who we saw?”

Ginny looked at Hermione thoughtfully. “Alright,” she said at last. “And I won’t tell my git of a brother, either.”

Hermione smiled tightly and hugged her friend in farewell.

Ginny let herself out, and Hermione waved her wand at the door, engaging the locks. She looked at the door for a moment, and listened to the silence of her flat. Then she made her way to her bedroom, stripping off her shirt and tossing it into the laundry. Her skirt went the same way a moment later.

Once in the shower, she turned the water on as hot as it would go, and let it stream over her body. She was glad Ginny had said she wouldn’t tell. It wasn’t really Harry or Ron’s place as professional Quidditch players to investigate Draco Malfoy’s sudden reappearance. It was, however, hers, as a member of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad.

Grabbing some soap, Hermione began to scrub her body, washing off Draco’s sweat. Her hand brushed over her breast and she gasped slightly. She looked down and saw a small black and purple bruise just above her nipple where Draco must have bitten her. She waved her hand at it and felt the skin tingle as it healed. A moment later, the bruise was gone. As she soaped up the rest of her body, she closed her eyes and remembered Draco’s burning touch. She snapped her eyes open and rinsed herself off.

A little later, she stretched out on her bed, completely clean and dressed in modest pajamas. Crookshanks hopped up onto her stomach, complaining slightly as his old bones settled into a comfortable position. Hermione stroked his chin and yawned, worn out from her eventful evening. She closed her eyes sleepily.

An hour later, she rolled over, frustrated. She found herself unable to sleep, her mind in overdrive. What was Draco Malfoy doing in a strip club nearly four years after word had come to the Order that Voldemort had destroyed him for failing to kill Albus Dumbledore?

And more importantly, was the memory charm wearing off? He said he had dreams of her, and he had said her name. She figured with a little more investigating, she could deduce who’d performed the charm, and why, and then reinforce the charm. She reckoned the last thing the world needed was a resurrected Malfoy, just when things were calm and peaceful again.

Hermione shifted to her other side, staring at the empty half of the bed. Months later, and she still couldn’t force herself to spread out onto the whole bed. Ron would go ballistic if he knew what she’d done tonight. Not that he had any place to do so, now. He’d given up that right, back in March, when he’d broken it off with her, stating that they were ‘just not right for each other’.

Ron had never made her feel the way Draco had made her feel tonight.

Where did that thought come from? she thought, staring at the ceiling.

Ron was always very considerate and made certain she enjoyed sex, but for all of his passion and verve, it did not translate to the bedroom.

Just stop that thinking right now, Hermione, she scolded herself.

But she couldn’t help it. She closed her eyes and remembered the way Draco had reduced her plan for revenge into the single-minded goal of getting shagged senseless. She felt his hands sliding up and down her body, his fingers plunging into her repeatedly, his tongue flicking her nipple. She remembered the aroma of his room, and the scent of oil that clung to his skin. She saw him on that stage again, on all fours, prowling the stage like a dangerous cat stalking its prey.

At a quarter past four, she got out of bed and took another shower, this time allowing herself to reenact her favorite moments with Draco. After that, she slept deeply, well into the next day.

*****

Sunday afternoon found Hermione in the archives of the Magical Law Enforcement, looking through Draco Malfoy’s case file. It was a surprisingly thin folder, filled with more questions than answers.

According to the sparse information in the file, Draco Malfoy had been coerced into committing the crime of bringing Death Eaters into Hogwarts in order to spare his parents’ lives, and had, for all appearances, been ready to give himself up. Those facts were based on witness testimony from Harry, which he only agreed to reveal after it was known that Draco was dead.

After Draco and Snape fled Hogwarts, they returned to Voldemort to report their mixed successes and failures. Apparently, never intending for Draco to survive his mission in the first place, Voldemort was not pleased to see the young man return, and killed him that very night after a round of rigorous torture. That much was known courtesy of a memory pilfered from Alecto Carrow, after she’d been captured at the end of the war.

