Unbreakable (Part II of III) - A gift for accio_catawba!
Title: Unbreakable
Author: jhestia85
Recipient: accio_catawba
Pairing(s): Hermione/Ginny
Word Count: Chapter: 3970, Complete: 16789
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sexual Situations, Character Death, Voyeurism, Dub-Con, Strong Profanities
Summary:
Time has a habit of changing our lives, our thoughts, our priorities; the things that were important to us then are often not what are important to us now. We’re remoulded and reshaped, our malleable selves determined by new desires, new goals, new feelings to be passionate about. That’s what makes us human.
I am Hermione Granger. I’m twenty-two years old. I have a new reason to live, and it’s Ginny Weasley.
Hermione Granger has been asked to investigate Pansy Parkinson’s successful and suspicious escort company. But when she joins Glamour Escort Services under a false identity, she’s forced to make decisions she never expected to.
Author's Notes: This story contains one more pairing I cannot list since I don’t want to spoil. :) I hope you’ll like it.
Chapter 2: Smoke and Mirrors
The coin has been heating up in my jeans pocket for the past hour, and I’ve been ignoring it, knowing full well I can’t ignore it forever. Boot will get worried. Resigned, I take it out and check. A telephone number. With my wand, I give her the time she can expect the call. Then, grabbing my coat, I head out of the flat in search of the nearest telephone booth.
There is one not too far from the building; Boot chose the address well. On an impulse, I take out my mirror and check to see if I’ve been followed. There’s no one acting suspicious. Pansy must put a lot of faith on the Vows.
“Hello?” Boot’s clear, deep voice greets me from the other end.
“Donnie here.”
“Where the hell have you been?”
“I couldn’t escape.”
“From what?”
“I can’t say right now,” I tell her carefully.
“Anything new?”
“No. Not yet.”
“You went there?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“I didn’t see anything we didn’t know already.” That shouldn’t get me killed. “I’ll keep reporting as I find out.”
“Did you meet Parkinson?”
“Not yet.”
There is a brief pause, punctuated by her heavy breathing. “All right. Let’s not rush this.”
“I’ll get in there soon,” I promise, feeling stupid as I do so. “Say, about Rhodes. He died of natural causes, didn’t he?”
“Yes. Inspected by both Healers and two Squib doctors.”
“What were these natural causes?”
“A massive heart attack.”
“Something he didn’t have a history of.”
“No.”
“Those photos of Selene Rhodes. Did he try to show them to anybody?”
“Not that we know of. Why?”
“I have a theory. I can’t discuss it right now. Could you have that checked again, about Rhodes? And will you find out about his will? What did it say?”
“All right. I will.”
+++
It’s 4 a.m. in the morning, and I don’t want to die.
I’m pretty sure Marvin Rhodes tried to show the photos of his daughter to somebody, which brought the curse of the Unbreakable Vow upon him. He must have thought they could provide a hint without him reneging on his vow. So, photographic evidence is out of the question.
My notebook. It’s on the side-table, its presence growing heavier by the minute. Every minor detail of what happened on my first day at Glamour can be found here, up to the point where Dmitri cast the Vow on Pansy and me. What if somebody came across it and decided to snoop? I can’t risk carrying it everywhere. I’ll have to Transfigure it and hide it in the flat.
I also reckon it’s time I learned how to extract my memories. And maybe, how to erase them. My audition is in a few hours. I’ll be having sex for money. For my job. I will have sex with a complete stranger. To bring Pansy down. I’ll sacrifice my long-standing principles. To destroy Glamour Escort Services.
No. I can’t do it. This is not me. I cannot have sex with strangers. This is not me. It’s abhorrent. Demeaning. Repulsive. I could back out now. I could pretend I didn’t find anything. I could tell Boot I saw nothing. It’d be easy to dispose of Donnita - she’s an illusion, anyway.
And then what? Can I back away, knowing that the employees are nothing more than Pansy’s slaves, bound to her until she releases them? Can I live the rest of my life knowing that Harry’s image is being misused? Can I let Pansy get away, let her earn more money feeding those voyeuristic clients? I don’t even know who these clients are. I have so much more to investigate.
I can’t give up. This is the only thing I’m living for now. I have to fight.
+++
“Room number six,” Selene informs me. “Here’s your key. Take the corridor to your left. Your Magistylist is waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Selene.”
Without bothering to respond, she returns to her work. I pick up the key, a thin short stylus made of steel. Odd shape for a key, but then, this place doesn’t seem to favour commonplace methods. The doors along the way are all shut. The hallway is silent and foreboding. It’s almost like a hotel, except more secretive.
Room number six’s door is closed as well. There is no keyhole either. Not knowing what else to do, I knock on it; a circular hole emerges on the surface of the wood. The key slides easily into it, and the door swings open. My room is large, with rows of clothes hanging on both sides, and pairs of shoes displayed on the shelves. If I didn’t know the purpose of these collections, I’d be impressed, even thrilled to know they are mine to use.
“Oh, hello there.”
A man has just emerged from the side-door, dressed in serene blue robes with small lace trimmings; he has skin so impossibly smooth and hair so unabashedly blond that I can only stare in wonder.
