Needle and Haystack Life {Abepie}

[Willow]

There is an unwritten rule in the Book of Willow; it goes without saying: “One must look good at any given time, you never know what might happen and who you might need to impress,” in her current situation the person she needed to impress was her old Headmistress. Walking around the corridors of Hogwarts had never been something Ethal had managed at school, always getting lost and managing to make a wrong turn. Trying to find the Headmistresses office had resulted in her asking a scared looking child. She didn’t think herself the scariest of individuals given some of the customers she had seen pass through Scores, but this child seemed to find her above knee, bright, red dress intimidating. She’d never been very good with children.

She knew half the elder male population of the school knew exactly what she was. Some of their faces she recognised from working behind the bar and as she danced. She knew some of them may have been guilty of applying for her services. But one solidly written rule in her book was never to sleep with an under-aged individual. She saw the questioning looks thrown her way by the older students. But it wasn’t her choice to be there. Professor McGonagall had contacted her, had asked her to attend a meeting but hadn’t referenced why. It wasn’t like she had anywhere else to be early afternoon. And using the Floo network into the village wasn’t the hardest thing to accomplish. She might as well do what the lady wanted.

As it had turned out, she’d wanted to point her nose into Ethal’s life. She’d heard about her running into trouble and wanted to know if offering her a position at the school would help. Why she couldn’t merely do that in her letter Willow would never understand. Probably something to do with the fact it was harder to turn the old lady down face to face. The woman had never cared for Ethal before, why would she now? It wasn’t like she was going to blame the school for what happened. It didn’t even happen in the wizxarding world. And really, she had found her own feet. She didn’t like to think that people thought her incapable of handling her own life and choices. So she kindly declined the offer and quickly excused herself.

She didn’t like to think she had come all the way to the school for no reason. She found another young student, this one not so scared of her being, and asked them to take her to one Professor Grey’s office. The student took her to the Fourth Floor, past the library. Somewhere Ethal had rarely entered into and certainly a place Willow never would. She thanked the child and checked out hair in her compact mirror, reapplying her lip-gloss and smiling to herself. Hooking her bag over her arm so it rested in the crook of her elbow she knocked on his office door. She frowned at the door as nobody answered and she knocked on the door again. A muffled, “Come in,” sounded behind the door. She smiled reaching out for the handle and opening the door, ”Afternoon,” she smirked, a tinkle in her eye as she pushed the door shut with her foot behind her.

[Abraham Grey]

Contrary to popular belief Abraham did occasionally do some work towards his position as Arithmancy Professor. The fact that he wasn’t doing any at that particular moment was no reflection on him, okay! He’d tried this time, he really had, but setting up his homework marking base camp in the rather cosy armchair in front of the fireplace probably hadn’t been his best idea ever. There was something about fourth years writing about Pythagorean incantations that sent him right to sleep. Or it might have been to do with the fire crackling in the grate that was warming him up considerably and the confiscated broom floating gently before him that he was using as a foot rest. Either way he hadn’t even got to the third essay before he dropped off, head drooping forwards in a way that his neck would hate him for later.

He jerked back awake at the soft knocking his door, the quill that had been grasped loosely in his hand dropping onto his lap and allowing a spot of black ink to soak into his trousers right around his crotch. ”Shit!” He cursed quietly, it was probably a Hufflepuff coming to see him and he didn’t want to scare them away by shouting profanity. Scrambling out of his chair, Abe hurried over to his desk, abandoning the messy pile of scrolls on the floor near the armchair. There was no point picking them up, there was no room for them on the desk anyway and they only added to the eccentric professor look that he worked so hard to achieve. You couldn’t be a professor at Hogwarts unless your office was a mess of papers, it was like an unwritten rule. He frowned as he thought of Idris’s anally tidy office, Tristram’s books all organised by size and exactly parallel to each other and Adrian’s colour co-ordinated filing system. Well, you couldn’t be a real professor anyway.

