A Pound of Flesh

A Pound Of Flesh

Chapter 1: Oh So Sweet Revenge

“That one,” Hermione announced, grabbing Ginny’s arm and leading her across the busy street. They weaved in and out between stopped cars, breaking into a light run as the cars began to move. Hermione adjusted her skirt as they stepped onto the sidewalk, and she glanced at Ginny, who was staring up at the flashing sign over the door.

“What is an ‘All Male Revue’?” she asked, looking warily at Hermione.

Hermione gave her a grim smile as the door opened and the sound of women screaming out catcalls over top of pounding music assaulted them.

“I don’t like that look in your face, Hermione. What’s going on?”

“Never mind,” Hermione laughed, wobbling a little in her high heels. “Let’s go in.” She’d promised the younger girl a night out on the town in celebration of her upcoming nuptials, and that’s just what she was going to get.

Ginny looked like she wanted to object; her face reflected mistrust, but after a moment, she frowned and shrugged.

Hermione grabbed Ginny’s arm again and inclined her head to the large man standing by the door. He examined them for a moment, and Hermione wanted to whip out her Muggle identification just to prove that yes, she was in fact nearly twenty two years old. The large man uncrossed his arms and pulled open the door for them.

She led the way into the dimly lit Muggle club, feeling Ginny’s hand tighten on her wrist. She glanced back at the younger woman, a wry smile on her face. Ginny turned her head this way and that, obviously unable to decide what to look at first. Hermione looked around more sedately, feeling slightly dazed from the three shots of Firewhisky she’d imbibed before Ginny arrived at her flat.

The lights on the stage were dark, and a portly man in black was sweeping up bits of clothing from the shiny stage floor. The music had faded to background noise, a sort of sultry, tribal sound, with deep drum beats and a bass line that Hermione could still feel in the pit of her stomach. The club patrons had settled to a dull roar of conversation, punctuated with guttural laughter. And in various places on the shadowy floor, the flash of bare flesh caught her eye.

“That man is naked!” Ginny hissed, pointing to a waiter who was sashaying between groups of women with his tray over his head, clad only in skintight black pants.

“No, he isn’t,” Hermione disagreed, watching with interest as a woman at a nearby table reached out with a handful of quid and stuffed several down the front of the waiter’s pants. “What do you want to drink?”

She placed her hand the waiter’s shoulder as he walked past, and he stopped and smiled at her. Hermione tilted her head and slid her eyes over his muscular, hairless chest. Her lip curled up with the hint of a smile.

“I want a drink,” she told the waiter. It was on the tip of her tongue to order a shot of Firewhisky, but remembering herself, she dug into her pocket and pulled out a fistful of money. “Two pints of lager shandy, and four shots of whisky.” She waved a bill at the waiter and he stepped closer, licking his lips seductively. The back of her neck tingled as she carefully tucked it down the front of his pants, boldly patting his ass as he turned to fetch their drinks.

Ginny gaped at her, her eyes wide. “You can – you can…touch them?” she blurted, looking around as if seeing the place for the first time. Hermione laughed at Ginny’s gobsmacked expression, and began to scan the room for an open table. She spotted one at the front of the club, right beside the stage.

The waiter returned with their drinks, and Hermione handed a shandy and two shots to Ginny, motioning for her to follow her as she wove her way down front to the table. Ginny sat down with her back to the stage and examined her drinks, and Hermione smiled as the younger woman’s eyes kept darting around, seeking out a glimpse of bare chest.

“Cheers!” Hermione said, holding up a shot. Ginny brought her attention back to the table and grinned, lifting a shot. “Here’s to the future Mrs. Potter!”

They pounded back the Muggle whisky and Hermione blinked her eyes, feeling the almost smooth burn slide down her throat. She breathed out shakily, missing the familiar tingle that Firewhisky gave her. Ginny slammed her glass down and frowned at it.

“Weak!” she exclaimed, grinning at Hermione.

“Here he is, ladies; the dragon tamer, the giant slayer, the one you’ve all been waiting for!”