“Jacques,” he greets me, smiling. “You don’t have to tell me your name.”
“You can call me Donnie. I’d prefer you know my name if we’re going to work together.”
“Ah, of course.” With a clap, he increases the brightness of the room. “Of course, I’ll call you Donnie. I’ll be your stylist.” Taking out his wand, he waves his hand in the general direction of my body and murmurs, “May I, Donnie?”
I’ve never stripped in front of anyone. Turning my face so he won’t see the grimace, I tell him to go ahead. My clothes fall off my body immediately, leaving me in my bra and pants. I can feel him staring, but when I look at his face, his expression is serious, a bit reminiscent of my mum when she reads the content of a food package. He doesn’t appear at all aroused by the sight; that makes me breathe easier. He catches me gazing at him and raises an eyebrow.
“I guess you don't have mirrors here,” I remark.
“That’s true.”
“Why?”
He extends a slim finger and presses it below my chin, turning my face from right to left. “Because you are not going to work as you.” He instantly brightens up as though he’s been struck by a spectacular idea, then hurries towards the clothes. “I received the instructions from Miss Parkinson this morning,” he explains while rifling through the hangers. “You are to become one of the most recognisable faces of the wizarding war, Donnie. I’ve only been asked to do her twice. Although, hmm. I could never quite get her perfectly right. But you ... you might just be what I’ve been waiting for.”
“Who?”
“You’ll know, eventually.” His wand detaches itself from his fingers and hovers in my direction, decreasing my bust and then going lower, aiming for my hips. “Depending on how well-versed you Americans are on recent events in Europe, that is.” Even as he searches for suitable attire, he waves his free hand this way and that, and his wand goes over my hair, giving it a brown hue, making it shorter, a little curlier. In my mind, I start running a list of girls who have this type of hair. There are quite a few - Lavender Brown, Katie Bell, Tracey Davis, and two other witches whose names I cannot recall at the moment. “Oh, where is it? It was a lovely shade of lilac,” he fusses, running between the racks, and then after throwing a glance at me, shouts, “The nose! It’s the nose!”
I freeze when the tip of wand flies up to meet my nose. “Who - who is-?”
“Aha! Here it is!”
Even before he shows me the dress, I know which one it is. I know who I’m supposed to be.
Hermione Granger.
“My love,” he gasps, after everything is ready, “you look just like her.”
+++
I don’t remember how I got here; I switched off after hearing Jacques’ happy announcement. I can vaguely recall him leading me along a small corridor. Or maybe, I’m imagining that. I’m inside a chamber, sitting on a large, clean bed, legs crossed and hands gripping the edge. One side of the walls is an expanse of dark glass where my reflection is captured. Naturally, I don’t look at it. There is somebody else on the other side, watching, and I have no intention of them catching a glimpse of the horror on my face.
I can’t do this.
There are worms wriggling inside my stomach. I can’t do this, but neither can I run away.
So, I’ll stay. I’ll end this somehow. It won’t be pleasant, but it will be done. Somehow, I can swallow again. I can feel myself getting a little courage. I’ve faced worse than this. I’ve seen death. I’ve lost Ron. I’ve done all that I could for what is right. This is just my body, I tell myself. In a way, that’s better. I’m not violating anyone else.
But when I hear the sound of the door opening and see Ginny striding into the room with a small smile, clad in her Harpies Quidditch gear, my resolve weakens again. Not Ginny. Not her. She’s one of the only two best friends I have left. I don’t want to ruin it. Please. Please.
Please, not you. Not you, Ginny.
I can hear myself whisper this over and over again, as she puts a finger on her lips and tells me it’s all right. That it’s her and she wants me, has always wanted me. And although I’m trying to push her away and denying this and begging her to leave me, she persists. Her eyes are brown and warm and earnest and her fingers are in my hair and she’s pushing me down the bed, her legs pinning my body under her weight, and she’s whispering in my ears that it’s fine. It’s good. We’re here, just the two of us. I won’t believe it. It’s all a lie. So why does her embrace comfort me? Why can’t I shake her off even as she pulls the zipper down? Why do her lips feel so soft and perfect?
No. No, Ginny, No.
But she’s rough and tender and whispers lies about wanting me. She’s everywhere, on my neck, my breasts, my nipples. She’s between my thighs and I raise myself to push her away, but I can’t. “You’re mine,” she says, her teeth upon my neck, biting ever so gently as her fingers plunge inside me, gathering every drop of strength left in my body and blasting it to dizzying splinters.
+++
“Yes?”
“Donnie, I’ve had a word with Jackson. We don’t know if Rhodes was trying to show them to anybody. What we can confirm is that he stole them from his daughter. The inquiry into the will has, however, helped us learn something rather intriguing.”
“What?”
“Rhodes wanted to donate the photo of his daughter to our division. We had taken possession of it anyway, so the wizard who handled the will apparently didn’t think it was worth troubling us with the information.”
“All right. Okay.”
“Can you tell me why you wanted to know this, Donnie?”
“Not now, Boot. I’m getting there.”
