The Cleaners by Emeralds in the Dark, narrated by Briar and
Tones, Chapter 1 Dirty Work Outside London, 2002.
The shrill ring of that fucking forsaken telephone had him
tipping back one last drum straight out of the bottle
before his hand snatched up the receiver, yanking the cord from
the wall. All right mate, you get what you
needed. Their exchanges were clipped to
quick questions. Owls were being intercepted and
it had taken some convincing to get these cursed contraptions
instead. Manipulation, memory charms and
a few threats had persuaded the local electric company to
install the lines in the heavily warded manner.
The Ministry might be catching on, but they weren't cleverer
than them. It was the underestimation by
the Ministry, the assumption that Dermstrang educated pure
blood heirs wouldn't dirty their hands with Muggle technology.
That's where they were wrong. They'd dirty themselves plenty
if it meant refilling the family vaults.
Yeah, we were right. It's Colin's crew, all right.
You handling it tonight? Yeah.
Draco didn't wait for a response before hearing the click on
Theo's end and the dial tone. Boys, get in the car.
Draco's shout rang through the Manor almost as loud as not.
Call Draco Malfoy. Blaze Zabini and Adrian Pucey
lived in a sprawling estate outside Edinburgh, Scotland.
Why? It was the gateway to the east.
Their old school tires held strong and they exploited them
shamelessly. Theodore, not stationed in
London, worked with the suppliers while the rest handled
the trading. Edinburgh was a direct route to
Stouvanger, then Copenhagen, funnelling through Warsaw into
Minsk and finally Moscow. With so many international
stops, their goods moved through almost undetectable channels.
They hadn't planned to become what they were now, but after
discovering that centuries of family mismanagement had drained
their vaults, leaving them living off name and credit, the
four of them fresh out of Dermstrang, chose to refill
their coffers and fuck their family legacies into the ground
while they were at it. Colin's crew.
Blaze huffed smoke from his cigarette before crushing it
into the gravel under his boots as he opened the side door of
their COO de Ville. Draco was the only one of them
who had bothered to learn how to drive, more careful than the
rest. Just because there hadn't been
any nosy auras or indictments didn't mean they weren't being
watched. Flew connections and apparition
wards crisscrossed the areas they frequented, and Draco
wasn't about to take any chances.
Paranoid. Pusey would snort, but Pusey was
a fucking knit. He'd be the first to go down or
die. Collins crew.
Draco grunted, sliding into the driver's seat.
The scratchy sound of a rock'n'roll band crackled on the
radio, fading in and out as the sunset behind them.
Colin Murray was a washed up two old defunct Potions Master
heading a shoddy group of wannabe racketeers.
Draco had suspected for a while now that they were
counterfeiting the potions he, Blaze, Theo and Adrian had
created, slapping their labels on them and exporting them,
making their names and brands far less reputable.
The only people who could ruin their names would be themselves.
Knocking Murray's mangled teeth in would be the highlight of
Draco's night, especially after the man had been on his knees
just a month ago. Swearing he wasn't the one
ripping them off, Draco pulled up to the carriage just outside
Tayport. It was eerily quiet, too quiet
in the season for tourists. The gravel crunched under the
tires as he parked. Lighting the cigarette, he
motioned for Sabini and Pusey to stay still, their eyes fixed on
the thin curtains as shadows moved back and forth inside.
The first shadow was tall, lean and hunched Colin, the second
shorter and stockier, one of Colin's hench men.
Two more shadows followed. Their entire crew was there.
Gotcha. No one's necessary.
Too easy to trace. Draco muttered, nodding as he
opened the car door. He reached into the back seat
beside Pewsey and pulled out a Louisville Slugger, placing a
finger to his lips to signal silence.
Sabini and Pewsey got the message, staying quiet as they
sauntered up the walk to the entrance.
No wards. Colin either thought he was safe
or he was too pathetic of a wizard to know how to set them.