Ginny looked around, obviously trying to locate the source of the booming voice. New music began to play, the beat slow and seductive, and the waiters throughout the club began to bump and grind. “Oh, my God,” Ginny breathed, the words like a prayer on her lips.

Hermione smirked and focused her eyes on the black stage. She saw the outline of a man strike a pose as the lights behind him began to glow, outlining his slender figure.

“Please welcome to the stage: Our king, Xavier the Great!”

The spotlight clicked on. Standing with his back to the group of whistling women, the man on stage had his arms extended, his cape flaring out around him. He held the pose for a minute, then stalked away from the audience, his steps in time to the music. Then he whirled in a flash of robes – Hermione’s breath caught when she was curiously reminded of the way Snape’s robes had billowed around him as he walked – and ran back towards the screaming women. He dropped to his knees and slid to a stop at the edge of the stage, his head thrown back and chest arched out.

Curiously detached, Hermione examined the clothing the so-called dragon-taming king wore, snorting at the obvious bastardization of the wizarding world. The man wore tight black trousers (Hermione thought they might be leather), and a white shirt that had poofy sleeves. His chest was covered in a velvety looking red waist coat with a sequined trim.

Hermione rolled her eyes as the man rose to his feet, thrusting his hips at the audience. She took a sip of her shandy, finding her throat curiously dry. The stripper snapped his head forward, his fair hair swirling around his face like a halo. Hermione’s eyes widened in shock.

She gasped and found her mouth full of liquid. So she did the most sensible thing: she spit it out, right into Ginny’s face.

“What the hell, Hermione?” Ginny groused, wiping the liquid off her face. She glanced down at her dress, paying no attention to Hermione as she gaped like a fish.

No! her mind screamed. He’s supposed to be dead!

For there, on the stage, unfastening the cloak and tossing it to the side, was none other than Draco Malfoy.

“No,” Hermione gasped, her mind frozen in shock.

“What?” Ginny asked, tearing her eyes away from the waiters at the back of the club. She turned towards the stage. “You didn’t tell me that this was going on!” she said accusingly to Hermione, her eyes slowly sliding up the frame of the man on the stage who was thrusting his pelvis and pulling at the gaping neckline of his ridiculous shirt, licking his lips.

Ginny looked up at his face.

“HOLY SHIT!”

She whirled back to Hermione, pointing a shaking finger at the blond on stage, who was winking at an old woman and divesting himself of the lush red waist coat.

“That’s fucking Draco bloody Malfoy!” she shouted, her eyes flashing.

Seemingly drawn by the action at their table, he swaggered over, slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt. He looked at them and grinned wickedly, but in a completely un-Malfoy-like way. He pouted his lips together and ripped his shirt the rest of the way open, tossing it at Ginny, who was staring in open mouthed shock. She didn’t attempt to catch it and it landed on her head.

Draco leaned down, holding onto a pole for balance, and plucked it off her head, taking a moment to run his fingers down her cheek.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he called down to her. And then without another word, he turned his attention to the pole, doing a little bump and grind against it that made Hermione’s dry mouth feel as though she’d swallowed cotton.

“That’s Draco Malfoy!” Ginny gasped, motioning wildly to the stage.

Hermione nodded dumbly, confused by the lack of recognition in the incredibly tan man’s grey eyes. The man in question did a little spin as the music pulsated, slowly undoing his belt buckle.

Ginny stared, transfixed. “He’s supposed to be…” she trailed off, her voice sounding like it was coming from far away.

“Dead,” Hermione finished, following the blond’s every motion.

Draco ripped off his belt in time to the beat, tossing it into the crowd of howling women. He ran his hands across his tanned and toned chest, and Hermione felt her mouth drop open at the muscles that flexed as he dropped to his knees again and began to crawl on all fours. He reminded her of a lithe panther, black and dangerous and wild. The look in his eyes as he prowled to the edge of the stage… His eyes were like liquid pools of molten rock, dark and predatory.

He rolled onto his back, arching his body with two sharp thrusts of his hips. The women crowding the stage went wild, and Hermione rose to her feet, unable to tear her eyes away. He rolled to his stomach and pushed his shoulders up slowly, looking up, directly at Hermione. He locked eyes on her, and his lips twisted into a faint, sultry smile. Suddenly, she could hardly breathe.

