Finding yourself in a brothel! I had this idea a while back, probably generated on a discussion in the HarryandGinny Discord. What if there was a wizarding brothel in London that catered to very specific tastes? What if someone found himself there? I don’t have this fully completed yet and it’s been a while since I worked on it, but I ran across it a little while ago and I thought I’d post what I have. Let me know what you think!
“Right, here’s the plan,” Harry said, sketching a quick diagram of their target in glowing light with his wand. “We’re running two teams—one for the front door and one for the back. Ron, you’re in charge of the back door.”
Ron nodded, obviously ignoring the sniggers from the others at the mention of back door. “I’ll take front. Burnham, Jones, you’re with me. Mason, Howard, you’re with Ron.” Harry waved his wand, banishing the glowing outlines of the house. “Richards, you’ve got the Anti-Apparation in place?”
“Yeah, boss. Went up half an hour ago. Nothing so far.”
“Good man.” Harry took a deep breath and went over everything in his head, trying to not belie his nervousness at leading his first raid. “All right. We go in five. Ron, wait for my signal before entering. Break down the door if you have to.” He looked over his team one last time. “Remember, Stunning or disabling only. It’s a brothel, so there are going to be, erm, vulnerable people in there, yeah?”
Everyone shared looks and smiles that clearly indicated that they knew exactly what sort of vulnerabilities they’d be finding in the magical brothel they were about to raid for the illegal use of Polyjuice Potion.
Harry checked his watch and blew out a breath. “Burnham, take us out.” The group fell in behind Andy Burnham, the only one of them not in regulation Auror blacks. Instead, he was dressed as a well-to-do young man in smart slacks and a leather motorcycle jacket. As they strode the pavement of the quiet neighborhood in the heart of Belgravia, the other Aurors cast Disillusionment Chams, making it look as if Burnham were strolling along by himself.
A few moments later, Andy was at the blue-painted front door of the most notorious wizarding brothel in London. Ron had touched Harry on the shoulder, letting him know that he was peeling his team off to the back door. Harry tapped Andy, prompting him to bang the brass knocker in a very specific pattern.
As the last knock sounded, the door opened, a rough-looking man framed in the doorway. Mute, he looked Andy over and grunted, stepping aside to allow him in, Harry and the others barely managing to squeeze in behind him. “This way,” the man, obviously a guard, said, leading them down a hallway hung with paintings that were best described as “florid”.
He caught the sound of a bell ringing and they entered a sitting room where red seemed to be the predominant theme. A smiling woman greeted them. “Welcome to Aphrodite’s Playground,” she said, looking more like she was dressed for a corporate boardroom than a whorehouse. “You have an appointment, Mr …?”
“Washburn,” Andy supplied. Harry noted the guard standing at the entrance to the sitting room, hands folded casually behind his back.
“Washburn, yes. I’m Madame Wendy. Now, before we get started, I wanted to confirm your preference is for women, correct?”
“Erm, yeah.” Andy nodded and Harry saw the red of a blush creeping up his neck. Keep it together, Burnham.
“Excellent. I think you’ll be pleased by what we have to offer,” Madame Wendy said, touching her wand to a brass button on a table next to her. Seconds later, several women streamed into the room from two different directions, arranging themselves in seductive poses on the spindly furniture.
Harry gaped, stunned as he recognized several of the women. Oh my God, that’s Gwenog Jones! And is that … Angelina Jolie? His mind raced as he spied Celestina Warbeck perched on a chair in the corner, a sultry grin on her motherly face. That’s got to be a rather specialized taste, Harry thought distractedly as he worked to catalog the other stolen celebrity images on display.
Madame Wendy looked at the assemblage proudly. “You won’t find better anywhere else, I guarantee. Our polyjuice is of the highest quality, brewed by a master using only authentic ingredients.” She rested her hand on top of the platinum blonde hair of an ersatz Paris Hilton. “Now, take your time, Mr Washburn. You have plenty. We guarantee at least four hours of … playtime.”
