Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters. If I did, it would've ended very differently.
"This is absolutely ridiculous," Harry thought to himself for what had to be the thousandth time that week. He stood in line with a bunch of other wizards waiting for desperate, lonely women willing to bid on a date.
He cursed Hermione for signing him up for this farcical bachelor auction. He didn't feel like debasing himself in front of a bunch of people, but she promised him the proceeds would go toward war reparations and repairing Hogwarts. She also said he needed to do something to cheer himself up after Ginny dumped him.
For the first couple of months after the Battle of Hogwarts, he and Ginny were blissfully together. But after things had settled down, they started to drift apart. He had begun his Auror training, and she had devoted all her time to getting spectacular marks to get a contract with the Holyhead Harpies. Eventually, they realized their relationship wasn't working.
However, just because their break up was mutual didn't mean Harry was happy about it. He threw himself into training, and Hermione saw fit to personally drag him out of the Ministry. Somehow, she thought that throwing him into the auction was the best solution to Harry's dating woes.
Supposedly, the auction was killing two birds with one stone. According to Hermione, it would get Harry back into the dating pool. It would also help earn money for Hogwarts and St. Mungo's, which was why Harry hadn't backed out. He loved Hogwarts like a second home and was more than happy to help people recovering from the war.
Cursing again as his name was called, Harry made his way onstage and overlooked the Great Hall. Gone were the four house tables and replaced by dozens of smaller circular tables filled with women of all ages.
All around the Great Hall, women began to yell out their bids. It started as a couple galleons here and there and rose up to a couple dozen. As the bids got higher, fewer women offered, obviously maxing out on what they were willing to pay for a date with the Boy Who Lived.
That was when he saw her. Pansy Parkinson slipped mostly unnoticed into the Great Hall and sat with her Slytherin friends.
By that time, the bidding reached 180 galleons, 30 sickles, and 30 knuts. Romilda Vane looked at him with a victorious, predatory stare. Parvati cut her down raising it to 190 galleons only to be beaten by a blonde twenty-to-thirty-something-year-old witch wearing robes befitting of someone who came from considerable wealth.
Parkinson gave the witch a curious glance. Clearly not impressed, the brunette called out, "Four hundred galleons."
At this point, everyone's jaws were wide open, Harry included. Was Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy's ex-girlfriend and the girl who called for him to be handed over to Voldemort, really bidding on a date with him?
"Four hundred and fifty galleons," the blonde witch said with a scowl that would have matched Snape's, her eyes lighting with fiery anger at being denied.
"Five hundred," Parkinson said, nonchalantly concealing a smirk behind her wine glass.
Harry couldn't help himself from laughing at the affronted look the witch aimed at Parkinson. He had to hand it to the Slytherin. She withstood the brunt of the ocular attack without flinching. She knew what she wanted and went after it. And she certainly didn't back down from a trust fund socialite who was accustomed to getting what she wanted.
"Six hundred," the older witch said with a satisfied grin.
"Do you want to raise your bid?" Professor McGonagall said while looking at Parkinson.
All eyes turned on Parkinson, who raised her finger and took another long sip of wine. She glowed under the attention of everyone in the room.
"Make it seven hundred," Parkinson replied.
A nearly unanimous gasp rang out through the Great Hall, except for one shriek of rage. Obviously not used to losing, the older witch strode towards Parkinson who was as calm and relaxed as ever. Everyone watched on, anticipating a surefire outburst.
Harry and a few other Aurors in the room noticed Parkinson's friends tense, likely preparing to defend her. The angry witch probably saw it as well, because after glaring at Parkinson for ten or so seconds, she stalked out the doors with a huff, leaving behind an incredibly pregnant pause.
"If there are no other bids in place…" McGonagall said before she was interrupted.
"Seven hundred galleons and five sickles," a blonde-haired witch sitting at Parkinson's table said with a raise of her glass and a smirk.