Her ears became stuffed; the screams of the other women faded away, until all she could hear was the deep beats of the drums that shook her down to her bones, and her own throbbing heartbeat. Without breaking eye contact, he rose to his feet gracefully, his muscles gleaming under the stage light. He licked the tip of his thumb and trailed it down his body, drawing her eyes down to the top of his low slung trousers. Hermione swallowed heavily.

Draco licked his lips and raised one eyebrow suggestively. Hermione exhaled, suddenly feeling very warm and shaky. His hands slipped down to his thighs – Hermione couldn’t quite see what he was doing – and he gave a sudden yank. His leather trousers tore away from his legs and he tossed them lazily over his shoulder.

Vaguely, she was aware of a hand on her arm, but she could not force her eyes away. Wearing nothing but a revealing silver thong, Draco quirked a finger in her direction, beckoning her. Entranced, she stepped forward haltingly, ignoring the hand that tightened on her arm. She came to a stop at the edge of the stage, and Draco advanced on her. He sank to his knees in front of her and reached out to stroke her chin, tilting her face down until she was staring at his bulging thong, which was level with her eyes. She stopped breathing for a moment when she saw the bulge twitching behind the thin fabric – his throaty laughter made its way through her filled ears – and he thrust his hips at her face twice.

He jumped to his feet and spun away, the silver thong flashing under the lights. He turned his back to the audience, showing his bare ass cheeks. He put his hands on his head and flexed his back muscles. The ripples traveled down his lean back, and his butt cheeks contracted. Hermione leaned against the stage, struck by a sudden weakness, and an incredible hunger.

Draco looked over his shoulder, smiled wickedly, and tore away the thong, tossing it to the side. It landed in front of Hermione and she was struck with the impulse to reach out and grab it, and bury her face in it, perhaps breathe in his musky aroma.

The music drummed to a halt and he struck a pose, spread eagled, his arms flung wide.

Hermione sagged as the spotlight flicked off, and her eyes burned with the sudden darkness. Sounds slowly began to infiltrate her mind again and she realized that Ginny was holding her arm, looking every bit as dazed and shell shocked as she felt.

“Ho – holy…” Ginny gasped, collapsing into her seat.

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed, sinking down at the table. Once seated, she realized that every part of her was trembling, and her heart was racing. She downed her second shot of whisky, barely feeling it as it hit the back of her throat.

“That was –”

“Incredible,” Hermione finished.

Ginny looked at her, a curious expression on her face. “I was going to say, ‘Draco Malfoy’,” she said slowly.

Hermione was saved the embarrassment of responding to this comment when a man dressed all in black made his way over to the table.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said lowly, leaning close to Hermione.

She swallowed and squeaked out, “Yes?”

“Would you like to come backstage?”

Whatever Hermione had been expecting, this was not it. She glanced at Ginny who shook her head slowly, the word ‘no’ forming on her lips.

“Why?” she asked, her voice curiously high.

“Xavier has invited you to his dressing room,” the man said, pointing to a door off to the side of the stage that was flanked by two equally burly looking men dressed in black.

Driven by insane curiosity, and something else that disturbed her to think about, she nodded to the man, watching Ginny’s eyes fly open in amazement. “Just give me a moment,” she told the man, never taking her eyes from Ginny.

The man inclined his head in understanding and stepped back.

Ginny leaned forward across the table. “Have you lost your mind?” she hissed, looking as though she might throw her empty shot glass at Hermione. “That’s Draco Malfoy!”

“I know who he is, Ginny,” Hermione said, exasperated. “Don’t you want to know why he’s alive when he’s supposed to be dead?”

“Yes, but –”

“I’ll be perfectly safe. Didn’t you see him? He has no idea who I am,” Hermione reasoned with Ginny. “He’s obviously under some sort of memory charm.”

“But –”

“Do you mind waiting out here for me?” Hermione said briskly, pushing back her chair. She leaned against the table, suddenly unsteady from the whisky. “I won’t be long,” she continued as though nothing had happened.