The final bit of information in the file was that Bellatrix had taken his body to Narcissa, but it was unknown what became of his body after that. Narcissa had been distraught, but had kept her mouth shut until her husband had been killed by Bill Weasley during an attempted attack on the Burrow the following June. That was when Narcissa openly declared her defiance of Voldemort and was herself killed. That information was pulled from Bellatrix Lestrange’s mind after Voldemort’s defeat, and just before she was given the Dementor’s Kiss.

Included in the file was the list of crimes of which Draco was guilty, including his use of the Imperius Curse on Madam Rosmerta, his purchase of the opal necklace with intent to harm, and thus his attempted murder of Katie Bell, and his use of poisoned mead in the attempted murder of Ronald Weasley. Highlighted in yellow, was his involvement in the conspiracy to murder Albus Dumbledore, also provided by Harry. There were also several lesser offenses including being in possession of known Dark, and forbidden, artifacts, but those really didn’t matter much in the long run, as his use of an Unforgivable Curse and his multitude of attempted murders alone garnered him an automatic life sentence in Azkaban.

Really, whoever erased his memory and dropped him at that club was doing him a favor.

Hermione closed the folder and rubbed her neck absently. She smiled wistfully, thinking about the thoroughly enjoyable way she’d settled the score with Draco Malfoy. Six years of cruel, derogatory comments paid for with one surprisingly satisfying shag.

“What are you doing here today?”

Hermione jumped guiltily, slamming the file shut. She turned, not surprised to see her Hit Wizard Squad partner Susan Bones standing in the doorway to the archive. She shuffled the Malfoy file to the middle of a stack of other files she’d pulled.

“Oh, um – ” she mumbled, searching for an excuse and desperately trying to push her former thoughts into a far corner of her brain.

“Even I don’t work as much as you do, Granger,” Susan laughed, sauntering lazily into the room. She sat down at the table and looked at Hermione over top of a teetering stack of files. “Sitting in a stuffy room on your day off looking at closed cases?”

Hermione reshuffled the files with concerted casualness. “I had an idea in the middle of the night about something, but I was wrong,” she said, getting to her feet and crossing to the stacks to reshelf the folders.

“Must have been a good one to drag you in here on such a beautiful day,” Susan mused. Hermione took a moment to really look at Susan, dressed in casual summer clothes, her now chin-length hair pushed back with a headband. It must have shaped up to be a really lovely day outside.

For a moment, Hermione remembered beautiful days like this at the Burrow, with Ginny and Harry, and Ron. On hot summer days like this, they would all don their bathing costumes and have a water fight in the shallow pond in the woods behind the Burrow. After a while, they would all stretch out together under the trees and just be lazy. She would lie with her head in Ron’s lap, and they would talk about the future, but never the past. They all got very good at pretending that one entire year had never happened, and that they had never seen what hell looked like, nor heard the screams of people they cared for, nor been the ones screaming. When the sun had wheeled around in the sky towards evening, they would race back to the house, laughing and just enjoying the chance to be young.

Up until nearly a year ago, life had been practically perfect, before little things started to crop up with remarkable frequency, unsettling things, disputes and the same old arguments, until lazy afternoons at the Burrow gave way to rather tense days spent in the flat, trying to work through the issues standing between her and Ron. In the end, it was the past that came between them.

Hermione shook her head, thinking of the change that just one year could bring. Now she was investigating someone who wouldn’t stay dead, living alone in a flat that was too big, hardly talking to someone who had been one of her best friends. Susan looked at her quizzically and Hermione quickly said, “I thought I had a good idea, but like I said…” She trailed off, carefully putting the Malfoy file back on the shelf. “It doesn’t matter anyway. What are you doing here?”

“I stopped by my desk to pick up some post I forgot yesterday, and Abbott said she saw you come in here a few hours ago.” Susan brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and stifled a lazy yawn. “I’m surprised you managed to make it in today at all. I thought you and Ginny were supposed to go out and paint the town red last night.”

“Oh, yeah, we did. We went to Soho and stopped by a place or two,” she said, at once irritated by the way her voice rose an octave.

Susan appeared to notice her sudden embarrassment and grinned widely. “Hermione Granger, did you meet a man?”

Hermione felt herself blush furiously, and cleared her throat, fighting the wicked smile on her face.

