Chapter Text
Hermione was just twelve years old when she decided she would follow Harry Potter anywhere.
Then she turned thirty, and allowing Harry to lead her into the unknown suddenly felt like the worst kind of idea.
“I swear, it’s safe,” he promised as they walked through the hidden door and into a small, dark room.
“Yes, because those words, coming out of your mouth, always make me feel better.”
“Hermione,” he turned abruptly to face her. He placed his hand on her shoulders and met her eyes with a serious expression. “I’ve grown up, and you helped me do that. I’ve done a lot of stupid things, and I’ve walked into dangerous situations. I know I’ve asked a lot of you over the years, and it wasn’t always great, but I need you to trust me on this one. I would never knowingly lead you into a risky situation. Anymore.” He grinned then. It was that classic, devastating smile he used with the press. “Besides, I seem to recall you coming up with a few ideas all on your own.”
She scowled. “That was a long time ago.”
It was nearly thirteen years ago, to be exact.
He rolled his eyes. “You’ve done the research. You looked into the lifestyle, both magical and Muggle. Neville, Luna, and I have answered every question you’ve had.”
“I know. I know.” Hermione looked down at her hands. “Everything that occurs is safe, sane, and consensual. This club is one of the safest in the world. I trust you—I do. Neville would never take you or Luna anywhere dangerous. Hell, I even know that you’d never knowingly lead me into danger, but—”
“There are anti-Apparition wards and so many protective spells over this building that I doubt Moody could have found it. You are safe here, Hermione. I promise.”
Deep down, she knew this. She knew that the wards were strong. Merlin, she could nearly feel the powerful magic wash over her as they’d walked through the door. Neville had assured her that the staff were well-trained and protective. Harry had insisted that disrespectful patrons were thrown out immediately. And Luna—in between claims that there were no Nargles or Wrackspurts—had promised that they would never encourage her to do anything that would cause her harm.
Of course, Luna was right. Hermione knew that. Still, she didn’t know how to calm her racing heart.
“Okay?” Harry searched her face for a long moment. When she nodded, he tapped his wand against a bare space of wall, which dissolved to reveal a rather large wizard.
“Wands,” the man held his hand out.
Harry gave his over without hesitation, but Hermione paused. Hand her wand over? To a stranger? Why would she—how could she—
“Trust me.”
She turned her head to find Harry looking at her, his eyes sincere. “Fine.” Hermione fought her anxiety, trying to hide the way her body shook as she handed her wand to the man.
The wizard stepped to the side, revealing a dark staircase. He sounded as bored as he looked. “Up the stairs. Left is the bar, straight ahead is the play area, right is the healer’s area and aftercare. Second floor has private rooms. Enjoy.”
When they reached the landing at the top of the stairs, Hermione stopped. “You owe me.”
“I know,” he grinned again. “I’ve been in your debt since we were kids. Might as well add another thing to the list.”
Harry led them into the bar first and had her sit at the closest empty set of seats while he went to get drinks.
It looked like any other bar she’d been to. It was a bit more upscale than the average pub, of course, but still a bar. For some reason, she’d expected…more—not that she was disappointed by any means. On the contrary, it was a relief. The seats were covered in soft, black leather. Booths and chairs with various table heights were mixed around. It seemed they’d accounted for every kind of need. Witches and wizards sat with Goblins and half-giants. A Vampire stood in the corner, arm wrapped around a beautiful Veela. It was truly a varied mix of clientele.
Waiters flitted about, and Hermione realized that there were no House-Elves. Again, she’d made an incorrect assumption about the establishment. The staff were as varied as the patrons.
“I got you a Gillywater. Figured you wouldn’t want to feel impaired in any way.” Harry set the glass on the low table in front of her.
“But I thought—”
“There’s a two-drink maximum, and a sobering potion and a hydrating elixir are required before entering the other rooms.”
Clearly, Harry knew her too well. “Oh, right. Of course. That makes sense.”
Hermione sipped her drink and continued to watch the room, but Harry’s eyes stayed on her.
“So. What do you think?”
“We’ve barely been here five minutes, and I’ve only seen this room. How can I possibly make an informed decision about this lifestyle if I haven’t seen—”
“Merlin. Sometimes I forget that you—Okay, so you’ve spent the last few minutes just briefly scanning the room, haven’t you?”
Hermione could feel her cheeks redden with embarrassment. “So what if I have? I like learning. There’s nothing wrong with finding interest in my surroundings.”
“I knew it was best to start here. Sometimes you look but don’t see. Alright,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. He shifted to sit next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to bring her closer. “Do you see the couple over in the corner? The Vampire and the Veela?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“You probably noticed how beautiful they look together, then moved on, but look closer. The Vampire is pale. He hasn’t fed recently, and he’s getting twitchy, uncomfortable. The Veela? He has bite marks on his neck and shoulder.”
“So then why…I mean, they’re clearly in a relationship. Everything I’ve read says that the Veela just needs to consent—which he clearly has—so why—”
“What is the Vampire wearing?”
“What?” Hermione gave him a bewildered look.
“What is the Vampire wearing?”
She looked back at the couple. The Vampire was pale; that much was true. Black robes hung from his thin frame, probably expensive, given how much the fee to get in here was. She couldn’t see much more from across the room other than the fact that he kept fidgeting. His hands returned to his neck repeatedly to fiddle with the collar around his—oh.
“A collar,” Hermione murmured. “He’s wearing the Veela’s collar.”
“Correct. My guess is that he won’t let the Vampire feed yet. I’d bet that’s a game they play, part of their relationship. The Vampire isn’t the one with the power to take here. The Veela has the power to give.”