”Come in!” He called when his unexpected visitor knocked again. Abe was still feeling slightly groggy from his unplanned nap and he rubbed a hand over his already sleep mussed hair to try and wake himself up bit. The sight of Willow was more than enough to banish any lingering drowsiness and he stood instinctively to greet her then dropped immediately back into his chair as he remember the spot of ink on his trousers. ”Afternoon” Abe’s voice squeaked out several octaves higher than he’d intended and he quickly cleared his throat as he gestured for her to make herself comfortable in the chair opposite the desk. ”Please , sit...” He trailed off; it was no good, he had to know and thrown off kilter as he was he couldn’t think of any tactful way to ask. ”Did Silas put you up to this?”

[Willow]

Willow had been in the field for nearly five years, she was used to the different reactions she got from different people. One woman had even vomited violently on finding out what she was. That had been a fun afternoon, finding out quite how disgusting somebody found you. No matter what reaction you expect, the woman throwing up was never the first thing to spring to mind. Abraham on the other hand had known who Ethal was, the forgettable little girl in the corner who nobody spoke to. He knew her, to say he remembered her would be another story altogether. But now? Now he remembered her, he remembered Willow.

The high-pitched voice that greeted her would have, normally, made her life. But ever the professional, she kept up her front. She’d missed the ink stain completely. She might be a whore, but sex and penises weren’t all she thought about. She could control herself to look in a man’s eye when she was speaking to him and the majority of the time when she wasn’t. It was one of those things she had always deemed unprofessional, the checking out of a man's package when she wasn't intimately involved with it at the given time. More than anything it made men uncomfortable. They always assumed you were judging and comparing.

On his invitation she placed her handbag down on his desk; that she allowed herself to scrutinise and raised an eyebrow at the mess of papers. You’d expect a teacher to be remotely organised. On a further inspection of his office as she took her seat, she was sorely mistaken – at least in the case of Abraham Grey. She turned her gaze back to him, a client, a friend? The misty realm of client/other relationships had always been a bit hazy to her. Being logical had never been a strong point. As far as she was concerned she was friends with him, and he occasionally paid her for sex. Sometimes.

She was intrigued at his face, and examined his face as she thought of an answer. She leant on the arm of the chair she was seated in, and crossed her ankles to the side. A real lady didn’t cross her legs at the knee – or at least Willow didn’t. It ruined the mystique about what was going on underneath. With an above knee cut dress, it would more than show off the lack of lacy material of her undergarments. Abraham, unlike herself, was not a professional. She knew him all too well. He got distracted by low cut tops and skirts that were pulled up too high. He’d look.

”I can not see why he would,” she answered, linking her fingers together, playing with one of her silver rings on her fingers. Rule Number #56: Jewellery; it is a must. The thought that there were fifty-five other rules before that one astounded her. Yet she could ring them all off the top of her head when asked. Why her memory had never worked with inactions and potions she’d never know. The Rules of the Escort were far much more simple than the delicacy of crushing roots and equally chopping spider brains, ”It was McGonagall who asked me to the castle. Is it a crime to visit my favourite client?”

[Abraham Grey]

Abe had been around ‘working’ girls plenty of times before. There was the stripper his bastard of a brother got him when he was twenty as a parting gift when he left the family company. A kind of “Way to disappoint father again, here, have a naked and extremely flexible woman.” Parting shot, delivered to him complete with a self-satisfied, smug grin (from his brother, not the stripper, although Abe probably would be smug if he could get his leg behind his head and looked that good in a thong). And, by that point, he’d been to Scores often enough to have the confidence to enjoy the view whether the visit was for business or pleasure.

Hell, he couldn't even pretend that he didn't know his way around soliciting a prostitute; the painfully academic years in his early twenties more than once drove him to seek out the company of anybody who didn’t have a beard or talk at great length about long forgotten magic. And, of course, more recently there was his entirely enjoyable (apart from the Jac induced consequences) birthday gift from Silas. In fact Abe was plenty experienced enough to not be too awkward when it came to the delicate matter paying for sex with a complete stranger, but he was also nice enough to not be completely at ease with the whole transaction. (In his opinion there was nothing sleazier than knowing your way through the prostitute’s routine better than they do.)