“Oh, you did!” Susan crowed. “Take that, Ron Weasley.”

Shaking her head, Hermione turned to her partner. “It wasn’t like that. I’ll never see him again.”

“Why not?” Susan asked, confused.

Hermione shot Susan a look, and waved her wand at the door, closing it. She leaned in closer, not really sure why she was about to tell Susan anything, except that Susan had been there for her when Ginny could not. Ginny, being related to Ron, had fulfilled her familial duty, which required she be by his side in the days after the break up, though afterwards, she confessed that she thought Ron was being a git. Susan had been extremely understanding, and had offered to go rough up Ron a bit, an offer which had, at the time, been extremely tempting.

“He’s a stripper,” Hermione said lowly.

Susan’s mouth dropped open and her eyebrows shot into her fringe. “A stripper?” she repeated incredulously. Her eyes widened even more. “You went to a strip club and met a stripper?”

Hermione smirked, feeling proud of herself on an entirely different level.

“So why will you never see him again?”

“He’s a stripper!”

“Yeah, so?” Susan said, looking amused.

Hermione waved her hand in dismissal. “That’s not my thing, you know me better than that.” Susan twisted her lips and the shrugged in agreement.

“Well, good for you,” she said, patting Hermione on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” Hermione laughed, almost giddy.

Susan walked with her to the Floo Hub, and Hermione watched her disappear into the green flames. Once Susan had gone, Hermione leaned against the wall between two fireplaces and looked at the fountain which had been erected in honor of Harry’s triumph over Voldemort. It was a garish, awful thing, with water shooting in a gentle rain from the tip of statue Harry’s wand, and a beatific smile on the statue’s face.

Harry refused to come to the Ministry just so he could avoid seeing the hideous monument to a moment he would rather forget. Hermione didn’t blame him. Three years had passed, and she still couldn’t stand to think of that day. None of them could, really.

But seeing Malfoy had brought the war rushing back to her. She decided to leave him where he was, and forget about him. The world thought he was dead, and clearly, he presented no harm in his current state. She couldn’t think of a more suitable punishment for Malfoy than living as a Muggle and working as a stripper.

With a sigh, she Flooed back to her flat, which was still too large, and too quiet.

*****

After her second sleepless night in a row, Hermione decided she needed to find out just what had happened to Draco Malfoy. Once she had satisfied her curiosity and reinforced the charm, she knew she’d be able to sleep again.

Thus, after finishing her assigned workload for the day – and avoiding Susan’s knowing smirk – Hermione retraced her steps to the club. It looked very different in the afternoon, somewhat seedier. She looked up at the marquee, which presently flickered to life, and tried to work up the courage to go back inside.

A car honked as it drove past, and she realized what a dolt she must look like, standing outside of a male strip club, in the middle of the day, in plain sight. She blanched, wondering what her mother would say if it got back to her that her daughter had been seen entering such a place. Taking a deep breath, Hermione stepped out of the sunlight, into the shadow of the building, and pulled open the door.

The blaring music and wild screams from two nights ago were not present now, in the middle of the afternoon. The club was, in fact, nearly empty, but for a dozen business women sitting in a corner drinking and talking quietly. Hermione sat down at the deserted bar, catching the barman’s eye.

Once she had a glass of blood red wine sitting in front of her, she asked, offhand, “What time does the floorshow start?”

“Half an hour,” the barman said, stacking glasses on the bar.

“Will Dra – ah, Xavier be on tonight?”

The barman smirked. “He your favorite too?” Hermione shrugged noncommittally. “Yeah, he’s everyone’s favorite.”

“Ah,” Hermione offered, swishing her wine in the glass.

“Get you anything else?”

“Just some pretzels,” she replied, wanting to have something to do with her hands while she waited. “What time does he go on?”

The barman smirked again. “He’s opening tonight.”

The club gradually began to fill as women getting off work for the day came in. Soon, the barman turned the music up and the murmur of conversation grew to a quiet roar. Hermione glanced around at the women sitting at the bar around her. The surreality of the situation amused her. What would Lavender and Parvati say if they could see her now?