“Take care.”
“I will. Good night.”
+++
“You, my dear,” Jacques declares for the fifth time today, “were born to be Hermione Granger. This is why you got her again, and I think all future Hermione Granger’s performances will be given to you.”
I’m now clad in old jeans and a lumpy jumper. My hair is bushy and my face is devoid of make-up. I feel too much like me to be comfortable. “Is there a way of finding out who my client is, Jacques?”
“Oh, that’s classified information, dear. You aren’t even allowed to know the identity of your partner.”
“And you don’t know with whom ...?”
“No, they only give me your role.”
“Right.” Taking a deep breath, I apologise to Jacques. “I am sorry about yesterday. I got nervous.”
He waves it off. “That was expected. I was ready to carry you all the way. You managed to walk on your own feet, though. I should thank you for that.” I watch him mulling over the hemline of a dress, where the thread has come off. “I need to fix this.”
“Why don’t you work on that? I can leave now.”
“There’s still thirty minutes left to go.”
“That’s fine,” I shrug. “I’ll try to get used to the setting.”
“Makes sense,” he beams. Then, opening the side door, he gestures at me to go on. “Right at the end. And, Donnie,” he warns when he sees me holding my wand, “that remains here.”
“Oops!”
I put the fake wand inside the purse, slipping on a finger the wand I had transfigured into a ring earlier and exit the dressing room. As soon as he shuts the door, I mutter the incantation for changing the wand back, and then tap the walls to check for charms. There is only one entrance to the chamber, but it leads to different corridors. I can’t get anything. Perhaps, Dmitri is using magic I am not familiar with.
Armed with a Disillusionment Charm, I quietly enter the room and conduct the same search. Once more, the magic is unrecognisable. The mirror itself seems opaque at first, but upon closer inspection, I can make out the faint outlines of a lone sofa. Excitement immediately sweeps over me. I cast a variety of revealing spells and wait. The surface becomes clearer for a few seconds before returning to its original near-impenetrable state but they’re more than enough. There is a sofa on the other side. I can see it as clear as daylight.
I have to think of a way to get close enough to the mirror during the performance. The Vow didn’t ban me from getting a client investigated, for unrelated charges. That is something I haven’t thought of yet. If I do know who it is, I could still come up with something to frame them. Not the best idea I’ve had in a while, admittedly, but it’s not useless. And it gives me hope.
Removing the Disillusionment Charm from my body, I approach the bed. I am knackered, having managed to sleep for only an hour in the morning. Another restless night, and I expect more. Ginny was bad enough. What if they send a Harry? A Malfoy? A ... Ron? Or ...
No, I shouldn’t think. I can’t bear to. There is no option that can make this easier for me. Even if I get a complete stranger, it wouldn’t change the fact that I am having sex out of compulsion, not choice.
If only this exhaustion would leave me. I haven’t felt this wrung out since the war, when I was on the run with Ron and Harry. A heaviness descends upon me as I let my head sink into the pillows. It’s easy to give into it. It’s only for a while...
I’m standing at the edge of the Hogwarts lake, my body taut. The grounds are deserted, and the only sound audible is that of the wind blowing across it. It’s a pleasantly warm afternoon. Stripping down to my bra and pants, I dive into the water with a loud splash. I swim away from the shore without looking back. I have no intention of returning.
Then, this laughter reaches out to me, and I have to turn around. She’s calling my name and waving her arms, asking me to come to her. Time stalls, caught between the lazy ripples on the surface and the vivid hair whipping across the freckled face. Against my better judgement, I propel myself towards her, my heart lifting when she jumps into the lake. In a matter of seconds, we’ve reached each other. Before I can make the first move, she has put her arms around my waist, and we’re kissing.
And we’ve been transported somehow to the shore, our legs entangled. Her hand is slipping inside my pants, inside me, its thrusting slow and calculated. I grab her hair and, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance of roses, command her to go faster, deeper, harder, and she whispers, “That’s it, Hermione. That’s it. Surrender to me.”
I close my eyes, saying yes, yes, yes, pushing her face towards my breasts, giving myself up to the powerful, maddening, aching sensation overtaking my body, but when I open them, the tranquil blue sky has been replaced by a smooth, lighter shade. I’m fully clothed, although the buttons on my shirt seem to have been undone. Ginny, dressed in her Quidditch robes, has her lips around my nipple, her hands inside my jeans.
“No,” I moan. “Stop.”
With her free hand, she pulls my face up and tells me, “I love you.”
And it’s Ginny’s voice that I hear.
+++
“I want to have a word with Parkinson.”
“You do know she’s the boss and you bloody can’t meet her any time you want to,” Rhodes replies irritably. She’s busy scratching the back of her neck. “You have to write an application and submit it to me. I’ll then let you know - Ugh! Fuck this thing!”
“What’s wrong?” I ask her.
“I have these fucking blisters which appeared out of nowhere and they fucking hurt.”
“Let me have a look.”
“Are you a fucking Healer then?” she mutters, glaring at me. There are tears in her eyes.
“My mother was one.”
After glaring at me some more, she finally swivels her chair and lowers her collar. There are a group of vicious red blisters sprayed across the skin. “Have you been taking a potion?” I inquire.
She adjusts her dress and avoids my eyes, mumbling a faint yes.
I wait for an elaboration, but it doesn’t come. “Is it a Calming Draught?”
“How the fuck do you know?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I snap. “Yellowing nails. Discolouration of hair at the roots. Stinging blisters. If you went to Hogwarts and read your copy of Advanced Potion-Making thoroughly, you would have learnt not to abuse the bloody potion.”
Both of us freeze as soon as I finish speaking.
“I did go to Hogwarts,” she says slowly. “Obviously, I didn’t read it as carefully as someone did.”
I reach for my wand, but before I can pull it out of the purse, Pansy walks out of her office, frowning. “What is with all this noise?” she asks us.
I hold my breath, waiting for Rhodes to put two and two together and spill the beans. But she draws herself up and gets to her feet. “We’re sorry, Miss Parkinson,” she says with a small bow. “Miss Cabros wanted to see you. I was explaining to her that she’d have to hand in an-”
“You wanted to see me?” Pansy turns to me, raising an eyebrow. Scared of opening my mouth and letting out a squeak instead of a human voice, I nod. “Come in.”
Deciding not to risk Rhodes catching a glimpse of the panic on my face, I ignore her and head for Pansy’s office. “You want to talk,” says Pansy. “So, take a seat and talk. I don’t have much time to spare.”
She remains standing, arms crossed and irritable. Without sitting down, I ask her, “Can we discuss our assignments, or does the Vow have issues with that too?”
“Why do you want to discuss your assignment?”
“Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley. Four days in a row.” I throw up my hands in an effort to show my frustration. “I don’t actually care who’s jerking off to this, but it’s getting a bit ... monotonous.”
“Do you honestly want variety?” she asks me. When I hesitate, she starts smiling. “You should feel lucky you get just the one partner. You can almost pretend it’s real, that you’re having sex with your lover.”
“I don’t want a lover,” I reply forcefully. “If I wanted one, I’d have taken any of those rich wizards back in America who were desperate to get into my pants.”
“Indeed.” She sounds bored. “Unfortunately, you don’t get to choose whom to shag in this place. The two of you must have ... hmmm ... created some magic. Your client can’t get enough of it. She has booked the two of you for an entire month.”
“What?!” I cry in horror. “A month?”
“Yes.” Then, returning to her desk, she says, “Don’t worry. You get weekends off.”
+++
“Donnie!”
I’m calling Boot after more than a week. The relief in her voice is clearly audible.
“I’m making some progress, but it’s going rather slow.”
“Even so, I’d be less worried if you called me a little more often than once a week. I may be in the dark as far as the details are concerned, but I’m at least certain I’ve sent you somewhere unsafe to do something not to your liking.”
“I don’t want to risk coming here every day,” I say tiredly. “The Muggles will get suspicious. Most people own mobile phones now, which are portable-”
“Yes, yes, the goddamn mobile phones.” She sounds as tired as me. “All right. Use the coin then. Send any random message. I’ll sleep better if I know you’re alive.”
“Okay. I will.”
+++
For the past few days, I’ve been going into Glamour Escort Services and walking out without acknowledging Rhodes’ baleful presence any further. So far, she has been reciprocating my deliberate lack of attention. She must have her suspicions - there’s no doubt of that - but she apparently isn’t planning on doing anything about them.
Or, she is already doing something about them. She could be re-examining my papers and digging into my American past. That’s what I would do. Maybe, ignoring her isn’t such a good idea. I should talk to her. When I check the lounge, however, the reception desk is empty. I’m surprised by this; Rhodes has never left her post to my knowledge. I turn back and head for the toilet. I don’t enter immediately, stalled by the sound of sobbing. She must have heard me coming, though, because the sniffling has suddenly subsided.
I wait outside for a while, to give her some time to recover. Although a lot of people working in this building must be on the verge of depression, I’m willing to bet my OWLs it is Rhodes. I walk in finally, feigning nonchalance, but irritation builds inside me as I find Rhodes coolly smoking, her eyes and nose barely red.
“Hello,” I say casually as I take out a mascara from my purse. “How’s your skin now?”
“It’s quite all right.”
“That’s good to know.”
We’re silent for some time. She watches me darken my eyelashes, blowing smoke in my direction. I restrain myself from coughing.
“About that day,” I begin carefully, “I want you to-”
“I don’t give a shit,” she cuts me off.
I stare at her.
“I don’t give a shit about you or your fake identity or your stupid accent.” She is now observing her own reflection and making smoke rings. She means what she is saying. For some reason, that pisses me off. I was afraid she’d spill the beans, now I’m annoyed her stance is apathy.
“Why not?” I snap at her. “You ought to tell somebody. You’ve been a faithful employee so far, haven’t you?”
For the briefest of moments, she turns white. The small victory makes me feel better than I’ve done in ages, but not for long. She snorts and stubs out her cigarette on the marble counter. Then, leaning towards me, she says, “Because, you’re stuck here forever, undercover or not.”
Continue to part three.
Author: jhestia85
Recipient: accio_catawba
Pairing(s): Hermione/Ginny
Word Count: Chapter: 3970, Complete: 16789
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sexual Situations, Character Death, Voyeurism, Dub-Con, Strong Profanities
Summary:
Time has a habit of changing our lives, our thoughts, our priorities; the things that were important to us then are often not what are important to us now. We’re remoulded and reshaped, our malleable selves determined by new desires, new goals, new feelings to be passionate about. That’s what makes us human.
I am Hermione Granger. I’m twenty-two years old. I have a new reason to live, and it’s Ginny Weasley.
Hermione Granger has been asked to investigate Pansy Parkinson’s successful and suspicious escort company. But when she joins Glamour Escort Services under a false identity, she’s forced to make decisions she never expected to.
Author's Notes: This story contains one more pairing I cannot list since I don’t want to spoil. :) I hope you’ll like it.
Chapter 2: Smoke and Mirrors
The coin has been heating up in my jeans pocket for the past hour, and I’ve been ignoring it, knowing full well I can’t ignore it forever. Boot will get worried. Resigned, I take it out and check. A telephone number. With my wand, I give her the time she can expect the call. Then, grabbing my coat, I head out of the flat in search of the nearest telephone booth.
There is one not too far from the building; Boot chose the address well. On an impulse, I take out my mirror and check to see if I’ve been followed. There’s no one acting suspicious. Pansy must put a lot of faith on the Vows.
“Hello?” Boot’s clear, deep voice greets me from the other end.
“Donnie here.”
“Where the hell have you been?”
“I couldn’t escape.”
“From what?”
“I can’t say right now,” I tell her carefully.
“Anything new?”
“No. Not yet.”
“You went there?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“I didn’t see anything we didn’t know already.” That shouldn’t get me killed. “I’ll keep reporting as I find out.”
“Did you meet Parkinson?”
“Not yet.”
There is a brief pause, punctuated by her heavy breathing. “All right. Let’s not rush this.”
“I’ll get in there soon,” I promise, feeling stupid as I do so. “Say, about Rhodes. He died of natural causes, didn’t he?”
“Yes. Inspected by both Healers and two Squib doctors.”
“What were these natural causes?”
“A massive heart attack.”
“Something he didn’t have a history of.”
“No.”
“Those photos of Selene Rhodes. Did he try to show them to anybody?”
“Not that we know of. Why?”
“I have a theory. I can’t discuss it right now. Could you have that checked again, about Rhodes? And will you find out about his will? What did it say?”
“All right. I will.”
+++
It’s 4 a.m. in the morning, and I don’t want to die.
I’m pretty sure Marvin Rhodes tried to show the photos of his daughter to somebody, which brought the curse of the Unbreakable Vow upon him. He must have thought they could provide a hint without him reneging on his vow. So, photographic evidence is out of the question.
My notebook. It’s on the side-table, its presence growing heavier by the minute. Every minor detail of what happened on my first day at Glamour can be found here, up to the point where Dmitri cast the Vow on Pansy and me. What if somebody came across it and decided to snoop? I can’t risk carrying it everywhere. I’ll have to Transfigure it and hide it in the flat.
I also reckon it’s time I learned how to extract my memories. And maybe, how to erase them. My audition is in a few hours. I’ll be having sex for money. For my job. I will have sex with a complete stranger. To bring Pansy down. I’ll sacrifice my long-standing principles. To destroy Glamour Escort Services.
No. I can’t do it. This is not me. I cannot have sex with strangers. This is not me. It’s abhorrent. Demeaning. Repulsive. I could back out now. I could pretend I didn’t find anything. I could tell Boot I saw nothing. It’d be easy to dispose of Donnita - she’s an illusion, anyway.
And then what? Can I back away, knowing that the employees are nothing more than Pansy’s slaves, bound to her until she releases them? Can I live the rest of my life knowing that Harry’s image is being misused? Can I let Pansy get away, let her earn more money feeding those voyeuristic clients? I don’t even know who these clients are. I have so much more to investigate.
I can’t give up. This is the only thing I’m living for now. I have to fight.
+++
“Room number six,” Selene informs me. “Here’s your key. Take the corridor to your left. Your Magistylist is waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Selene.”
Without bothering to respond, she returns to her work. I pick up the key, a thin short stylus made of steel. Odd shape for a key, but then, this place doesn’t seem to favour commonplace methods. The doors along the way are all shut. The hallway is silent and foreboding. It’s almost like a hotel, except more secretive.
Room number six’s door is closed as well. There is no keyhole either. Not knowing what else to do, I knock on it; a circular hole emerges on the surface of the wood. The key slides easily into it, and the door swings open. My room is large, with rows of clothes hanging on both sides, and pairs of shoes displayed on the shelves. If I didn’t know the purpose of these collections, I’d be impressed, even thrilled to know they are mine to use.
“Oh, hello there.”
A man has just emerged from the side-door, dressed in serene blue robes with small lace trimmings; he has skin so impossibly smooth and hair so unabashedly blond that I can only stare in wonder.