All of that was all well and good, but around Willow none of the rules seemed to apply. Prostitutes didn’t just drop in on their client’s to say hi, even if the revelation that he was one of her favourites did fill him with misplaced pride. And deviating from the expected threw Abe entirely off balance, making him flustered and more ineloquent than he’d been since he was sixteen (yes, even including the unfortunate incident involving Silas, Jacaranda and the desk that he was doing well at pretending had never happened). When had their relationship changed from escort and client to... something else? Something that Abe couldn’t even begin to define and didn't pretend to understand.

”McGonagall?” Abe echoed, frown creasing his brow as he tried to stall for time so he could recover the wits he knew he’d need to even begin to deal with Willow. His frown deepened as he realised that more important than trying to define what exactly was different about their relationship was whether this changed bothered him. It only took a couple of seconds thought to decide that it didn’t bother him at all. That conclusion was more than enough to allow him to relax a little and he fixed Willow with a genuine smile. ”Do you mind me asking what she wanted you for?” He asked mostly to make polite conversation, only to find himself trying desperately not to choke on the idea that it might have been a professional visit for Willow.

[Willow]

Willow smirked. She still had her money in her bag from her all-nighter and terrifying Abraham was enough to make her smile. She reached forwards, leaning on her knees to reach for her bag off of his desk. She delved her hand into it, making a point of shifting her heavy coin pouch and allowing it to fall onto the desk, bringing her hand out with a lip salve. One couldn’t be going around with dry lips – not with the things she was paid to perform. It couldn’t have gone any better; she hadn’t secured the top of the pouch enough after collecting her fee from her client. A few of the galleons he had paid her dropped onto the Abraham’s desk, ”She was my one o’clock,” she said, trying to look embarrassed as she fumbled with the cord and put the escaped coins back into the pouch and replacing it in her bag.

The thought of performing any sort of sexual favours on the old headmistress was enough to turn Willow’s stomach, and by the look on Abraham’s face it was enough to turn his too, ”Other than that, I’m not at liberty to say,” she leant back in the chair after throwing her lip salve back into the bottom of the bag. The look on his face was priceless. Not bursting out laughing was proving difficult. She was wondering just how far she could actually take the notion that the Headmistress of the school paid for sex. Paid for sex from another woman at that. She also wondered if the professor’s mind was picturing the ordeal in his head. What would he think the old bat would like? Would he ask? She chewed on the inside of her cheek contemplating what to say next. Could she take the joke a step too far?

”Of course when she requested that I-“ she stopped herself mid sentence, a smirk on her face, ”Actually, I think that’s a bit too mature for your ears,” she laughed to herself, hopefully it wouldn’t look like she was laughing at him, ore of the idea of McGonagall being a dirty minx. God, now she needed her brain bleached. The thought of McGonagall wanting more from her than a quick shag was quiet vomit inducing. She had age limits downwards that excluded Teenage boys that were still at school, she also had age limits upwards, and that excluded anybody with more winkles than a pug like McGonagall had. Willow nonchalantly checked her bright red nail varnish for any chips, briefing a glance at the Arithmancy professor.

Then she laughed.

[Abraham Grey]

Willow didn’t answer him straight away, but the smirk on her face wasn’t exactly doing much to reassure him that McGonagall wasn’t breaking her own rules by soliciting a prostitute on school grounds. He watched her carefully as she began to rummage through her purse, wondering if her question had overstepped some boundary that he hadn’t realised was there. It wouldn’t be very professional of her to tell him about another client and therefore it wasn’t very chivalrous of him to ask. Abe gave a little helpless sigh as he wondered if he’d ever get the hang of talking to her without making a fool of himself. Probably not if their relationship kept redefining itself without his knowledge.