Either way, it didn't matter. The heel of Draco's boot,
coupled with years of Quidditch training had him slamming
through the weakened frame of the 100 year old cabin.
Collin's expression twisted in shock as Draco steps inside and
swung the bat directly into his face.
The instant rush Draco felt from the impact was a fucking high.
Teeth cracked, blood splattering across the walls like spilled
paint. Blaze was right behind Draco,
wrestling a ginger crony toward the whistling teapot that stung
their ears. Zabini smashed the man's face
into the boiling kettle before pressing it down onto the red
hot coil of the stove. The stink of burning flesh swam
beside agonizing screams. Draco swung his bat again,
bringing it down hard on Colin's skull.
Malfoy. Malfoy.
Colin begged. They always begged, but nothing
compared to the raw power of using brute force against a
man's bones. It was better than any spell he
could conjure. He understood the muggle's need
for physical violence, the satisfaction of it after years
of being told it was savage and uncivilized.
Lucius Malfoy had clearly never crushed a hand beneath dragon
hide boots. It was almost as good as
shagging. Draco had grown up with
repressed rage and lust. Years spent at an all boys pure
blood magical school that teetered on the edge of
unsavoury would do that to anyone.
Plenty of the other boys in their throes of puberty had
secretly fucked each other, trying not to get caught.
It was just as taboo as letting in muggleborns, but cock never
seemed to interest Draco. What he had craved was the heat
of a woman's cunt. The first time he felt it within
the coldness of Dermstrang stone walls had been with an easy beau
baton brunette. She'd got off being passed
around the 6th year dorm during the French school's two week
visit to explore the North's magical properties.
That's when Draco realized the two things he loved the most
were breaking bones and fucking. And for him they went hand in
hand after soaking in another man's blood, beating him
senseless. He'd shagged the plain looking
married witch at the pub. He'd slam her against the sink
in the loo, pelvis thrusting against her ass as she begged
for his cock. Draco would spit out crude
grunts about her ignorant cuckold of a husband, the pub
bartender who pretended not to notice that Draco filled his
wife every other week night. And when he was finished, he'd
toss some galleons on the counter, stalk out, and flew
back to the Manor to wash it all away.
Oh fucking hell, Colin, stop your begging, the time for that
is over. Draco's voice was cold and calm
as he pressed his boot harder into the man's neck.
You told me you weren't selling your shite to the Russians.
And guess what? You lied to me, Colin.
I don't like being lied to. He glanced back at Pewsey.
What happens to liars? They die.
With two muffled pups, Pewsey fired a pistol, and the two men,
one pinned against the wall and the other kneeling by the
counter pleading for mercy, crumpled to the ground,
lifeless. Draco noted how unceremoniously
they fell, as most bodies did, just limp, collapsing quietly, a
pathetic end to their miserable lives.
Draco swore he'd make sure his own end wouldn't be so boring,
wouldn't just keel over like these fucking fools.
Please, I didn't. It's just.
Colin spat through blood and broken teeth, his words barely
coherent. Nearby, the third man, the one
Blaise had pinned, had either died or lost consciousness, his
pink charred face glued to the stove.
We're going to raid the rest of your cottage, take everything
you've got, then I'm going to burn it to the ground with fiend
fire, turning your bones to ash. Draco continued, almost lazily.
Zabini will make it look like a Mughal oil fire, and by the time
they arrive, they'll buy it. Don't, Malfoy, I can help you.
Colin gargled, Crimson pooling in his mouth.
No, Colin, you can't. You could have, but you chose to
fuck with me. Draco crouched, smiling as he
saw the fear bubbling in the man's eyes.
No body fucks with me, or them, or our products.
We've worked hard to build a reputation for the cleanest,
most potent illicit elixirs on the market, and you almost
ruined that. Now you got to pay our price.
His grin widened as he leaned in closer.
So how do you want to do it, Colin?
Want me to beat you to death? Or should I let you burn alive?
Let me go. Colin's final desperate plea was
met with silence. Draco straightened up, already
bored of the conversation. Pussy, check the stall rooms,
empty it into the car. Sabini, start cleaning up.
