Chapter One

Bought and Sold

Hermione struggled against the Death Eater that was roughly pulling her on a chain to the building ahead, but it was difficult to fight without a wand. Confiscation of wands belonging to all muggle-borns was one of the first rules Voldemort had enacted when he took over. "Magic only belongs to magical people," the Death Eater had sneered as he snapped his wand in front of her.

Other laws, also, had quickly been put into place. The caste system was probably the most significant change. At the top of the hierarchy stood the Death Eaters, who were generously rewarded after the war and continued to act both as Voldemort's inner circle of servants and as a sort of awful police force. Other purebloods were next in the social order, followed closely by half-bloods. Things weren't so bad for the half-bloods; purebloods were just prioritised and were given the best jobs, the best houses, and so on. Hermione, who had studied history at her muggle school, thought it was rather like early nineteenth century America: purebloods were like the superior white people whereas the half-bloods were the inferior black people – still technically citizens, but had to stand if a white person wanted their seat on the bus.

Then Hermione gulped. If the others were white and black citizens, then the muggle-borns were the black slaves. Muggle-borns, or 'mudbloods' as they were referred to as now, had definitely drawn the short straw. Reduced to the status of a house elf. Girls in particular sold off to rich pureblood families. Existed only as property. That sort of thing.

That was where Hermione and a few other muggle-born girls were being lead to now: an auction, where they would be sold. The large, derelict building where the auction was being held loomed, and Hermione and the others were roughly shoved inside, down to what appeared to be a basement.

A Death Eater tossed a hooded cloak in her direction. "Strip down to your underwear. Put this on."

Hermione paused expectantly, waiting for the male Death Eaters to leave the room, but they didn't move.

"What are you waiting for, mudblood?" the Death Eater sneered. "Strip."

Hermione thought about defying him, but there were at least seven powerful Death Eaters in the room and she didn't even have a wand. She picked up the cloak and look at its green-and-silver colouring in disdain. Great, Slytherin colours. Then she did what all the other girls were doing and began to pull her clothes off, inwardly hoping that the Death Eaters didn't notice the sultry black lace underwear she was wearing today.

Her wishes were ignored. A Death Eater sidled up to her, running his hand lightly over her thigh. Hermione hissed and tried to move away.

"Such a pretty little mudblood," he purred, moving his hand up to her rear. "I expect you'll fetch a lot…"

"She won't fetch a single sickle if she's already had your dirty hands all over her," snapped another Death Eater who appeared to be in charge. "Off, now."

The first Death Eater huffed and removed his hands, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief. She drew the cloak around as much of her exposed body as she could.

The Death Eater that was seemingly the leader spoke again, this time to the girls. "You will each be called up to the auction room. You are to stand in the centre of the ring, remove your hood and present your body to the bidders. You will not try to escape."

Sure enough, the girls were called one-by-one and walked, trembling, upstairs. After about twenty minutes, all of the girls had gone and Hermione was the only one remaining. At last she heard her name.

She walked upstairs, holding her head high. If she couldn't fight back, she could at least show them that she wasn't afraid – she still retained a spark of Gryffindor pride. The room reminded her of the court at the Ministry of Magic; it was circular, lit by a bright spotlight, and bordered with seats. She could see people sitting on the seats, but couldn't make out who they were; they were just out of reach of the spotlight and were shrouded in darkness. She walked to the centre and took her hood down.

"We have saved our best for last," said the auctioneer's. "This is Hermione Granger: close ally to Potter, brightest witch of her age and filthy mudblood whore. Pay generously. Bids start at a hundred thousand galleons."

"One-ten," said another voice immediately.

"Is that all? One-fifty," said a different voice.

"One-seventy five, then."

"Two hundred thousand galleons."

It continued this way for a while, with a myriad of voices placing steadily higher bids. Hermione tried to make out whom the voices belonged to, but there were so many bouncing back and forth that she lost track. Voice after voice eventually went quiet as the bids climbed higher, until there were only two voices left.

"Four-ten galleons," the first voice said.

"Four-twenty," the second voice drawled, sounding bored.

"Four-thirty five," the first voice countered.

There was a pause. Hermione thought that was going to be the winning bid. But suddenly:

"Six hundred thousand galleons."

Silence. The auctioneer's hammer cracked sharply through the air, making Hermione start.

"Sold!" cried the auctioneer.

Hermione turned and blinked, trying to make out the person whom she had been sold to in the shadows. All she knew was that he was male, that he was desperate to claim her and that he was very, very rich.

"Hermione Granger, sold to Bidder Number Six. The mudblood will now go to its owner," the auctioneer said.

Hermione bristled – how dare he talk about her as if she were a piece of property? She stepped out of the spotlight and made her way up to the seats, squinting her eyes in the darkness. Just whom had she been sold to?

"Yes, that's right, come to me, your owner, like the good little mudblood whore you are…"

Hermione froze as she heard at her owner's words. It was the bored, sneering, unmistakable drawl of Draco Malfoy.

A/N: This scene was inspired by the film Taken. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter.