Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and/or the characters of the original story created by J.K. Rowling.
AN: This was written a few months ago for geewhiz for the Deflower Draco fest over at LiveJournal. The link to the other amazing pieces can be found in my profile. This piece was beta-read by the wonderful lwalters5 over at Granger Enchanted.
Geewhiz's prompt: Draco wants Hermione. Hermione is leading the latest efforts to crack down on abuse of sex workers. Draco decides to pose as a rent boy in order to be found and brought in by her. If all goes according to his plan, it ends in sexy times. Unfortunately, Draco is not the best at plans.
"…because abuse of sex workers – both female and male – is very real and disturbingly common in our society. That is why I have founded PASWA – Protection Against Sex Worker Abuse. No longer will I stand by and watch my fellow brothers and sisters suffer silently. No more will I accept the awful treatment and blatant disregard for their health and safety. Starting tomorrow, with the help of various other likeminded organisations, as well as St. Jarvis' Medicentre and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – Wizarding Citizenry Welfare Division, I will begin the abolishing of violence against sex workers, and the implementation of outreach programmes…"
Draco scoffed as he refolded the newspaper and shoved it to the side of his desk.
Leave it to Granger to stick her nose where it isn't needed.
The woman was just too much of a do-gooder at times, and frankly, it was annoying. It was as if she had not grown up since Hogwarts. Always seeking ways for attention and approval. If she so badly wanted these things, then why did she constantly reject his offers for lunch and ignore his frequent suggestive remarks? One would think it would satisfy her since he was Draco Malfoy. And, well, holding a Malfoy's interest was as worthwhile as that of a king's.
Unfortunately, as smart as she was purported to be, this significance was oft lost on her. On the various occasions he'd made his interest in her obvious, she had either scoffed or laughed at him. "Malfoy, you've got to be joking," was her usual response.
In a way, his reasoning on this matter was simple: albeit she'd frequently given him the impression that her interest was not reciprocated, she'd never actually said no. Therefore, until she blatantly told him in strong and clear tones that she was not, nor will she ever be, keen about him, he was going to pursue her relentlessly.
Now how do I go about getting her attention this time?
He'd tried just about everything under the sun – well, short of standing in the rain outside of her flat, holding a wireless over his head as it played some significantly romantic song. Since she rented a suite for her PASWA foundation in the building he owned in Hogsmeade, he saw her everyday. And once daily, he would make it his business to drop by, often with a gift, each one pricier than the former. Needless to say, the gifts were either rejected on the spot, or returned unopened the same day.
He'd sent her cards, flowers, bracelets, watches, wrote her little notes and Floo-ed them to her office. He had discovered she loved chocolate toffees and had promptly sent her a basket of the most expensive kind he could lay his Galleon-laden hand on. On her birthday (which he'd learnt after accosting her male assistant and scaring the poor boy into revealing it), he'd hired an all-male a capella group to sing her birthday well-wishes, and he'd owled her two membership cards to one of the top spas in Wizarding Britain.
Was he lovestruck? Not even close. Admittedly, he did fancy her a great deal, but he supposed the real enjoyment came from the chase. A tiny battle had sprung up between them, and if there was anything Draco loved more than his specially-made Slick'n'Sleak hair gel, it was winning.
In any case, since he'd been old enough to read – which was at the impressive age of four, mind you – his father had always instilled in him one infallible principle: whatever a Malfoy wanted, a Malfoy got. And even though in hindsight he thought it an absolutely clichéd, hackneyed dogma to follow, he'd never once wavered in his belief, and had successfully lived by this code throughout his twenty-four years on this earth.
So, in that vein, whatever he wanted – and what he wanted was Hermione Granger – he was most definitely going to get.
"Wha' do you want?"
This was barked by a tall, skinny man wearing an ugly pink and mauve top hat and matching, fur-lined robes. His eyes were a vibrant and disturbing electric blue and they were set so deep in his face, Draco swore the man's forehead was creating shadows on his cheeks. His nose looked as if it had been punched out of shape on various occasions, and the abundance of golden teeth on exhibit when he spoke testified to that fact.
In the man's right hand was a shiny black cane with a miniature tiger's head in platinum at its top. The tiger's eyes were ruby-coloured beads, and its mouth was opened, advertising pointy platinum fangs. It was not unlike, Draco thought with horrified interest as he stared at it agog, his father's serpent-headed cane.
Does this mean my father was once a pimp?