“Jacques,” he greets me, smiling. “You don’t have to tell me your name.”
“You can call me Donnie. I’d prefer you know my name if we’re going to work together.”
“Ah, of course.” With a clap, he increases the brightness of the room. “Of course, I’ll call you Donnie. I’ll be your stylist.” Taking out his wand, he waves his hand in the general direction of my body and murmurs, “May I, Donnie?”
I’ve never stripped in front of anyone. Turning my face so he won’t see the grimace, I tell him to go ahead. My clothes fall off my body immediately, leaving me in my bra and pants. I can feel him staring, but when I look at his face, his expression is serious, a bit reminiscent of my mum when she reads the content of a food package. He doesn’t appear at all aroused by the sight; that makes me breathe easier. He catches me gazing at him and raises an eyebrow.
“I guess you don't have mirrors here,” I remark.
“That’s true.”
“Why?”
He extends a slim finger and presses it below my chin, turning my face from right to left. “Because you are not going to work as you.” He instantly brightens up as though he’s been struck by a spectacular idea, then hurries towards the clothes. “I received the instructions from Miss Parkinson this morning,” he explains while rifling through the hangers. “You are to become one of the most recognisable faces of the wizarding war, Donnie. I’ve only been asked to do her twice. Although, hmm. I could never quite get her perfectly right. But you ... you might just be what I’ve been waiting for.”
“Who?”
“You’ll know, eventually.” His wand detaches itself from his fingers and hovers in my direction, decreasing my bust and then going lower, aiming for my hips. “Depending on how well-versed you Americans are on recent events in Europe, that is.” Even as he searches for suitable attire, he waves his free hand this way and that, and his wand goes over my hair, giving it a brown hue, making it shorter, a little curlier. In my mind, I start running a list of girls who have this type of hair. There are quite a few - Lavender Brown, Katie Bell, Tracey Davis, and two other witches whose names I cannot recall at the moment. “Oh, where is it? It was a lovely shade of lilac,” he fusses, running between the racks, and then after throwing a glance at me, shouts, “The nose! It’s the nose!”
I freeze when the tip of wand flies up to meet my nose. “Who - who is-?”
“Aha! Here it is!”
Even before he shows me the dress, I know which one it is. I know who I’m supposed to be.
Hermione Granger.
“My love,” he gasps, after everything is ready, “you look just like her.”
+++
I don’t remember how I got here; I switched off after hearing Jacques’ happy announcement. I can vaguely recall him leading me along a small corridor. Or maybe, I’m imagining that. I’m inside a chamber, sitting on a large, clean bed, legs crossed and hands gripping the edge. One side of the walls is an expanse of dark glass where my reflection is captured. Naturally, I don’t look at it. There is somebody else on the other side, watching, and I have no intention of them catching a glimpse of the horror on my face.
I can’t do this.
There are worms wriggling inside my stomach. I can’t do this, but neither can I run away.
So, I’ll stay. I’ll end this somehow. It won’t be pleasant, but it will be done. Somehow, I can swallow again. I can feel myself getting a little courage. I’ve faced worse than this. I’ve seen death. I’ve lost Ron. I’ve done all that I could for what is right. This is just my body, I tell myself. In a way, that’s better. I’m not violating anyone else.
But when I hear the sound of the door opening and see Ginny striding into the room with a small smile, clad in her Harpies Quidditch gear, my resolve weakens again. Not Ginny. Not her. She’s one of the only two best friends I have left. I don’t want to ruin it. Please. Please.
Please, not you. Not you, Ginny.
I can hear myself whisper this over and over again, as she puts a finger on her lips and tells me it’s all right. That it’s her and she wants me, has always wanted me. And although I’m trying to push her away and denying this and begging her to leave me, she persists. Her eyes are brown and warm and earnest and her fingers are in my hair and she’s pushing me down the bed, her legs pinning my body under her weight, and she’s whispering in my ears that it’s fine. It’s good. We’re here, just the two of us. I won’t believe it. It’s all a lie. So why does her embrace comfort me? Why can’t I shake her off even as she pulls the zipper down? Why do her lips feel so soft and perfect?
No. No, Ginny, No.
But she’s rough and tender and whispers lies about wanting me. She’s everywhere, on my neck, my breasts, my nipples. She’s between my thighs and I raise myself to push her away, but I can’t. “You’re mine,” she says, her teeth upon my neck, biting ever so gently as her fingers plunge inside me, gathering every drop of strength left in my body and blasting it to dizzying splinters.
+++
“Yes?”
“Donnie, I’ve had a word with Jackson. We don’t know if Rhodes was trying to show them to anybody. What we can confirm is that he stole them from his daughter. The inquiry into the will has, however, helped us learn something rather intriguing.”
“What?”
“Rhodes wanted to donate the photo of his daughter to our division. We had taken possession of it anyway, so the wizard who handled the will apparently didn’t think it was worth troubling us with the information.”
“All right. Okay.”
“Can you tell me why you wanted to know this, Donnie?”
“Not now, Boot. I’m getting there.”
“Take care.”
“I will. Good night.”