“Hermione,” Ginny said, a pleading tone in her voice. For just a moment, Hermione felt guilty for abandoning her friend in the middle of a strange place. She beckoned the man in black forward and he came at once.

“Can I arrange some entertainment for my friend while I’m away?” she murmured in his ear, ignoring the perturbed look Ginny was sending her.

“It’s on the house,” he answered, a sly smile on his face.

Hermione turned back to Ginny. “I won’t be long,” she repeated, grabbing her drink. “I’m just going to see if I can find out why he’s alive.” Ginny gaped at her as she followed the man towards the heavily guarded door.

And maybe while she was at it, she would demand the pound of flesh that was owed her.

*****

The door off to the side of the stage opened to a narrow, brightly lit corridor. Hermione winced at the sudden onslaught of light. She passed many closed doors until the guard stopped at a nondescript door. He rapped sharply on the door and Hermione heard the muffled response from inside.

The door opened a crack and Hermione saw one gray eye peering out. Draco swung the door the rest of the way open, and Hermione was simultaneously relieved and disappointed to see that he’d pulled on a pair of loose black trousers.

“Hello,” he greeted, sweeping his arm back into the room in a welcoming gesture. Without a backward glance, Hermione stepped into the warm, dimly lit room, her eyes again struggling to adjust to the light levels. The room smelled musky, a bit like lavender oil and another, unnamable aroma. Her eyes swept the room quickly, noting the plush, overstuffed couch, the rack of costumes, and the mirrors that lined the length of one wall. In front of the mirrors, a long, low dressing table was strewn with bottles of lotion and hair gel. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek when she spotted the tube of mascara sitting next to the self-tanning lotion.

Draco eased the door shut and Hermione looked up into the mirror. She saw him standing, still facing the door, before he turned around and looked at her, his eyes unreadable in the dim room.

“I would offer you a drink, but I see you’ve already got one,” he said.

Hermione lifted her glass and took a sip, trying to calm her sudden raging nervousness.

“I saw you in the crowd,” Draco offered, slipping a dressing gown on over his bare shoulders. Hermione bit her tongue at the obviousness of that statement. But then he stepped closer to her, a question in his eyes.

“You look so familiar to me,” he murmured, lifting a hand to push her hair back from her face. Hermione held her breath as his fingers brushed her cheek. “Have we met somewhere?”

She would have snorted at the obvious come-on, if she hadn’t known that he was being serious.

“I thought the same thing,” Hermione said carefully. “Maybe we went to school together?”

He shook his head. “I dropped out of school,” he explained, “when I was younger.”

“Oh,” Hermione answered, knowing that, at least, was true.

“I can’t place you,” Draco pondered, leaning in closer to take in her face. She could feel his breath on her face; it smelled like cherries. “I know I know you…” he continued, almost to himself. He reached out to touch her face again, but abruptly dropped his hand.

“Well, now that’s going to drive me crazy until I figure out where I know you from,” he laughed, stepping away from her.

Hermione took a deep breath, feeling her legs trembling slightly.

“Would you like to sit?” Draco said, walking to the couch. Hermione eyed it for a moment as she inexplicably followed him. He waited until she cautiously sat back, sinking deep into the couch, before he lowered himself gracefully next to her, putting an arm behind her on the couch.

“So, how long have you been doing this?” Hermione blurted, trying not to look at him.

Draco laughed easily and stretched his feet out in front of him. “I don’t know,” he began. “Several years now.”

“How many?”

He shot her an odd look, and she quickly tried to repair the damage.

“I mean, you were just so good out there. It looks like you’ve been doing this a long time, and you don’t look that old,” she ventured, hoping the flattery would work.

He smiled at her indulgently. “Three years, I think,” he said at last. “I started working here when I dropped out of school.”

“Ah,” Hermione said. “Why’d you drop out?”

Draco looked at her, a perplexed expression on her face.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m too nosy sometimes.”

“No, that’s not it. I just….I don’t…” he trailed off, staring blankly at his feet.

Definitely a memory charm, Hermione decided.

He looked at her again and she met his eyes, feeling her pulse quicken slightly when she saw the same simmering intensity she’d seen when he’d been onstage. “You’ve very beautiful, you know,” he said suddenly, scooting closer to her on the couch.