At the stroke of the hour, the lights in the club dimmed and that same booming voice announced Xavier the Great. For a moment, Hermione couldn’t bear to turn around, but as the women behind her began to whistle and scream, she swiveled on her stool, unable to stay away.

It was an entirely different experience, watching him dance from so far back. Her throat grew dry again and a shiver ran down her spine as he undid a shiny silver shirt one button at a time. He leaned down and slung the shirt around a woman, pulling her closer. Hermione leaned forward on her stool, and swallowed hard. Trying to ignore the burning of recognition in her loins, she grabbed her glass and took a long drink.

Exhaling in frustration, she turned to the bar, slamming down her empty glass. She was here for information, not to get turned on. Another loud round of screams forced her to peer over her shoulder, her heart pounding in her ears.

With a gasp, she met his eyes. He was staring right at her, as if he’d known right where to find her. From where she sat, she couldn’t see the look in his eyes. She spun slowly again as he reached the penultimate moment in his act, and he twisted wildly on stage in a black thong, running his hands down his hips, then sank on his back, arching up with his pelvis. The spotlight snapped off and Hermione blinked. She turned back to the barman.

“Whisky, please.”

“How many?” he called over the noise of the cheering women.

She held up one finger. “Neat, please.” Without a word, he poured her drink and took her money. She hunched over her glass, not completely sure what she would do next. She hadn’t thought this part of the plan through very well. Her main goal had been to force herself back into the club. Getting backstage to talk to him again hadn’t been high on her agenda. But now that she was here, she felt a little foolish.

Her worry was for nothing, however, because just as the next act took the stage, Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned on her stool, drink in hand, and saw the same security guard from before. He smirked at her knowingly and motioned wordlessly to the door on the far side of the room. Swallowing hard, Hermione nodded and followed him.

Again, the brilliant light of the corridor hurt her eyes, and she blinked blearily. The guard led her to the same bare door, giving a perfunctory knock. The door did not open immediately, and the guard knocked again while Hermione straightened her blouse. At last, the door swung open, revealing a partially dressed Draco attempting to pull on his dressing gown.

Draco smiled, looking genuinely pleased to see her, and Hermione swallowed again. “Please, come in,” he said cordially, taking her hand and leading her into the room.

She glanced around again, somewhat surprised by the state of the room. Dozens of candles lined the make-up counter, reflecting off the mirror, and a vase of fresh white daisies sat on the table next to the plush red couch. The rack of costumes had been pushed to the far wall, partially blocked by a door Hermione had not noticed before, but looked like it led to the loo. Most surprising of all was the low bookcase of books that lined the wall, which she realized must have been hidden by the rack of costumes.

“You came back,” Draco said, breaking into her observations.

“I did, at that,” she replied, looking at him and feeling her mouth go dry. “Hello, by the way.”

“Hello,” he chuckled, shaking his slightly sweaty hair out of his eyes. He tugged on her hand and pulled her over to the couch.

Hermione perched on the edge of the couch, setting her drink on the table after taking a long sip from it. Draco looked at her inquisitively but settled himself comfortably in the couch, leaning back indolently. Forcing herself to relax, Hermione sank back against the cushioned back, remembering with sudden vividness what she had done on this couch just a few days ago.

“I was surprised you noticed me sitting all the way back at the bar,” she said honestly, after a moment.

Draco smirked. “It wasn’t hard. You were the only one with your back to me.”

Flushing slightly, Hermione smiled ruefully. “Oh, right.”

“Didn’t like what you were seeing?”

Feeling her face heat further, Hermione shook her head. “I – ” She broke off, completely at a lose as how to explain what she was doing at the club, by herself, and not watching the show.

Draco waved away her explanation. “It’s alright, Jane.” Hermione whipped her head up to look at him. “I understand.” She furrowed her brow, perplexed. She didn’t know how he could possibly understand. “Got a bit jealous watching me dance for other women?”

Hermione couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing, falling back against the couch. She brought her hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her mirth, truly not wanting to insult Draco just now, but she saw that he was grinning at her in a rather self-deprecating way.

“You don’t have to laugh quite that hard,” he said after a moment.