Harry recognized the newest bidder as Daphne Greengrass, one of Parkinson's closer Slytherin friends. The two of them stared across the table at each other in a silent competition. Parkinson didn't seem to share in Greengrass's obvious enjoyment.
After a couple of seconds of their mute competition, Parkinson ground out, "Seven hundred galleons and ten sickles."
Finally, with a shrug of her shoulders, Greengrass conceded, and Parkinson was declared the winner. And with the headliner auctioned off to the highest bidder of the night, the auction ended. Each bachelor joined the witch who won them to set a date.
For Harry, the short walk to the Slytherin witches' table felt like a mile. His legs felt like lead as he approached the group of opulently dressed women with Parkinson at the head. With her dark ebony hair tied back in a tight bun, smoky eyeshadow that contrasted her alabaster skin, and conservative lavender dress robes, she looked like a proper pureblood princess. When she saw him, she looked like the cat that ate the canary.
"Hello, Potter," Parkinson said, resting her sharp chin on top of her interlaced fingers. "I bet you're feeling good about raising the highest bid of the night."
"Smashing," Harry ground out between his teeth. "Ladies, it's nice to see you all, present company excluded," he said motioning toward Parkinson.
The rest of the witches at the table greeted him amicably enough, Davis more so than the others. Over the last couple of months in Auror training, he'd gotten to know the outgoing brunette. How she'd managed to end up in Slytherin remained a mystery, though.
Parkinson was the complete opposite. Ever the cool Slytherin, she hadn't broken eye contact since he'd gotten to the table, swirling her red wine all the while.
"You wound me, Potter," Parkinson said with a faux gasp. "Surely you don't believe I have any ill intentions. It is just a date after all."
"Let's just say I have a healthy suspicion," Harry said. "You wouldn't spend that much on one date, especially with me."
For some inexplicable reason, Harry felt as if he'd put his foot in his mouth. The table broke into small giggles, mostly between the Greengrass sisters.
"Such a low opinion of yourself," she said with mock concern. "First of all, it's for a good cause. Second, I only came here to outbid that spoiled bint."
"You know her?"
"Aubrey Wentwhistle, my boss's daughter," the witch said with a familiar sneer. "She's also a bitch, showing up at my office and treating everyone like her personal slaves. She's rude, entitled, and disrespectful. I overheard her bragging about going to a bachelor auction, and she was particularly interested in you. You should have heard the way she was talking about you—like she could buy you and take what she wanted."
"So, you did all of this to save my night?" Harry said.
At this point, every one of Parkinson's friends swiveled their heads as if he and she were playing a quick Quidditch game.
"Merlin! Not everything is about you, Potter," Parkinson said. "I did this to get back at Aubrey, to see her crumble when she doesn't get what she wants and give back to Hogwarts and St. Mungo's, of course. If I happen to save you and your night, so be it."
Though the ebony-haired witch remained as aloof as ever, a playful glint belied her cool façade. She was enjoying instigating him, toying with him like she had when they were in Hogwarts. No, that wouldn't do. He was an Auror (in training) now, and he wasn't going to rise to it like he used to.
"So, I'm trading a night with an entitled socialite for one with the woman who tried to kill me?" Harry said.
"Exactly," Parkinson said with an impish smirk. "Much more interesting, don't you think?"
Harry may have been long considered the Boy Who Lived and most recently the Vanquisher of Voldemort, but he was still a man. And when a beautiful woman like Parkinson looked up at him with her piercing ice-blue eyes and a roguish grin, his resolve crumbled.
"I do," Harry said. "So, when are you free?"
"I'm busy for the rest of the week," Parkinson said as she stood up and rummaged in her purse. "Here's my address. We can arrange something later. Good night, Potter."
With that, she handed him her card and turned to the large oak doors with a wave. As he watched her strut away, he had to admit this evening may not have gone as he'd expected, but he wasn't complaining. His upcoming date with Parkinson was sure to be intriguing, to say the least.