Hermione frowned in confusion and let her gaze wander around the room again. While many had collars, not everyone did. Now that she could see it, though…
She hadn’t noticed the witch kneeling on the floor between two goblins. Or the wizard sitting on the lap of a female half-giant. Another half-giant stood at the bar, chatting with a Veela. Every group had a clear dynamic now.
Merlin, how had she missed it at first? She’d started research the moment Harry suggested they come to this club. It was all consensual. All for fun and release. So how could she have overlooked it in person?
A scuffle to their right broke Hermione from her reverie.
A half-giant had a goblin pinned against the wall. The goblin was crying out a nearly unintelligible word, but the giant wasn’t stopping. Several staff members surrounded the being and yelled, “ Incarcerous! ”
The giant roared as ropes wound around its frame. The goblin dropped to the floor, her landing softened by a cushioning charm.
“Oh, my,” Hermione covered her mouth with her hand. Her thoughts were running too fast for her to pick out just one emotion. That was awful. It shouldn’t have happened. How could they let that—
Harry laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Hey, Hermione, look at me….Okay. Breath. The half-giant is being thrown out. The suppression wards acted as they should. It’s alright.”
“No—no, it’s not. That’s just—it’s—how could that happen?”
“It doesn’t happen often, but not everyone likes the rules. That might be the—what, the second time I’ve seen someone thrown out? And Neville’s been bringing us here for years, love. There’s a zero-tolerance policy for violence like that. They’ll never be allowed in the building again.”
She took another sip of her water and tried to calm down. All of her research indicated this could happen but that a reputable place would take care of it quickly and safely—and they had. The staff responded with competence and authority. Appropriate, and impressive, wards were in place to allow such magic on non-human beings. So why was she so shaky? Why did it bother her so much?
Because this room was just a bar. Because this room was supposed to be safe from all that. Because she was fucking scared.
Hermione scowled at her own thoughts. She’d promised Harry that she would keep an open mind. One incident because of one awful patron shouldn’t deter her.
“I—” she swallowed thickly. “I want to see the next room.”
Harry stared at her for a long moment. “Are you sure? I can feel you trembling.”
“Of course.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. “Friendship and bravery, right?”
“We can leave. I just thought—well, like I told you before, Luna and Neville bring me, and I just thought that…maybe you could use the break, you know? The release? You did all that research, and it explains how it feels, but…Look, we can head back to Grimmauld. I have ice cream.”
Harry would offer something sweet, wouldn’t he? For all he’d felt alone, Harry had many parent figures in his life, and he took after them more than he realized. When she was upset, he always offered chocolate or sandwiches, biscuits or ice cream. He had come so, so far from that little boy on the train. No less kind and compassionate, but Harry smiled more often now. He had found a routine and happiness with Luna and Neville. Her friend had truly healed.
If he could do it, so could she, right? Besides, it was just a room, and all she had to do was look.
“Let’s go.” Hermione set down her drink and stood.
Harry’s expression was worried. Cautious. Wary. “If you’re sure…”
“Harry—”
“Okay…Okay, we’ll go see the playroom.”
He led her through the crowd to a door on the far side of the bar and entered a small, dimly lit room. A witch handed them each two vials, watching them intently until both potions were swallowed. She waved her hand. Another door opened.
Hermione could see only the tiniest sliver of light before her other senses caught up with her.
The scent of sweat and sex permeated the air. And the sounds. Fuck— the sounds . They were screaming. All of them screaming. Some part of Hermione knew that there was pleasure there, knew that it was all part of the Risk-Aware Consensual Kink community. She knew that whatever was happening on the other side of the door was—
“Stop!” One witch cried, but a moan quickly followed. It wasn’t her safe word, so her partner didn’t stop.
Hermione tried to hang on to that fact. She tried to remember that everything was safe.
The witch cried out again, “Stop!”
“STOP!” shrieked Bellatrix, “Do not touch it, we—”
She shook her head. It wasn’t real. Bellatrix was dead. Hermione was with Harry. He was right beside her, not being dragged out of sight. It was okay, she was—
Another scream, but Hermione couldn’t hear the pleasure in the sound.
Everything hurt. Everything hurt so fucking badly, and she needed it to stop. She’d never been to Bellatrix’s vault. She hadn’t been to Gringotts in nearly a year. They’d found the sword. That was it. They had found it. Pain. She hurt so, so much. Where were Harry and Ron? Why weren’t they coming for her? Was she alone? Were they gone? It hurt…Everything hurt.
“Hermione!”
Hurt.
“Hermione!”
Hurt.
Hurt. Hurt. Hurt.
“Hermione, fuck.” Was that Harry? Had he come for her? “I knew better. I knew better than to bring you here, and…did it anyway. I…so…king stupid. Please wake up. Hermione, please.”
“I don’t know what you were thinking, Mr. Potter. Bringing her here—ridiculous. I knew…weren’t the brightest, but…have thought you had some modicum…gence! How you saved the world, I’ll never know.”
Yes…yes, that was Harry, though his voice was fading in and out. Who was with him? The female voice was low, smoky. Familiar.
“Diagnostics are clear,” the woman continued. “You should take her home. My office allows departure Apparition, so you can do it now. Here are your wands. She needs aftercare, even though she didn’t participate, and it shouldn’t be here. I can’t believe—of all the ridiculous—Circe.”
Aftercare.
It all came rushing back to her. The half-giant and the goblin. The Vampire and the Veela. The black leather seats. The screams.
She flinched, trying to move away, but strong arms wrapped around her.
“Now, Mr. Potter,” the woman repeated.
Hermione managed to open her eyes just enough to catch a flash of blonde hair before she felt the pull of Apparition as Harry took her home.