The back door opened again and the lord walked through again, accompanied by another man. Clare caught a hasty look at the one she didn't know— tall and poised, with long blonde hair, aristocratic features, and holding a silver snake topped cane.
The wizard glanced at her and she instantly averted her eyes. She heard the door close and looked up. The two men had gone.
The madam bustled back into the room looking flustered. "Clare, in here, please."
"M-me?" She stood up. The other girls gave her weary looks.
"Yes. C'mon now."
Her mind raced as she shuffled into the back room the two wizards had just vacated. Was she in trouble? Surely things couldn't get any worse, could they?
The door closed behind her.
The madam turned to her. "Your next client will be here in thirty minutes. You will have no polyjuice." She blinked, shocked. No polyjuice? She'd only ever had one client who she didn't use polyjuice with — a regular, much older wizard called Robert Volf. "But," she started, "I thought I wasn't allowed—"
"This client is somewhat different. I don't know the specifics, but he is one of the most powerful wizards in Britain."
Clare's heart sped up. Dread seeped through her.
"You are to do anything he asks of you, understand? Any request at all."
She swallowed and nodded.
"And you're to look your best." The madam looked her over. "I'll go through my wardrobe, find something appropriate, and we'll resize it the best we can."
She nodded again and left to get ready.
Twenty minutes later, Clare sat inspecting herself in front of her room's dresser mirror, adjusting a cloth wrinkle here, brushing back an errant hair there. The robe she now wore was more like a dress than a robe, and if it didn't have a hood, would have certainly passed for one. The madam had attached an emerald pendant to the front of her silver collar, turning it into a kind of jewelled choker.
She tried to keep her mind off the upcoming appointment, but wasn't having much luck. The closest client she'd ever had to a lord before had been Mister Volf, who, as the man constantly told her, was a pureblood from a family dating back over a thousand years. This man, by contrast, would almost certainly be an actual lord — And magical lords were dangerous.
Eventually, there came a knock from the door.
Clare stood up and demurely waited for the man to enter.
The door didn't move.
She frowned.
The knock came again. Clare jumped, heart racing and quickly opened the door herself. "I'm sorry, I didn't—" She stared up into a black and emerald mask. "—Realise," her voice slowed. "Most people just… come in." She hastened to stand back and the masked man took a step forward.
"That's quite alright, Miss Cooper." His voice was deep and rich, much like the clothes he wore. "I try to make it a point to respect the spaces of those who are not my enemies."
Clare took another step backwards, dipped into the lowest curtsey she could and used it to hide the gulp from a suddenly too dry throat.
The man stepped forward and reached out a hand, palm up.
She took it, hesitating only slightly.
The man then silently lead her through her own little room to the window. He drew back the curtains and looked down into the alley beyond. "No watchers that I can see," he murmured. "I was sure they'd have posted someone."
"Sir?"
The man closed the curtain again and turned back to her. "Oh, my apologies, Miss Cooper. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Slytherin of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin."
So he was a lord. "I-I'm sorry, my lord."
The mask tilted to the side. "That's quite alright, Miss Cooper." He let go of her hand, walked back to the still opened door, closed it, produced a wand—seemingly from nowhere—and waved intricate patterns over the now shut woodwork. "There." He turned back to her. "Now we don't need to worry about being disturbed." Clare tried to smile as though this was the best news she could have possibly received.
Slytherin stepped into the middle of the room, reached into his pocket, brought something out, and reached down to place it on the ground.
Clare's eyes flickered uneasily to the now closed and presumably locked door, looked back, and did a double take when the thing the lord had taken out of his pocket had turned into a large wooden trunk.
Magic.
"I was told you wouldn't have eaten?"
She shook her head.
"Well then," he walked over and offered her his hand again. "I'd like to invite you to join me for dinner with two close friends of mine."
Her eyes widened slightly. Two other people? "I…" The madam's words came back to her, 'do anything he asks of you.' She swallowed. "I understand, my lord." She took his hand.
He lead her over to the trunk and, to her utter shock, down into the trunk!
Magic.
The trunk held a small room about as big as the room she and the other girls usually ate in. The walls were wood panelled, torches flickered green light across the space, and a small table in the middle of the room already sat two other people. One thing leapt out at her… the room didn't have a bed.
"Miss
Clare
Cooper,"
Slytherin
intoned, "allow me to present two dear friends of mine, Daniel and Emma Granger."
Emma Granger stood.
Clare was taken aback. The witch was dressed in a blouse and blue jeans. She hadn't seen anyone dressed like that since her last escape attempt almost a year and a half ago.
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