He was in the seedier part of Knockturn Alley, and even though it was still afternoon, the alleyway in which he stood was almost as dark as though late evening was setting in. He was swiftly beginning to regret this half-cocked plan of his, and wished he was home in his clean and very safe mansion, enjoying good wine instead of enduring the baleful gaze of this degenerate individual in a semi-darkened, obviously dangerous alleyway.
"Speak, boy!" demanded the man. "I don' have time to waste on you, laddy. Not unless you got money to give."
Draco resisted the urge to curl his lip, remembering himself and his surroundings. "Yes, well, about that, Mr…?"
Sneering, spittle flying in Draco's direction: "Tricktickler White Chocolate Davy Ice Flow."
"Right…err…Mr Tricktickler White…err…Ice – I've a request of sorts. I need your help."
"Boy, I ain't helping no-one who ain't helping me," announced Mr Tricktickler White Chocolate Davy Ice Flow.
"Of course! You will be compensated handsomely, Mr Flow! See, I've even got a 'down payment' so to speak," said Draco as he whipped out a small bag of Galleons from the pockets of his robes and presented it to the pimp.
Snatching up the bag, the pimp rifled through it, and, apparently pleased with the offer, his sneer lifted marginally.
"What of it, then?"
"Well," Draco began, "I'd like to…err…well become an employee of sorts. Your employee, rather."
The sneer dropped away from the pimp's face and was replaced by crude interest. "You wanna turn tricks?" Then he eyed Draco up and down, squinting at his professional haircut, his clean-shaven face, his cashmere robes with their real silver buttons and his dragon-hide boots. Finally, he came closer – much to Draco's dismay for the stench of old cologne, sweat and abject despair was strong on the man – and peered at Draco's face. "Posh one, ain't you?"
Draco gave a dry, nervous laugh. He'd quite forgotten that, despite the darkness, he was still famous enough to be recognised. Half-cocked plan, indeed. He'd been foolish to have neglected wearing a temporary disguise at least.
"I wouldn't say posh, just a little more – " he began, but the pimp interrupted him.
"But I suppose you'll do fine. You're a pretty one. They'll pay plenty for you. Yeah. Real plenty."
Quelling the nausea that arose at the sight of the greedy, hungry glint in the pimp's eyes, Draco hastened to speak.
"No, no, Mr Ice. I've no intention of actually serving anyone – "
Draco's words were cut short when the pimp produced a wand from the tiger's head on the cane and pointed it at him.
"Oh, yeah? Well that's too bad, innit?"
And before Draco could reach for his own wand in his robes' pocket, the pimp cried, "Stupefy!"
Hit square in the chest by the spell, Draco immediately lost consciousness.
When Draco finally became conscious, he found himself lying spread-eagle on a bed. Because only two candles lit the room, he could hardly distinguish his surroundings. The most he gathered was the chest of drawers directly in front of the bed upon which the first candle sat, the bedside table on his left where the second candle sat, the lack of windows in the room, and the existence of one solid black door.
He attempted to slide his feet off the bed when he discovered that they were bound by invisible ropes and could go no further beyond the mattress' edge. His hands, too. Panicked, he struggled against the binds but found them uncompromising in their mission to keep him in place on the bed. As he wiggled around, he froze in shock when he felt something riding up the crack of his arse.
Wide-eyed, he lifted his head to find that he was naked – save for a flimsy piece of underwear cupping his Special Bits. Horrified, he lifted his head some more to look at the scrap of pink lace and the pair of black strings that curved around his hips, and were undoubtedly attempting to create a deeper division into his flesh.
Shite. This is not good.
Obviously. He was lying on an unknown person's bed, in an unknown room, in an unknown building, in an unknown location, garbed only in Muggle stripper wear (for his father had taught him this valuable lesson during their occasional trips to London), wandless, and with the memory of recently offering himself to work for a pimp revolving in his head.
Worst. Plan. Ever.
How he'd thought 'pretending to be a rentboy so that Granger could find him' was a good idea was beyond his scope of comprehension. Apparently, he'd not thought beyond his daydream of her bursting in through his door, wild hair sparking electricity, the fire of righteous anger and justice blazing in her eyes as she marched in, his glorious Chevaleresse, to his rescue. And when she'd found him safe and sound, a rush of joy and relief would overcome her, and she'd come to him and they'd make sweet, passionate, monkey-sounding love –
Sweet Merlin, how would she even find him? Although he'd discovered – actually, he'd, once again, frightened her poor assistant into showing him the info – the current region she was working in, he did not know how she went about her searches, and if or when she'd find him. By the time she did locate his whereabouts, irreversible damage might have already been done…
Like being raped and…and…losing my virginity…to a man.