Pussy and Sabini nodded. They all had their roles, Zabini
could make any scene look like a grisly muggle accident, while
Pusey had a knack for sniffing out illegal products, herbs, and
magical creatures like a Bloodhound.
Dricker lit another cigarette as he looked around.
This would all be over soon, and the job would be done cleanly,
just like always. London.
Diagon Alley. Theo hung up the phone and paced
around his flat, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins.
He'd spent the entire day beating the smuggler, Fletcher,
into a bludgeoned mess. Thwack who?
I don't know, mate, I don't know.
Another thwack, his knuckles raw and stinging, covered in blood.
Some his most not who. Theo rinsed his hands, still
feeling the phantom ache from his earlier confrontation with
Fletcher. He wasn't proud of it, but
sometimes violence and a flick of his wand got results.
Mondungus had broken the moment Theo whispered the possibility
of an Unforgivable, his already black and blue face paling at
the threat. Fucking coward.
Theo muttered, but Malfoy got his answer.
They had sent into London to cultivate a relationship with
some muggle born potionaire, a mental one, mixing muggle
chemistry with magical herbs, fungi, blurt, creature hair,
whatever strange ingredient you could think of, this bastard was
using it. Theo couldn't complain though.
London was a far cry from the dreary isolation of Newburgh.
Draco might call him for other tasks here and there, but at
least in London he could escape. He wasn't stuck going to the
same cursed pub outside their warded estate where Draco would
occasionally shag that ugly barmaid.
It felt fucking liberating to stroll into the Leaky Cauldron
when no one gave him a second glance.
The place was packed with witches and Wizards who'd gone
to Hogwarts, green grasses, Parkinson's and other purebloods
who remembered him as a boy but didn't know the man he was now.
He'd shagged Pansy Parkinson's a few times since being back,
despite her being engaged to some Flint bloke.
Not that it mattered. Flint's name was barely counted
as a pureblood anymore. Still, Theo needed to shake the
whole pure blood versus muggle born mindset.
He'd been raised with it ingrained in every thought, so
it wasn't easy to completely purge it from his head.
But the deeper he got involved with muggles, muggle borns, pure
bloods, and the aristocracy, hell, even the corrupt foreign
ministries, the more he realized they were all the same.
Debauchery had no bloodline. His loafers clicked against the
cobblestones as he walked toward the pub, the Weird Sisters
blasting into the street. People spilled out onto the
pavements with their pints, and Theo hummed along.
He preferred muggle music, but he knew waltzing in humming
Night Fever wasn't going to get him into the knickers of a
Slytherin blonde. He'd learned quickly that
Hogwarts alumni, especially Slytherins, were often the
easiest to bed. They'd always lead with their
house when he introduced himself as Theodore.
Not that name still carried weight.
The bar was packed, bodies pressed together in a humid
crush as Theo weaved his way through the crowd.
He ordered a fire whiskey, his eyes scanning the room as he
took a long gulp. That's when he saw her.
She was laughing with a pretty redhead, tossing her curls back
with a loud, carefree laugh, her whole presence vibrant and
alive, Autumn wrapped in human form.
Theo didn't usually think of women in terms of seasons, he
usually imagined them naked, plain and simple.
But this one? She radiated warmth like a
bonfire on a chilly night, comforting, inviting, and damn
it, now he needed to know her. His eyes lingered, and just his
fucking look. She must have felt it.
She turned, catching his stair with 1/2 smirk, her olive skin
glowing under the dim lights as if she soaked up the sun just to
carry it with her. She wore a black strippy dress
that casually hung off her curves and pulled at her hips.
Definitely Hogwarts, he thought. Thea ordered another whisky,
chugging it down as the scent of vanilla somehow cut through the
stench of stale booze and rotting limes.
The woman was beside him now, calling out to the overworked
bartender. Chin and tonic.