His eyes widened almost comically as the coin pouch slipped from her bag, a couple of galleons spilling onto his desk with the dull thud of metal on wood. Well that as good as confirmed why Willow had been there and he cleared his throat uncomfortably, his face turning an interesting shade of greyish pale as he did his best not to dwell on the thought. ”Right.” Abe said weakly, glancing down at his watch and trying not to acknowledge that not an hour ago Willow had likely been locked in an intimate embrace with the ancient headmistress. He couldn’t understand how Willow could be so nonchalant about it, but then it was her job, she was probably used to all sorts.

”Naturally.” He managed to squeak out as, his voice hitting octaves it hadn’t reached since his voice had broken as she reminded him of the importance of privacy for her clients. Abe was actually fairly relieved she wasn’t going to go into detail about the encounter, he wasn’t sure he could maintain a civil and understanding attitude if their conversation was going to continue to travel down a route that ended in him picturing his boss naked. But, of course, he couldn’t be so lucky as to have Willow leave it there. He’d always known Minerva had to be kinky; there was no way somebody could be that uptight all the time and not have some seriously weird habits in the bedroom.

And then Willow started to laugh and Abe came to the horrifying realisation that she’d been teasing him all along. ”That’s not funny Willow!” He protested weakly, unable to stop his lips from twitching up into a grin as the relief he was feeling allowed him to see the funny side of the situation. ”I’ll never be able to look Minerva in the eye again.” He didn’t even bother to stifle the chuckle this time, relaxing back into his chair for the first time since Willow had entered the room. That was one of the things he liked about her, she always managed to put him at ease, even if her methods were a little unorthodox.

[Willow]

Willow had seen Abraham squirm in a number of different ways over the years, but none of them had been half as amusing as this. Stopping herself from laughing before she did had been a challenge, ”The look on your face,” she giggled, covering her mouth with her hand as she laughed, ”It was worth it just for that alone!” slowly she calmed, shoulder shaking as she jollily laughed out loud. Once calm she wiped under her eyes gently, still smirking at the idea of Abraham believing her.

”I know I might have you as a client, but I do have some standards,” she smiled. She did like him, they got along rather well, even when she wasn’t being paid to do so. She always found it more pleasurable for both parties when you had that connection with the client. She knew what he liked and she knew how to work him to give him the best value for money. Clients she didn’t like so much she wouldn’t work quite so hard for. But the idea of McGonagalll paying her for sex – she’d slept with plenty of women before now, but eesh. No thank you.

Willow relaxed back into her chair, resting her elbows on the arms and interlocking her fingers. She looked around his office, it had been a fair few years since she had been in the school, and she had been in this office once before, but it hadn’t been Abraham’s when she had been. It was her first year and she couldn’t remember now why she had been there. It certainly wasn’t the tidiest of offices she had seen in her time – some of the men she had had as clients liked the danger of having her come to them at work, on their work…

”How’s your need for danger?” she asked innocently. If he thought she could get away with servicing the headmistress how far would he let her take it in here? It wasn’t like there weren’t spells that could be done so nobody outside the room could hear what was going on or get in. Not that she would push him that far – unless he kept a stash of galleons in his desk draw. Though knowing Abraham as she did, he probably kept something hidden away somewhere. Surely not all the books could be actual books – maybe some alcohol hidden somewhere? ”Have you got a drink?”

[Abraham Grey]

”Laugh it up,” Abe griped, smile still on his face as he watched Willow continue to giggle. ”Next time I won’t be so quick to assume. You won’t fool me again.” It was a big claim to make and Abe knew he would be lucky if she never managed to catch him out again. He might have hired a few more prostitutes than the average man (especially if the average man was Adrian Connery), but that had only taught him never to assume anything with an escort. He couldn’t help feeling a little guilty he’d ever considered that Willow might have to resort to taking on McGonagall as a client, she likely had plenty of clients whose company was far more pleasurable and far less... wrinkled.

”You wound me!” He said with yet another chuckle, lifting at hand to his chest to cover his heart. ”I thought we enjoyed our time together.” It never ceased to amaze Abe how different Willow could be when she wasn’t being paid for her company. She was good humoured, teasing and not afraid to have a good laugh even if it meant taking a slight dig at a potential repeat client. Of course when he was a paying customer she was teasing too, but that was an entirely different set of circumstances.

