The receptionist, after receiving the order, turned toward the wall filled with neatly aligned jars and objects. She walked to a particular section and tapped a small bell with the tip of her wand. A hidden compartment opened with a soft click, revealing a series of slender bottles, finely wrapped and bound with golden ribbons.
She placed the product in front of McGonagall, who observed it in silence. It was aesthetically flawless—almost luxurious. She was about to take it and leave when a voice echoed behind her.
"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall," came a voice from the side. The tone was deep, calm… but carried a captivating, almost hypnotic undertone.
McGonagall turned and found herself facing a woman of commanding presence. She wore a dark, perfectly tailored suit that emphasized her mature, elegant poise. Her beauty was strange, unsettling—not the inviting kind, but the kind that ensnares. There was a dangerous subtlety about her, an allure that seeped into the mind like an unnoticed spell.
Minerva, ever composed, forced herself to remain calm. Yet even so, a faint wave of attraction passed through her—and that alarmed her deeply. Those weren't her own thoughts. It was like when a man gazed upon a Veela—she knew that if she lost focus, she could fall under the spell and lose her head.
The sense of danger intensified. It wasn't a baseless instinct; that woman didn't seem human at all. McGonagall pressed her wand under her robes. She couldn't afford to lower her guard, and every instinct screamed that she should leave at once.
"Allow me to introduce myself," said the woman with a flawless bow, her gaze unwavering. "I'm Andra, owner and director of this establishment." She raised her wand with a subtle movement. "Would you care for a cup of tea?"
A nearby teapot floated gently, pouring two steaming cups onto the table. Andra sat down naturally before one of them and gestured for McGonagall to do the same.
"I'm afraid I must return to my duties," McGonagall replied as politely as she could manage, never taking her eyes off Andra's every move. There was something predatory in the woman's calmness.
She turned and walked toward the door with steady steps, careful not to show haste. But before she reached it, the same voice spoke again—lower now, smoother, serpentine:
"I thought you might want to talk about the former Hogwarts students who… ended up working here."
McGonagall froze.
"As far as I know, you're a woman of integrity and honor," Andra continued, a trace of mockery in her voice. "I'm willing to negotiate. If not… well, perhaps I'll start promoting the place by showing a few of my girls wearing Hogwarts uniforms. Some of them might even be authentic."
The words hit like a blow to the chest. Outrage and fear flashed across McGonagall's face.
She spun on her heel, wand in hand, eyes blazing with fury.
"I only wish to talk," said Andra with inhuman calm, raising her hands slowly. She motioned again toward the seat in front of her.
Minerva hesitated. To fight would be dangerous—but staying was, too. She felt that every word, every gesture, was weaving an invisible net around her. A net so subtle that part of her almost wanted to fall into it.
Finally, she drew a slow breath, stepped forward, and sat across from Andra.
The situation was unbearable—or at least for McGonagall. Her instincts screamed at her to flee, that staying even one more second was tempting fate. Every breath she took in Andra's presence felt like another step toward her doom.
"A pleasure to meet you, Minerva. May I call you that?" asked Andra with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Honestly, I never imagined someone of your reputation would set foot in one of my establishments." She took a calm sip of tea before continuing. "Don't misunderstand me—important figures from the wizarding world visit all the time. But you know how it is: their reputations rarely align with their morals, decency, or virtue. They're almost always men who think with their penises and can't control their urges. Or, in the best cases, whose tastes are so twisted they need… our discreet services."
McGonagall sensed the intent behind the words: Andra was trying to ease the tension, to start a casual conversation, perhaps to flatter her and gain her favor. But Minerva knew better than to trust her.
And yet… it was already too late.
There was something in Andra's voice—rhythmic, enveloping, almost melodic—that was seeping into her mind. A charm so faint and subtle it was like the venom of a snake.
"Just tell me what you want from me," McGonagall said coldly, forcing herself to focus. Suddenly, she realized with alarm that her urge to leave had faded. That the woman before her didn't seem as unpleasant as before.
"My, so direct," said Andra softly. "I'm usually one who enjoys the foreplay…" She winked playfully, though the gesture was so restrained it was almost imperceptible. "But very well—let's skip to the climax of this little meeting."
McGonagall watched in silence, every word deepening the sense that she was caught in an invisible trap.
"All I wish to discuss with you, Minerva… is business."
"Business?" she echoed warily.
"Indeed. You see, pleasure is my business. And what I need…" she set down her cup with a faint clink, "…is for you to use our services."
The silence thickened. McGonagall froze, processing what she had just heard. Then disbelief gave way to utter disgust. For a fleeting moment she considered throwing the hot tea in Andra's face, but her instincts warned her that such a move—here, in enemy territory—would be reckless.
"You're mistaken. I only came to make a purchase," she said firmly, standing. "And frankly, I already regret it. I don't need anything. I'm leaving."
But before she could take a step, Andra moved her wand subtly.
With a series of sharp clicks, the doors and windows sealed shut one by one, enclosing the room like an invisible cage.
"What is the meaning of this?" McGonagall demanded, turning with her wand raised.
"I'm sorry, Professor, but you won't be leaving so easily," Andra said serenely, lowering her own wand and taking another sip of tea.
"I hope you have a very good reason for attempting to confine me," McGonagall said, voice firm, wand steady. "I am not someone easily restrained."
"We're quite aware," Andra replied smoothly. "But we can't let you leave just yet. If you'd come here in a normal, casual way, there'd be no problem… but you came with the grand prize."
"And what does that have to do with anything?" McGonagall frowned as Andra twirled a small card between her fingers.
"Everything. This business runs on many things, and one of the most important is reputation. And this prize, Minerva, was quite special," she said as the card dissolved into a cloud of pink smoke. "It promised the winner a unique experience—the chance to know true happiness… or at least, sexual happiness."
"I have no interest in your definition of happiness," McGonagall snapped. "You can keep your fantasies; I'll not find mine in a place like this."
"That doesn't concern us," Andra said sharply. "But we are obligated to offer you the opportunity. Not doing so would harm our image, and that's something we can't allow."
"You could simply lie," Minerva said dryly. "Say you did it—that I had the night of my life. No one needs to know the truth… except that you tried to keep me here by force."
"Ah, but people already know. They know you're here." Andra waved her wand, and the air in the room shimmered. Shadows took shape throughout the parlor—human silhouettes sitting on sofas and in corners, watching. "For first-timers, we keep the atmosphere discreet, so they feel comfortable. They can't see the other clients… but that doesn't mean the others can't see you."
McGonagall felt a chill crawl up her spine. Her eyes darted around the room, catching glimpses of those shapeless, faceless forms, their presence unmistakable. They had been there all along—watching. A heavy, suffocating silence filled the air.
"Relax," Andra continued. "They don't know who you are. Most are simple voyeurs, or fools spying on their rivals… idiots." She waved her hand dismissively, as if shooing children playing at being adults. "And don't worry about what you say—there are silencing charms. As long as you don't approach them, no one will hear a word."
McGonagall inhaled slowly. Part of her felt slightly reassured—if what Andra said was true, there wouldn't be a public confrontation. So she sat down again across from the woman. Yet the tea remained untouched. She trusted nothing from this place. What she didn't know was that the very air was already enchanted—subtly eroding her will with each passing second.
"I hope you understand," said Andra calmly, "that this isn't personal. We only wish to preserve the prestige of our establishment. Once this little matter is settled, you'll be free to go. I'll even offer you a discount on your next visit, as an apology."
"I'm not interested in returning," McGonagall replied icily. She paused. "So—when do you plan to let me go?"
Andra clasped her hands, her expression polite and professional, though her eyes glittered with amusement.
"It's simple. We promised to provide you with the best experience of your life, and we must deliver—or at least appear to. We only need you to cooperate and confirm it. But you can't leave like this, so… unscathed. Too many eyes are watching."
"I will not use any of your services," Minerva said sharply, her expression filled with contempt.
"That won't be necessary," Andra replied with feigned warmth. "You can simply enter a room, stay an hour or two, then come out. If anyone asks, just say it was so… satisfying that you regained your faith in love, magic, and all that."
"Ridiculous." McGonagall narrowed her eyes.
"You could use one of our boys for a massage, a chat, or just to admire the ceiling paintings," Andra went on, gesturing in a way that eerily resembled Montgomery Burns. "It doesn't matter how—it only matters that it looks the part." She paused, and her tone shifted. "Besides, we could strike a deal… concerning your students."
The words hit like a curse. McGonagall's brow furrowed, though her heart skipped a beat.
"I know you don't like seeing former students working here. You don't seem like that kind of person," Andra said with a measured smile. "So if you help me, I can help you."
McGonagall leaned forward slightly, showing an interest she couldn't quite conceal.
"And if I help you, you'll let my students go?" she asked cautiously.
"They're not prisoners—they're employees," Andra said smoothly, tilting her head. "They're here because they want to be… because we can give them what they need. If you want them to leave, you'll have to convince them yourself. But… I can promise not to recruit any more Hogwarts students."
McGonagall frowned, weighing her options. The situation left her little room to maneuver.
"How long?" she finally asked, resigned.
"Unless, of course, you don't mind people saying you don't last long in bed," Andra laughed elegantly, raising her cup. "The prize allows up to twelve hours—but one will be enough to keep up appearances."