She quipped, not sparing him a glance as she rummaged through
her tiny black clutch, clearly struggling to find the galleons.
5 galleons. The bartender barked, hands full
even with the enchanted bottles, mixing drinks behind him.
Extendable charm. Just give me a moment.
She muttered, still digging through her bag.
Theo tossed 10 galleons onto the bar in front of her in the
bartender. She snapped her clutch shut with
an annoyed hoof. Thanks, but I do have it.
She said, her voice cool but her cheeks flushing slightly.
I believe you. Theo replied with a smirk.
But half the bar would have sobered up by the time you found
it. Her cheeks deepened in colour.
Does the kind stranger who bought my drink have a name?
I don't recognize you and I thought I knew everyone here.
It's a bloody reunion, Theodore. Not but you can call me Theo.
Theo. She repeated, a smile tugging at
her lips. I'm Hermione.
Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger Granger.
Theo mused, letting her name roll off his tongue.
Hogwarts. I assume we all are.
She said, raising an eyebrow. Except for you.
And how do you know I'm not an alumnus?
Maybe I'm just some bloke you forgot all about.
He teased. She gave him a slow once over,
her glance lingering in a way that surprised him.
I'd remember you cheeky witch, this Granger.
Dermstrang. He said.
Ah, that was my guess. She tilted her head slightly.
Tell me, does Theodore not of Dermstrang dance?
My friend's leaving soon, and it's far less fun without a
partner. Theo hesitated.
He wasn't much for dancing, especially not in front of a
crowd, and Hermione Granger was the kind of witch who drew eyes
without even trying. As it was, he had already
noticed a trio of Quidditch playing looking oafs watching
her from across the room, clearly hoping for a chance to
get close. Unfortunately, I'm not much of A
dancer, Granger. Shame.
She flashed him a playful grin, then twisted on her heel, moving
through the crowd with graceful, feline ease before Theo could
convince her that staying and talking to him would be far more
interesting than a dance. She was intriguing, more than he
expected. Music pulsed, the crowd ebbing
and flowing around him as he stood at the bar, his stare
focused on her. Hermione moved in waves, arms
lifting to run through her curls, letting them tumble back
as she swayed, always dodging the hands of men trying to edge
into her space. Each time one of them got close,
she slipped away, untouchable, but Theo knew he had to act
before one of them succeeded. Before he fully registered it,
his feet were moving, each thrum of the base driving him closer.
The strobe lights flashed, illuminating her in brief
glowing intervals. Her face, her body, each sway
mesmerizing him more than he was there, inches from her, his
breath hers. His hands slid to her waist and
instead of pulling away, she leaned into him, her body
pressed against his, her lip caught between her teeth.
The music blasted around them, but all Theo could hear was that
pounding of his own blood, the heat of her body seeping into
his as her fingers gripped his forearms.
Her hips moved against him in rhythm with the beat, sending
his senses in OverDrive. Come home with me.
He knew it was forward, hell, it was brazen, but something about
this woman had him completely ensnared.
I don't know you. She breathed, beads of sweat
glistening as they trailed down her cleavage.
Then get to know me. He murmured in her ear, his
breath hot against her skin. I'm worth your time, I promise.
She hesitated. You seem really sure of
yourself, though. Her voice was less certain now.
I'm so fucking sure of myself, Granger.
He choked with all this faux confidence.
I went to an all boys school. I'll bury my face in your thighs
all damn night just because I've been starved for it my whole
life. Her breath stopped and her eyes
locked onto his, wide with both surprise and something else,
something that made his pulse skyrocket.
Her grip on his arms tightened, her body stilling against his.
She nodded. Theo spun her around, pulling
her flush against him, her back pressing firmly into his chest,
her arse aligning perfectly with his groin.
Without a word, he guided her through the crowd, their bodies
moving as one as they stepped between sweaty bodies, her curls
brushing against his face with a light floral scent.
His clasp on her wrist was firm. Feeling her heart thrumming
under his palm, but she kept pace with him, allowing herself
to be LED towards the exit. Cold night air hit her bare
arms, causing shivers to erupt on her skin.