His panic increased by leaps and bounds as he considered the very real possibility of not only being taken against his will, but to also 'give away his virtue' – so to speak – to someone that was undeserving of it. He'd not suffered under the Curse – one where a Malfoy male was cursed into impotence until either he got married or came into his inheritance, whichever came first – just to have it wasted on a bloke.
Damn it, he wanted to shag women! More specifically, he wanted to shag Granger!
He struggled against the binds some more but it was futile. Frantically, he tried to release himself by wandless magic but realised that in his panicked state, the most he would achieve was tiny sparks and insignificant puffs of smoke.
This situation was a dire one indeed. It would take a miracle for him to escape unscathed –
The door suddenly swung open, slamming noisily against the inner wall of the room. Breathing fast and deep and very sure that his time of violation had come a whole lot sooner than he'd anticipated, Draco, rigid with fear and shock, watched as a bald-headed, clean-shaven man with sizeable height and girth stepped into the room.
"What a lovely sight," said the man, smiling evilly, his soft brown eyes not in harmony at all with the rest of his intimidating appearance. "Pink fits you so well."
Without closing the door, the man walked towards the bed and placed one knee on the edge of the mattress, looming threateningly over Draco. Unable to stop himself, Draco began to tremble.
The man sneered at Draco. "Are you scared?"
Draco did not answer; could not answer for his voice had abandoned him.
"Answer me!" barked the man.
"Y-yes," croaked out Draco, his eyes wide and unblinking.
"Good. Serves you right, you prat."
And to Draco's ultimate horror, the man leant down, his intent very clear: he was going to kiss him!
But then, their lips mere centimetres apart, something strange began happening. The man's face – was it shifting? And was that hair rapidly growing on his head? And was the man shrinking?
Eyes still wide, Draco watched as the man's body began to take a new form. His Adam's apple shrunk away to a smooth, feminine neck, his once bald head had suddenly sprouted a riot of familiar brown curls, his body had shrunk, his chest had extended outward into a pair of breasts…
But most significantly was the man's…no…woman's face. Smaller, softer, a pouted mouth, a stubborn chin, warm brown eyes – the only feature that had remained unchanged during the metamorphosis that had occurred right before Draco's eyes.
Mouth opened in shock, Draco stared up into the face of –
"Yes, Malfoy?" she smirked.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, staring at the open door with worry. "You need to get out of here. It's dangerous!"
Scowling, Hermione pulled away from him and got to her feet.
"I'm saving your arse, you numpty," she replied as she produced her wand and broke the enchantment on Draco's limbs. "Though you don't deserve it. I should have left you here."
Freed at last, Draco was about to rise to his feet when he remembered what he was wearing. His cheeks almost as pink as the g-string he wore, he tried covering his lower half with the bedsheet.
Hermione's smirk returned. "What's there to hide? I've already seen everything."
Clearing his throat ostentatiously, he ignored her and said instead, "We haven't time to dawdle here, Granger. We need to get out right now. Apparate us away from here immediately."
Frowning, Hermione replied, "Keep your fat mouth shut, Malfoy. You are so lucky we were staking out Davy Ice Flow when your big idiotic head decided to show up on the scene. Merlin knows what would have happened to you if we weren't on the lookout for him." Here an evil smile manifested on Hermione's face momentarily. It scared Draco a bit. "In any case, because of you, we were able to find out where he was hiding his victims. The Aurors have captured him and the rest of the group are scouring the property as we speak."
Plastering a smug smile on his face, Draco said, "Well, the joke's on you, Granger. This was actually a ploy to get him to show me his hideout. I...err…only pretended to be hexed, robbed of my wand, stripped down to women's knickers and placed under an Incarcerous spell just to fool him."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Is that so?"
Draco nodded. "That is so."
"So this wasn't actually your strangest ploy yet to get my attention by pretending to be a rentboy so that I can come and search for you, whereby, upon finding you unhurt, I'll be so filled with relief that I'll rush to you and we'll make 'sweet love' to each other?"
Astounded by how she was scarily accurate, Draco could only stare at her in silence. However, determined to save face, he cleared his throat again and said:
She smiled, and then leant down to kiss him. Pulling away, she said softly,
"No? That's such a shame, then, because I was just about to tell you that, this time, it worked."