Hermione swallowed and remembered her second purpose for coming back here, the one she hadn’t told Ginny about.

Vengeance.

“Thank you,” she breathed, leaning into him.

“I wish I knew where I know you from,” he exclaimed suddenly, moving back.

With a low growl of frustration, Hermione leaned closer to him, pressing her body against his side. She felt a sense of perverse pleasure when he put his arm around her, knowing that Draco Malfoy would rather have died than touch her like this, in another life.

“You were very good on stage,” Hermione whispered in his ear, lingering a moment to breathe on his neck. “You didn’t invite me back here just to talk, did you?”

Draco turned his face to her, and she nearly recoiled at the familiar pleased smirk playing on his lips. She forced herself to lean in closer, presenting him with her mouth.

“I don’t know your name,” he said huskily, his gray eyes growing dark with desire.

“Jane,” Hermione answered, thinking fast.

“Jane,” he repeated seductively, practically purring. He leaned in and snaked a hand around the back of her neck. The touch sent shivers traveling down her spine. He put his other hand on her knee, rubbing lightly on her bare leg.

Hermione leaned in closer, ready to trap his lips beneath her own, but he ducked his head and attacked her neck with a series of slow, hot kisses, licking and sucking a bit as she fell back against the couch, thinking that revenge was oh so sweet.

Draco slid his hand on her leg further up – and up – until he rested his fingers in the crease of her thigh, just brushing against her silky knickers. She couldn’t help it; she let out a quiet whimper, squirming a bit as he just left his hand there.

“Like that, do you?” he murmured between nibbles.

“M-hmm…” she hummed, throwing her far leg across his lap, trapping his hand in her crotch. Draco nipped at her neck once more before using his free hand to deftly part the collar of her low-cut shirt. She blindly fumbled with the buttons, letting the shirt fall open.

He let out a quiet growl and slid his hand lightly down her neck, across her collarbone, and down her chest. She felt him trace his fingers along the line of her lacy bra before he snuck his hand inside to cup her breast in his hand. She gasped, throwing her head back. He laughed quietly and pinched her nipple between his fingers, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Clenching her thighs around his hand, she moaned as he shifted his fingers, pressing them firmly against her knickers. She felt him take her hand in his and he guided it to his lap. She jumped slightly when he guided her hand into his soft black trousers and wrapped her fingers around the long, hard length of him. She squeezed him firmly, and was rewarded when he groaned against her neck, pushing up into her hand.

“Like that, do you?” she retorted shakily. She slid her fingers up and down, marveling at the softness of his skin. He sucked in a breath and twitched his trapped fingers. She whimpered again, caught herself wanting to moan his name, and bit her lip.

With a practiced hand, Draco tugged her down on the couch, stretching out on top of her. His fingers pushed aside her knickers and began to explore her wet folds. Hermione tightened her hand on his erection, pumping her fist up and down.

“My, aren’t we eager,” he laughed breathlessly, taking a finger and slipping inside her. She thrust against him, feeling her breathing coming in ragged gasps. He twirled his finger inside her, tracing along her inner rim. She contracted her muscles against his finger and he gave her a sly smile, slipping in a second finger. She arched her back off the couch, wanting more, more fingers, more touching, more friction…more.

She groaned when he removed his fingers, but a moment later, he was trailing them up her bare stomach, over her chest, and gripping her chin. She turned her face and captured the fingers between her lips, tasting herself and feeling herself grow even more aroused as she sucked her juices off his fingers.

Draco, for his part, gasped out a choked laugh, removing his fingers. “That might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen a woman do,” he told her, shedding his dressing gown. More bare skin… Hermione pulled him down against her, pressing her body against his, feeling a little shock everywhere his skin met hers. She leaned forward, begging for his lips, and at last he granted them to her. She forced his mouth open, plunging her tongue in and out of his mouth. He made a small noise in the back of his throat and slipped his fingers back inside her, mimicking the motion with his fingers.

“More,” she whined against his lips, shoving her hips against his hand.