Theo stepped onto the dinly lit St. the full moon casting a
silvery glow over her face. Theo knew he wasn't supposed to
apparate, Malfoyed warned him about keeping magic used to a
minimum to avoid any traces, but he wasn't about to give Hermione
a second to reconsider her choice to leave with him.
She looked up at the sky, her lips parting as if she was about
to say something, but he silenced her by crashing his
mouth against hers, pulling her close as they spun on the spot.
The world twisted around them, and in the blink of an eye they
landed on the hardwood floors of his flat, their bodies stumbling
slightly from the jolt. She pulled back slowly, her
chocolaty eyes watery as she caught her breath, her lips
slightly parted in surprise. You could have gotten a
splinched. She teased.
Theo smirked, putting his mouth to her ear.
If I was going to split you open.
His tone dropped to a low growl as his hands slid down her
thighs and pulled her closer as he bunched the fabric of her
dress. It wouldn't be from Apparition,
love. A weak moan slid from her lip as
her hands moved to his shoulders.
He kept on course, pushing the hem of her dress up, his tongue
brushing against the side of her neck.
Theo. The sound of his name in her
strained tone sent a heady punch to his groin.
I like that. He rasped as his fingers teased
the fabric higher, exposing more of her stomach.
I don't usually do this. She admitted, her voice
faltering, and for the first time, Theo believed it.
There was something about the way her body trembled under his
touch, the goosebumps rising on her skin, her breath uneven.
It wasn't the usual coy line he'd heard before, not from
Pansy or Tracy or any of the others.
This time, he could feel the truth in it.
But you want to, don't you? He asked softly, his eyes
searching hers as he pulled the dress over her head, letting it
fall to the floor. Her curls tumbled back down over
her shoulders, framing her face like a Halo.
She hesitated, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths
before giving a small, almost imperceptible nod.
His lips crashed on her neck again, trailing over her skin
with pressed kisses and teasing nips.
Her low groan was all the encouragement he needed as he
sucked on the spot just below her earlobe, his tongue flicking
out to soothe where he bit. Her fingers fumbled with the
buttons of his shirt, clumsy in her eagerness.
In one deft motion, he gripped the back of her thighs, lifting
her. Hermione let out a small squeak
but quickly wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing
herself closer. Theo wondered if she'd been too
shy, wondering if her initial hesitation would hold her back,
but the way her lips ground against him and told him there
was a fire in her, a fire he was intent on stocking until it
roared. He carried her through the door
of his bedroom, kicking it shut behind them.
His flat was nothing special, minimalist, a bachelor's haven.
He tossed her onto his bed, watching with starvation as she
bounced lightly on the mattress, her body sprawled out in front
of him, her modest bra and knickers the only barrier
between him and what he wanted. There was something
unexplainably sexy about how simple they were, dull even, and
it drove him mad. She wasn't dressed for
seduction, and that made her earlier words all the more real.
She wasn't prepared for this, wasn't used to this, and yet
here she was, trusting him, wanting him.
Hermione Granger hadn't gone out tonight with the intent to bear
the man, but it was an ego stroke unlike any other that
she'd crawled into his. He shrugged off the remainder of
his shirt and watched as her eyes roved over his chest.
Scars. She questioned, her voice
curious about the marks etched onto his skin.
Yeah. He muttered, undoing his belt
with deliberate slowness, his trousers hitting the floor.
And got a few of those. He stepped out of them,
revealing the hard length of his cock pressed against his briefs.
Her throat bobbed as he tugged them off.
How did you get them? Her breath dropped an octave as
she stared at him, and he couldn't help but smirk at her.
Noisy witch, aren't you? He teased as he climbed onto the
bed, caging her beneath him, his hands back on her thighs,
slipping her drenched knickers aside and dipping into her heat
without hesitation. Fuck.