”Danger?” Abe asked, interest piqued as he looked up at her. ”I’ve been known to bend a few rules, if the occasion called for it.” He said with a wry grin, torn between hoping things were taking a turn for the other kind of teasing and knowing that if it came down to it he valued his job too much to break McGonagall’s golden rule. ”And a drink definitely qualifies as the right occasion.” Abe pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk and pushed aside a couple of rolls of parchment to reach the bottle of firewhiskey he kept there.

[Willow]

Her giggles subsided and Willow was left with a small smirk on her face, ”I’ll get you when you least expect it,” she cajoled, knowing it would take more than a couple of visits for him to forget it completely. But she had a handful of situations she could easily lie her way into and a plethora of clients and visitors she could use as a guise. Or she could do a little digging and set herself in line with somebody to really annoy him with – but that was effort, she was far too busy for that.

Her smirk didn’t slip when he mentioned their previous activities, ”When you put it like that,” she said slyly with a slight raise of her eyebrow. Willow didn’t have any clients booked until the late evening (as it went most days) and she had time to kill. She may as well kill it spending time with somebody rather than wondering around he apartment on her own in her slouchy clothes. Or spending obscene amounts of time on hair and make up for the night’s client(s). There were only a certain number of times you could repaint your nails before the fumes went to your head.

”And which rules would you have bent then?” she asked out of general interest above anything else. It would give her some other basis to set their appointments around (or other time wasting moments they spent in Scores bar). Willow stood when he reached into his draw for the bottle of liquor. She laughed to herself as she saw the upturned glass over the top of the bottle; it really didn’t surprise her. She perched herself on the side of the desk, crossing her ankles and holding her hand out for a glass. Though drinking straight from the bottle passed her mind for a second she thought better of taking it from him and downing a shot straight off.

[Abraham Grey]

”Not a chance,” Abe denied with a chuckle of his own. ”What was it the esteemed Mad Eye Moody used to say?” He drummed his fingers on the table couple of times as he tried to recall the phrase that had been the butt of more than a few jokes at the auror's expense. ”Constant vigilance.” Abe wagged a finger at her for effect and adopted the same gruff tone as the grizzled ex-auror. It was just so easy to slip into teasing banter with Willow, even when she wasn't being paid to turn on the charm and put him at ease. ”I teach Slytherins on a daily basis, I have to keep my wits about me.”

Maybe it was just Abe, but everything she said sounded flirtatious. With her voice smooth and breathy, and a knowing smirk fixed permanently in place he couldn't help but assume that what she said and what she meant were two entirely different things. ”I certainly enjoy our time together.” He clarified, perhaps unnecessarily considering making sure he enjoyed himself when they were together was pretty much her job description. Oh well, everybody liked a bit of praise for a job well done.

”For you?” He asked, lips quirking up in a mischievous smile as he leaned forwards in his seat. ”Most of them. But don't tell Minerva.” Abe shot her a sly wink, momentarily distracted from retrieving the bottle of whiskey by the way Willow had perched herself on the edge of his desk, giving him the perfect view of her really rather impressive cleavage. ”Err, yes... umm.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, remembering himself as she held out her hand for the glass upturned over the bottle.

Abe made short work of uncapping the bottle and poured a generous finger of the amber liquid into the tumbler before tapping the side of the glass with his wand. A couple of ice cubes dropped out of thin air into the drink and he gave a satisfied smile before handing it over to her. The secret bottle he kept in his desk was usually pulled out only in privacy, however, and he didn't have another glass (unless you counted the 'you don't have to be mad to work here, but it helps' mug that was sitting on his desk with the dregs of a not so fresh cup of coffee festering in the bottom). Abe gave a small shrug, chinked the neck of the bottle against the rim of Willow's glass and took a quick swig, feeling the familiar burn of the liquid travelling down his throat and settling in his stomach.