“Whatever you want,” he panted, pushing down his trousers. Hermione flicked her thumb across the head of his shaft and he shuddered against her. “You are wicked,” he gasped.

“Please,” she cried, writhing under him.

He grinned at her evilly, and ducked down, pulling aside her bra. He took her nipple between his lips and gave it a hard suck. Hermione bucked against him and he slowly swiped his tongue over her breast.

“I want you,” Hermione begged, completely lost in the feelings she was experiencing. She could think of nothing else but him being inside her, thrusting his hips against hers, pounding into her…

He pulled her knickers down, using his foot to shove them down her legs and off.

“Yes,” she whimpered, pumping her fist up and down the throbbing length of him. He pulled his fingers out and captured her hand, pulling it away. A moment later, she felt him probing at her lips, lining up. Then he slowly, excruciatingly, slid in, holding her hips down so she couldn’t thrust against him. “Yes,” she repeated, victorious.

She wrapped her arms around him and dragged her fingernails up and down his back. He shuddered against her again. Trembling slightly, he pulled out of her and paused, hovering with just the very tip inside and then thrust into her fiercely. She cried out joyfully, moving her hips against his. Over and over again he pounded against her, sliding in and out of her, his hands roaming down to stroke her as he thrust into her, or up to flick her nipples or squeeze her breasts, all the while, licking and sucking and nibbling at her neck, moaning his pleasure in her ear.

Hermione felt the heat building quickly inside her, much quicker than it had ever done so before. She bucked against him, keening as he brought her to the edge. Hearing her cries of pleasure, he quickened his pace. Faster…yes….she couldn’t breathe…couldn’t think… More, she wanted… yes… she wanted… Oh God…

The orgasm shook her body. She cried out, feeling her arms and legs spasm around Draco, her very blood tingling. A brilliant light flashed behind her eyelids and she felt like she was exploding from her skin.

He rocked against her, spurred by her moans of pleasure. He gasped against her neck, single-mindedly thrusting and pushing and shoving. She became aware that he was mumbling against her skin between gasps of air. She felt his body tensing against her and knew he was close.

His fingers dug into her shoulders and he cried out, his thrusts frantic. She felt him jerk inside her and she clenched her muscles against him again. He gasped a shuddering breath and collapsed against her. She snaked her fingers into his hair, at last touching it after all these years. She tried to calm her breathing as she panted against his chest, and marveled at the softness of his blond locks.

They lay entwined for a little while longer, until Hermione squeezed one of his firm ass cheeks and whispered, “I should get back to my friend.”

Draco groaned in disappointment but obligingly pulled out of her. He handed her the discarded knickers and helped her to sit up. He pulled on his trousers and sat on the edge of the couch. He looked over at her and she saw something flash in his eyes.

“That was amazing,” she told him, buttoning her wrinkled shirt.

“It was,” he agreed quietly, kissing her hand. “Think you’ll stop by the club again?”

Hermione thought about it for a moment. She’d exacted her revenge on the man who had degraded her for seven years of her life. Could she bear to do it again? “Maybe,” she answered evasively.

“Maybe,” he repeated, a slight frown on his face.

“Yes?” she ventured again before she could stop herself.

He pulled her up from the couch, and tried to rearrange her out-of-control hair for her. She granted him a slow, deep kiss, which she ended by gently biting his lower lip.

With a sigh, Draco pulled open the door to his room, and Hermione shivered as the blast of cooler air hit her still slightly sweaty skin. He walked her to the end of the brightly lit corridor, and stopped her just before she went back out into the club.

“I know where I’ve met you,” he announced.

Hermione froze, and slowly turned back to face him.

“I see you in my dreams, sometimes,” he continued. “And just now, that made me feel more alive than I’ve felt in all the time I can remember.”

In spite of herself, Hermione smiled and leaned forward to meet his soft kiss. As she turned to leave him, he grabbed her hand and said quietly, “I hope you come back… Hermione.”

She bit her lip, not trusting herself to speak. Slowly, she nodded. Then she squeezed his hand and let go, walking back out into the music and the chaos and the dark.

---

Author's Notes: This was originally a one-shot. But then it became more. So if this first chapter moved really fast, it was because at one time, it was the whole story.