+++
“You, my dear,” Jacques declares for the fifth time today, “were born to be Hermione Granger. This is why you got her again, and I think all future Hermione Granger’s performances will be given to you.”
I’m now clad in old jeans and a lumpy jumper. My hair is bushy and my face is devoid of make-up. I feel too much like me to be comfortable. “Is there a way of finding out who my client is, Jacques?”
“Oh, that’s classified information, dear. You aren’t even allowed to know the identity of your partner.”
“And you don’t know with whom ...?”
“No, they only give me your role.”
“Right.” Taking a deep breath, I apologise to Jacques. “I am sorry about yesterday. I got nervous.”
He waves it off. “That was expected. I was ready to carry you all the way. You managed to walk on your own feet, though. I should thank you for that.” I watch him mulling over the hemline of a dress, where the thread has come off. “I need to fix this.”
“Why don’t you work on that? I can leave now.”
“There’s still thirty minutes left to go.”
“That’s fine,” I shrug. “I’ll try to get used to the setting.”
“Makes sense,” he beams. Then, opening the side door, he gestures at me to go on. “Right at the end. And, Donnie,” he warns when he sees me holding my wand, “that remains here.”
“Oops!”
I put the fake wand inside the purse, slipping on a finger the wand I had transfigured into a ring earlier and exit the dressing room. As soon as he shuts the door, I mutter the incantation for changing the wand back, and then tap the walls to check for charms. There is only one entrance to the chamber, but it leads to different corridors. I can’t get anything. Perhaps, Dmitri is using magic I am not familiar with.
Armed with a Disillusionment Charm, I quietly enter the room and conduct the same search. Once more, the magic is unrecognisable. The mirror itself seems opaque at first, but upon closer inspection, I can make out the faint outlines of a lone sofa. Excitement immediately sweeps over me. I cast a variety of revealing spells and wait. The surface becomes clearer for a few seconds before returning to its original near-impenetrable state but they’re more than enough. There is a sofa on the other side. I can see it as clear as daylight.
I have to think of a way to get close enough to the mirror during the performance. The Vow didn’t ban me from getting a client investigated, for unrelated charges. That is something I haven’t thought of yet. If I do know who it is, I could still come up with something to frame them. Not the best idea I’ve had in a while, admittedly, but it’s not useless. And it gives me hope.
Removing the Disillusionment Charm from my body, I approach the bed. I am knackered, having managed to sleep for only an hour in the morning. Another restless night, and I expect more. Ginny was bad enough. What if they send a Harry? A Malfoy? A ... Ron? Or ...
No, I shouldn’t think. I can’t bear to. There is no option that can make this easier for me. Even if I get a complete stranger, it wouldn’t change the fact that I am having sex out of compulsion, not choice.
If only this exhaustion would leave me. I haven’t felt this wrung out since the war, when I was on the run with Ron and Harry. A heaviness descends upon me as I let my head sink into the pillows. It’s easy to give into it. It’s only for a while...
I’m standing at the edge of the Hogwarts lake, my body taut. The grounds are deserted, and the only sound audible is that of the wind blowing across it. It’s a pleasantly warm afternoon. Stripping down to my bra and pants, I dive into the water with a loud splash. I swim away from the shore without looking back. I have no intention of returning.
Then, this laughter reaches out to me, and I have to turn around. She’s calling my name and waving her arms, asking me to come to her. Time stalls, caught between the lazy ripples on the surface and the vivid hair whipping across the freckled face. Against my better judgement, I propel myself towards her, my heart lifting when she jumps into the lake. In a matter of seconds, we’ve reached each other. Before I can make the first move, she has put her arms around my waist, and we’re kissing.
And we’ve been transported somehow to the shore, our legs entangled. Her hand is slipping inside my pants, inside me, its thrusting slow and calculated. I grab her hair and, inhaling the intoxicating fragrance of roses, command her to go faster, deeper, harder, and she whispers, “That’s it, Hermione. That’s it. Surrender to me.”
I close my eyes, saying yes, yes, yes, pushing her face towards my breasts, giving myself up to the powerful, maddening, aching sensation overtaking my body, but when I open them, the tranquil blue sky has been replaced by a smooth, lighter shade. I’m fully clothed, although the buttons on my shirt seem to have been undone. Ginny, dressed in her Quidditch robes, has her lips around my nipple, her hands inside my jeans.
“No,” I moan. “Stop.”
With her free hand, she pulls my face up and tells me, “I love you.”
And it’s Ginny’s voice that I hear.
+++
“I want to have a word with Parkinson.”
“You do know she’s the boss and you bloody can’t meet her any time you want to,” Rhodes replies irritably. She’s busy scratching the back of her neck. “You have to write an application and submit it to me. I’ll then let you know - Ugh! Fuck this thing!”
“What’s wrong?” I ask her.
“I have these fucking blisters which appeared out of nowhere and they fucking hurt.”
“Let me have a look.”
“Are you a fucking Healer then?” she mutters, glaring at me. There are tears in her eyes.
“My mother was one.”