She whined, her body jolting at the sudden intrusion, her hips
instinctively rolling against his hand as his thumb brushed
over her clit. Theo's lips captured hers again,
kissing her with a messy frenzy. I'm going to fuck you first.
He growled against her mouth, pulling away, their lips still
connected with a strand of spit. I need to feel you wrapped
around me. She nodded, her breath shaky,
anticipation drilling into her eyes as he lined himself up,
keeping her knickers pushed to the side.
He pressed forward, the head of his cock sinking into her
tightness. The way her body gripped him,
squeezing him as he pushed deeper, was enough to make his
vision blur momentarily. Fucking Merlin.
He grunted, his voice strangulated as he bottomed out.
I'm going to bury my face between your thighs and make you
come on my tongue, then you'll ride my cock until morning.
She clenched around him as he swore under his breath.
The sensation was pure hell and heaven, dark magic, as if he was
being swallowed whole. She gasped, her head falling
back against the pillows, and her body shook with every inch
he gave her. Theo grinned wickedly as he
pulled back slightly, then thrust forward, setting the
slow, torturous pace that had her moaning his name on repeat.
You like the sound of that? God's, yes.
She hooked her legs tighter around his waist, locking him
in, keeping him so deep that his movements were restricted to
shallow thrusts, each inch pulling a foul curse from her
lips. When the sunlight filtered into
the room the next morning, Theo knew he was fucked.
Normally he felt nothing but relief when dawn broke, ready to
unceremoniously kick the witch from his flat.
But to day was different. He lay there, captivated by the
curve of her bareback, the tangle of hair spilling over his
pillow and the way her tits pressed against the sheets,
still asleep in his bed. The witches he usually shagged
were docile, letting him have his way without complaint.
But her? She had been something else
entirely. After her first orgasm, she had
sworn and cursed beneath him, driving him bloody mental with
her unbridled lust. Theo couldn't stop thinking
about the way she had booked her hips against his face, how her
hand had gripped his hair as she demanded more and more as she
dripped down his chin. Or how she had ridden him as if
it was her right, her body a force of nature.
Ferrell, that's what this was. Ferrell.
She was raw and wanton, far removed from the polished prim
Slytherin or Buboton sluts who tried to pass themselves off as
debutants waiting for the right man to marry.
She was nothing like them, and gods did that make her
dangerous. Theo's thoughts drifted to his
friends. Malfoy, Zabini, Pewsey.
What would they think of her? He swallowed hard at the
thought. It wasn't her blood status or
her background that worried him. No, none of them cared about
that. It was her.
Her fire, her demands, the way she drew him in with every touch
and sound. They would be just as captivated
by her allure as he was, and the thought of sharing her, of them
wanting her, made his chest tighten.
No, they would never meet her, especially Malfoy.
Theo wasn't ready to let her go, not yet, but he knew their time
together had a limit. He'd be called back to Scotland
soon, and she'd stay in London. He could visit, of course, but
he knew how this would play out. He was already thinking about
how to keep her close, how to keep her hidden from the others,
how to make her his without anybody knowing.
What a fucking wanker he was lying there plotting after
spending only one night between her thighs, but he couldn't help
it. There was an unspoken rule among
him and the others. No girlfriends, no wives,
nothing that would complicate their plans.
They were going to get filthy fucking rich again, reclaim
their family's power, and then disappear when it was all done.
But after that, he could come back for her.
Yes, he'd keep her a secret until then, and when the time
was right, he'd come back for her.
Shifting closer, Theo dragged his tongue down her spine.
His hands slid over her tits, massaging them as he pressed
kisses into her neck. He could feel himself hardening
again, his cock throbbing against her ass as he pulled her
thigh over his, straightening himself with her sleepy moans
sounded as he thrust into her still swollen cunt, waking her
by filling her to the brim. Good morning, love.
Theo rasped as he pulled out and thrust back in, her body
welcoming him with that wet heat he was beginning to obsess over.
How the fuck was she already so soaked and first thing in the
morning? This was a breakfast he could
indulge in every day.