Right. That’s what I needed. Harry dispelled the Disillusionment charm, trusting Jones to follow his lead. “Attention, this is a raid. Nobody move,” he said, sending a brief Summons to Ron as the signal to go into the back door.
For a moment, all was still before erupting into chaos as women screamed and started fleeing. Whirling, Harry stunned the guard, sending him toppling to the thick carpet, wand falling from his fingers. Madame Wendy stood still, staring at Harry before spinning around, clearly trying to Disapparate. Her wand flew into Andy’s hand as he disarmed her before wrapping her up in black ropes.
Paris Hilton was crying now, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “Don’t tell my mum,” she sobbed as Celestina Warbeck comforted her.
“Andy, you’re here. Get this lot calmed down, yeah? Jones, let’s go,” Harry said, sending his stag shooting down the hallway to Ron. Start at the top. Meet you halfway. Together, he and Jones made their way through the ground floor of the brothel, opening doors and immobilizing anyone they found no matter what they were in the middle of.
Spotting Ron at the end of one hallway, Harry opened one last door and stepped in. “Aurors,” he barked, “this is a raid and — what the fuck is this?” There on the bed with a woman crouched between his thighs was … himself. Vertigo swept over him as he met his own shocked green eyes and he stepped back out of the room, slamming the door shut.
“Oi, what’s that about?” Ron asked. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve just seen a Dementor. That wouldn’t even been the weirdest thing I’ve seen tonight. D’you know they have both Will and Kate?” He reached for the doorknob and Harry put a hand on his arm, stopping him.
Unable to muster his voice, Harry just shook his head at Ron’s questioning look. “Mate, is there someone in there?” he asked.
Miserable, Harry could only nod and stepped aside. If someone’s got to see it, at least it’s Ron.
Hours later, Harry sat across a steel table from the young man that had been his doppelgänger. Now, the effects of the Polyjuice worn off, he was relieved to see that they had absolutely nothing in common looks-wise. Roman Galik turned out to be the sort that was best described as “weedy” with bulging blue eyes and a receding chin.
“Mind if I smoke?” Roman asked, his Polish accent stronger than it had been when he’d been arrested.
“Fine,” Harry said as Roman unwrapped a fresh pack of Dunhills. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth, looking at him expectantly until Harry snapped his fingers, lighting it in a completely unnecessary display of wandless magic.
Harry waited as the cigarette burned down, thumbing through the slim file he’d brought into the interview room with him. “Roman Galik. Nineteen years old, middling student at Durmstrang. What brings you to England, Roman?” he asked, closing the file with snap.
“Opportunity,” Roman said, blowing out a lungful of smoke.
“And was being a whore pretending to be me the opportunity you were looking for?” Once more, the shock of seeing himself splayed out on a bed as a strange woman went down on him rolled through him and he suppressed a shudder.
Stubbing out his cigarette, Roman shrugged. “It was what came up.”
“Indeed,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow.
The young man crossed his arms and stared back at him. ”I’ve studied you," he finally said, reaching for another cigarette. "Read all your interviews, collected pictures. I have a scrapbook this thick." He held his forefinger and thumb several inches apart. "When I got your speech pattern down, I got more popular." He smiled. "Word of mouth."
Word of mouth, Harry thought, an uneasy prickling traveling down his spine. Who else knows about this? How many people have … slept with me? The woman who’d been with Roman-as-Harry hadn’t been anyone he’d known and she seemed simultaneously stunned and giddy at being faced with the real Harry Potter as she was arrested for soliciting.
“Whose idea was it? For you to play me?”
“Madame Wendy’s,” Roman said, his promptness surprising Harry.
“How long ago?” How long have people been fucking me behind my back?
Roman pursed his lips in thought. “Hmm, maybe six months? You were on the wireless a lot. Helped me with my accent. Did you know you sound a bit posh around the vowels?”
Thanks, Aunt Petunia. “Mm. Who supplies the Polyjuice?”
“Dunno. I just do what I’m told.” He smiled at Harry and mimed drinking from a bottle. “It’s a bit of Drink Me and down the rabbit hole I go.”