After glaring at me some more, she finally swivels her chair and lowers her collar. There are a group of vicious red blisters sprayed across the skin. “Have you been taking a potion?” I inquire.
She adjusts her dress and avoids my eyes, mumbling a faint yes.
I wait for an elaboration, but it doesn’t come. “Is it a Calming Draught?”
“How the fuck do you know?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I snap. “Yellowing nails. Discolouration of hair at the roots. Stinging blisters. If you went to Hogwarts and read your copy of Advanced Potion-Making thoroughly, you would have learnt not to abuse the bloody potion.”
Both of us freeze as soon as I finish speaking.
“I did go to Hogwarts,” she says slowly. “Obviously, I didn’t read it as carefully as someone did.”
I reach for my wand, but before I can pull it out of the purse, Pansy walks out of her office, frowning. “What is with all this noise?” she asks us.
I hold my breath, waiting for Rhodes to put two and two together and spill the beans. But she draws herself up and gets to her feet. “We’re sorry, Miss Parkinson,” she says with a small bow. “Miss Cabros wanted to see you. I was explaining to her that she’d have to hand in an-”
“You wanted to see me?” Pansy turns to me, raising an eyebrow. Scared of opening my mouth and letting out a squeak instead of a human voice, I nod. “Come in.”
Deciding not to risk Rhodes catching a glimpse of the panic on my face, I ignore her and head for Pansy’s office. “You want to talk,” says Pansy. “So, take a seat and talk. I don’t have much time to spare.”
She remains standing, arms crossed and irritable. Without sitting down, I ask her, “Can we discuss our assignments, or does the Vow have issues with that too?”
“Why do you want to discuss your assignment?”
“Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley. Four days in a row.” I throw up my hands in an effort to show my frustration. “I don’t actually care who’s jerking off to this, but it’s getting a bit ... monotonous.”
“Do you honestly want variety?” she asks me. When I hesitate, she starts smiling. “You should feel lucky you get just the one partner. You can almost pretend it’s real, that you’re having sex with your lover.”
“I don’t want a lover,” I reply forcefully. “If I wanted one, I’d have taken any of those rich wizards back in America who were desperate to get into my pants.”
“Indeed.” She sounds bored. “Unfortunately, you don’t get to choose whom to shag in this place. The two of you must have ... hmmm ... created some magic. Your client can’t get enough of it. She has booked the two of you for an entire month.”
“What?!” I cry in horror. “A month?”
“Yes.” Then, returning to her desk, she says, “Don’t worry. You get weekends off.”
+++
“Donnie!”
I’m calling Boot after more than a week. The relief in her voice is clearly audible.
“I’m making some progress, but it’s going rather slow.”
“Even so, I’d be less worried if you called me a little more often than once a week. I may be in the dark as far as the details are concerned, but I’m at least certain I’ve sent you somewhere unsafe to do something not to your liking.”
“I don’t want to risk coming here every day,” I say tiredly. “The Muggles will get suspicious. Most people own mobile phones now, which are portable-”
“Yes, yes, the goddamn mobile phones.” She sounds as tired as me. “All right. Use the coin then. Send any random message. I’ll sleep better if I know you’re alive.”
“Okay. I will.”
+++
For the past few days, I’ve been going into Glamour Escort Services and walking out without acknowledging Rhodes’ baleful presence any further. So far, she has been reciprocating my deliberate lack of attention. She must have her suspicions - there’s no doubt of that - but she apparently isn’t planning on doing anything about them.
Or, she is already doing something about them. She could be re-examining my papers and digging into my American past. That’s what I would do. Maybe, ignoring her isn’t such a good idea. I should talk to her. When I check the lounge, however, the reception desk is empty. I’m surprised by this; Rhodes has never left her post to my knowledge. I turn back and head for the toilet. I don’t enter immediately, stalled by the sound of sobbing. She must have heard me coming, though, because the sniffling has suddenly subsided.
I wait outside for a while, to give her some time to recover. Although a lot of people working in this building must be on the verge of depression, I’m willing to bet my OWLs it is Rhodes. I walk in finally, feigning nonchalance, but irritation builds inside me as I find Rhodes coolly smoking, her eyes and nose barely red.
“Hello,” I say casually as I take out a mascara from my purse. “How’s your skin now?”
“It’s quite all right.”
“That’s good to know.”
We’re silent for some time. She watches me darken my eyelashes, blowing smoke in my direction. I restrain myself from coughing.
“About that day,” I begin carefully, “I want you to-”
“I don’t give a shit,” she cuts me off.
I stare at her.
“I don’t give a shit about you or your fake identity or your stupid accent.” She is now observing her own reflection and making smoke rings. She means what she is saying. For some reason, that pisses me off. I was afraid she’d spill the beans, now I’m annoyed her stance is apathy.
“Why not?” I snap at her. “You ought to tell somebody. You’ve been a faithful employee so far, haven’t you?”
For the briefest of moments, she turns white. The small victory makes me feel better than I’ve done in ages, but not for long. She snorts and stubs out her cigarette on the marble counter. Then, leaning towards me, she says, “Because, you’re stuck here forever, undercover or not.”
Continue to part three.