“I am sorry,” Hermione gasped, choking back her laughter. She tried to force her face into a serious expression. “You’ve hit it dead on,” she told him dryly. “You’re simply going to have to find a different line of work.”

“But I’m so good at this.” Draco grinned at her and scooted closer to her.

“I guess we can never be together, then.” Trying to hold back her smile, Hermione made to stand. Draco grabbed her hand and pulled her back onto the couch. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap.

“I like you sober,” he declared, trying to kiss her.

“Why is that?” Hermione asked, turning her head away slightly.

Draco grabbed her chin and turned her face back, and gave her a lingering kiss that sent a warm rush through her body. “Well,” he started, “while I won’t complain about a beautiful woman throwing herself at me –”

Hermione snorted.

Draco smiled indulgently. “It’s also nice to have an actual conversation, too.” He leaned in to kiss her again.

Almost lost in the sensation of his supple lips, and his tongue, which slid so effortless against hers, Hermione nearly forgot she was here for information, not to get snogged. Then one of Draco’s hands went to her hair, and the other danced lightly down her side and snaked around her back. Feeling her heartbeat quicken, she twisted around lightly in his lap, which induced a muffled groan from Draco.

I am not here to get shagged senseless, she reminded herself weakly. Draco’s hand on her back slid down to cup her ass, pulling her closer. Of course, it’s a nice benefit, she reasoned. Through his silky trousers, Hermione felt his growing erection.

Reluctantly, she gave him a chaste kiss and spun off his lap. He let out a cry of protest, and tried to hold on to her, but she edged away from him on the couch. He stared at her, panting slightly and looking heartily confused.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked gruffly, scooting across the couch to her.

Hermione stood quickly and crossed to the bookcase. “You have a lot of books.”

Draco remained on the couch for a moment longer, a look of frustration flitting across his face. Then he exhaled mightily and followed Hermione across the room.

“They’re one of my indulgences,” Draco explained as Hermione knelt and scanned the titles. She pulled out several fantasy books with dragons on the cover. She recognized many others on the shelves as science fiction or fantasy. On another shelf, she discovered a selection of books on King Arthur and medieval history. She turned to her companion with a raised eyebrow. Clearly, some latent tendencies remained.

“You must read a lot to have so many books,” Hermione said slowly.

“It gets pretty boring in between acts,” he excused, trailing his fingers over the spines of the books. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but then he gave himself a little shake and smiled tightly.

“What?” she probed, standing up again.

“Nothing,” Draco answered, shaking his head, looking tense.

“It’s obviously something.” Hermione placed a steady hand on his left arm and stroked lightly. “What is it?”

Draco looked down at her hand on his arm and back up at her eyes. “Why did you come back, Jane?”

Swallowing hard as his grey eyes gazed unrelentingly into hers, she looked down at the book in her other hand. “I – ” she began. She found it hard to offer him the lies that were racing through her brain.

Draco had no qualms with saying what was on his mind, it seemed, as he surged on. “Because you’re either playing hard to get or you didn’t come here for sex, so why are you here?”

The tone in which he said that struck a chord with Hermione. He sounded almost hurt, which was suddenly the very last thing in the world she wanted. “You’re right, I didn’t come here for sex,” she told him.

“So, why are you here?”

Hermione looked at him, perplexed by the vulnerability all over his face. It seemed like a foreign concept to him, apparently, that anyone would want him for anything other than his body. “I wanted to get to know you better,” she answered, which was as close to the truth as she could come. “I’m not… used to… doing what I did the other night, I mean, with someone I just met, and I – ” she trailed off, not sure what else to say. “If that’s all you want, I should probably go.”

Draco shook his head, a small smile crossing his lips as he looked down at her hand. He twined his fingers with hers. “Have coffee with me,” he said, looking up at her face.

Hermione smiled back. “Right now?”

Draco shook his head again, laughing quietly. “No, not now,” he chuckled. “I have to work, remember? Tonight, when I’m done.”

Hermione found herself agreeing before she even thought about it. “But where are we going to find coffee at that time of night?”

With another smile, Draco tugged on her hand and led her back to the couch. “It’s Soho, darling. We’ve got everything here, even late-night coffee houses.”