a/n: i seem to have developed an affinity for oneshots.
dedication: to the family that will love you no matter what.
disclaimer: don't own harry potter.
summary: She had the feeling she had just been bought. – Draco/Hermione.
to the highest bidder
i'd destroy the world, just to show you how it burns
This was an auction.
A pretty, opulent, glittering affair, but an auction nonetheless.
She sipped the shimmering drink in her wineglass and smiled – a sharp sort of smile. The Riddle Charity Dinner had always been an extravaganza, and this night was no different. Filled with the upper strata of society, jewels glinted everywhere, reflecting from the glass chandeliers and golden decorations. Women stuffed into tight satin dresses twirled with men whose hands were stained with blood and wore suits of velvet and silk.
The atmosphere was stifling, a thousand auras of power clashing, vying for dominance and control. Every eye was on another, forever plotting, scheming, and none more so than the man in the middle of the room.
He was surrounded by a group of simpering ladies, his dark, dark eyes scanning every part of the room, looking like a spider sitting in the middle of a web he had spun himself, watching and waiting for his next prey.
He caught sight of her, looking dauntingly gorgeous as her mascara-veiled eyes observed everyone, and smiled – a dark sort of smile. Her father – as he called himself – beckoned to her, all charming smiles and dark grins for the people that fawned around him.
They called him a philanthropist, the most pious and charitable person alive, a man who'd never dare stray from his ideals. Hermione supposed one out of three wasn't too bad.
But Tom Marvolo Riddle's ideals were the stuff of children's nightmares. Born to a mother who once lived like royalty, reduced to begging on the streets by the very commoner that had married her; he built up his fortune by blackmailing and stealing, worming his way back into high society with money in one hand and a knife in the other.
He said he was touched by the plight of other children in the orphanage he grew up in, and resolved to give back what the world had given him.
But Hermione knew, as well as anyone, that the world had given him pain and despair, a darkness that still fed on his heart, and a malicious vengeance. He had adopted her, from the same orphanage – Cooper's Home for Children – not out of pity and empathy, but for the same reason he had done everything else.
He was the sort of man who'd ruin the world, just to see it die.
Hermione made her way towards her father, the ethereal silver dress he had given her fluttering about her, catching the eye of every male suitor in the place. She sipped her drink and smiled, laughing at jokes, covering a dark grin behind a modest hand as her father placed a hand on the small of her back, seeming for all the world, a proud father.
She knew better. She had, after all, learned everything she knew from him.
He was mentally scanning everyone who came up to talk to them, who gave their simpering compliments and back-handed flattery. Every jewel that shone on their throats, every cut of silk that whispered in the air, every gleam of wealth that twinkled in the air, he observed and noted. He watched as they made subtle hints, and waited as they showed their threats, listening and looking for the most powerful in the room.
Hermione felt like a priceless artifact.
Everyone wanted to marry the gracious, beautiful adopted daughter of a man who – at nearly 40 – looked as young as half her suitors, and attracted nearly every woman with a mysterious smile.
"Tom Riddle, it's been too long," a man sidled up, eying Hermione like she was a piece of meat for the taking. Time had been good to him as well, hair more silver then gray, and a quiet sort of wealth present in every lapel and diamond. She knew that it was these people, the ones who possessed old money, as it were, that were truly the most dangerous of all.
"Lucius," her father's face was inscrutable as he shook the man's hand and kissed his wife's, "This must be your wife, Narcissa. I must say, you're lucky to have someone as beautiful as her."
The man laughed darkly, "She says about the same, every time she goes out shopping." His wife gave him a silent glare before accepting the compliment.
"But when will you settle down, Tom?" the man asked, the small-talk not distracting her father from seeing the way the man's eyes roved over Hermione's form, "You won't look that young forever."
"The company isn't going to run itself, Lucius," he reminded, "And I have a stunning daughter I need to devote my time to."
Hermione would've snorted in her drink if not for the reminder of just how cruel Tom Riddle could be. Politely excusing herself, she handed her empty glass to a server and picked another exotically-colored drink.
From as long as she could remember, the dark man who had called himself her father, had pushed her to be the best. Most of those who didn't think him threatening had never seen the red glint in his eyes, the fanatical mania that possessed him, the dark, wrathful aura that was exuded like poison.
He needed more money – not for financial troubles – for connections and power and the birthright that had been denied to him for so long.
And the rich and powerful have always known that the quickest way to ensure their wealth was by marriage.
Her father called her again, and the intense look in his eyes told Hermione that this was not an invitation she could deny.
Ignoring the sharp pain in her feet from standing in five-inch stilettos, and the burning in her lungs from the tightened corset, she gracefully glided towards him, downing her drink and hoping alcohol would dull the pain.
"This is my daughter, Hermione," her father introduced to the man standing next to him.
He had the same silver-blonde hair of his father, but his was a more striking, vibrant color, and the pale skin showed his youth. He couldn't have been more than a year older than her, but the searing look in his gray eyes told her that he was as ruthless as a wolf and as devious as a snake, calculating and calm.
"Hermione, this is Draco Malfoy." She extended her hand, like a proper lady, and he kissed it, not missing her flinch as he dragged sharpened teeth lightly over her knuckles.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Hermione responded, the sickly tone of her voice failing to disguise the poison in her gaze.
"The pleasure's all mine," he replied in kind, his piercing eyes regarding her so forcefully that Hermione took a step back, heart pounding, feeling as if he had just laid her greatest secrets bare. She could call him handsome, but it was a frightening sort of beauty, all angles and slashes, like a burning dragon, prowling for the kill.
"Draco has inherited the company from his father," her father continued, "Impressive, at such a young age." Hermione tried to smile, looking everywhere but the haunting gaze that burned her. "The diamond bracelet you're wearing right now is actually a gift from him."
Her eyes snapped up to her father, terrified, as her fears were confirmed. He was smiling and nodding, looking disgustingly delighted; while Draco's eyes never left her, a cruel smirk freezing his face.
This was an auction.
And she had just been sold.
le fin –
i'd set you on fire, just to hear you scream
- for now
a/n: so? you likey? not up to my usual standards, i know, but this idea wouldn't leave me until i wrote it.