He doesn't know just yet.

Ezra led Harry, now Cleo, down another dimly lit corridor, the clack of their heels echoing through the brothel's halls. The walls were adorned with paintings of erotic scenes, each more depraved than the last, setting the stage for what was to come.

They stopped in front of a grand, velvet-covered door, and with a dramatic flourish, Ezra pushed it open, revealing a sumptuous chamber that reeked of sex and desire. The room was bathed in a soft, red glow from the flickering candles scattered across the dresser and nightstands. A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, its sheets a tangled mess of silk and satin.

The sight of the bed, with its rumpled sheets and the scent of lust lingering in the air, sent a shiver of both fear and excitement through Harry's body. This was where he would lose his innocence, over and over again, to the whims of Ezra's clients.

The pimp pushed him gently but firmly towards the bed, his hand never leaving Harry's waist. "This is your new home, Cleo," Ezra said with a sinister smile. "Your stage, your prison, your heaven and hell. Now, let's get you ready for your first performance."

The room grew warmer as Harry's heart pounded in his chest; the anticipation of his first client as a wizarding prostitute was almost too much to bear. His breathing grew shallow, and his body felt as if it were on fire, a mix of trepidation and an unwelcome thrill coursing through his veins. Ezra directed Harry to the bed, his eyes glinting with the promise of debauchery.

Harry nodded, his knees trembling as he stepped onto the plush rug that covered the cold stone floor. The bed was a sea of red and black, the colors of passion and power, and as he sat on the edge, the plushness enveloped him, a stark contrast to the hard reality of his situation.

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