Chapter 3- Auction

Sometime in the night, Oliver had kicked off his covers because of the heat. "Oh, Lordy," Mary said in shock and dropped the platter which crashed to the ground waking Oliver. He was startled at first, but quickly jumped up and threw the pants he had folded on. "Sorry, sir, I thought you would be awake by now," Mary exclaimed, keeping her eyes to the ground, concentrating on cleaning up the mess. Oliver buttoned the top of the trousers, and went to help Mary.

"Sorry if I startled you," he said, not understanding why her face was completely red. The cotton shorts he had created were far more modest than what he usually wore to bed.

"No, I-I'm sorry, sir," she said, picking up the pieces of a blue and white tea cup. "Ouch," she said, having cut herself on a small sliver from the cup.

"Oh, let me see," Oliver said, reaching for Mary's hand. It was bleeding, though not too bad, and he took the piece of glass from the cut. She blushed the entire time, not saying a word to this half naked man in front of her.

"Thank you," Mary said, still looking down and pulling her hand back.

"You're welcome," Oliver said, with a smile that Mary didn't see since she was getting back to the mess of eggs and bacon on the wood floor. As she stood up, Oliver's senses came back and he realized where he was, well he realized that he wasn't at Hogwarts. "Er- Mary?"

"Yes?" Mary asked, turning back around and going red in the face again.

"Er- I was just wondering what year it is," he asked, understanding Mary would probably think him daft.

"1858, sir," Mary answered and then walked quickly to the kitchens.

Oliver went back into his room, and tried to remember how the clothes were supposed to be placed in this time. He contemplated on how he ended up here; it wasn't completely unusual for a wizard to time travel, but usually you knew why you went back and where you were going back. Here he was in 1859, outside a place called Charleston, which rung a bell for some reason, and was around all these people with South American accents. That's what made it finally click for Oliver. He must be in America, somehow… but that didn't make sense. He started to pace in the study.

"Sir," Mary said from the doorway, and Oliver turned. "Mr. Elton is here to see you."

"All right, where is he?"

"Mr. Elton is waiting for you in the parlor," Mary informed him, then turned and walked back toward the kitchens.

Oliver took a deep breath, hoping this Mr. Elton wouldn't be as bad as the other man who was there the day before. He walked into the room and saw a man of great stature. He had Brown hair, with a glint of red in it, and his hair was slicked back neatly. The man turned around and smiled slightly. "Good day, friend," the man said, though he had what Oliver considered a regular American accent.

"Good day," Oliver said. Apparently he was supposed to know this man well. "How are you today Mr. Elton?" Oliver asked, trying to sound important and dignified. It didn't work well, but Mr. Elton bought it anyway.

"It's just us, you can call me Henry," Mr. Elton told him. It was a great relief that this man's first name was revealed to him. "I heard you let Brian Adler go," he said.

Adler? Oliver thought. Right, "Yes, I did. He was mistreating Mary," Oliver said.

"I understand that, but what have I told you about that? Keep your friends close, and-" Henry said, obviously waiting for Oliver to finish. When Oliver didn't complete the phrase, Henry did so, "your enemies closer. You really needed to consult me about that Oliver, especially with what's been happening."

"What do you mean?"

"With John Brown and all his talk of using the Virginia mountains. Then you have the Fugitive act of 1850," Henry said, sitting in one of the chairs, crossing his right ankle across his left knee. "Really ought to be considered the Inhumane act of 1850," he added. Oliver was about to ask what he meant, but Mary came in with a fresh tray of tea.

"Good day, Mr. Elton," Mary said with a small curtsy.

"Good day to you too, Mary. How is your mother?"

"Doing as well as we can hope," Mary answered with a thin smile.

"Good, very good. Send my regards?"

"Always," Mary said, blushing a bit as she walked back out the door.

"She's a good girl," Henry said with a nod, grabbing one of the cups and pouring himself some tea, adding two cubes of sugar. "Too bad you don't serve coffee here," he made mention while making himself comfortable again.

"What exactly is the Fugitive act?" Oliver inquired, wanting to get caught up in what was happening.

"It's the law that states if someone's slave goes north for refuge they must be returned to their owner, even if that state is considered free. Pain in the neck for us now, right?" he said, taking another sip of tea.

"Why is that?"

"Because now we either have to get the slaves to Canada, or even harder, past Kansas. It's not right the way they're treated," Henry said. "That reminds me, I was going to auction today in hopes to get some, uh, Merchandise, so if you'd like to come along, maybe you'll find someone there to help."

Oliver nodded, having heard about auctions, but didn't know how that might help people if he were buying things for himself. Maybe it's for Charity, he thought.

"There's a shipment coming in the middle of next week, by the way. I'm having a party for distraction, if you can hide them out here," Henry mentioned.

Oliver had been taking a sip of tea, and almost spit it out. "Them?"

"You know what I mean, Oliver, but good at showing me your straight face," Henry said. This man was years older than Oliver. "They'll be coming just after nightfall."

"Do Mammy and Mary know?" Oliver asked, trying to keep his cool while at the same time trying to figure out what Henry was talking about.

"No, and I've told you not to tell them. I understand that you don't like lying to them, but that's the way it has to be, unless you want to put their lives on the line as well," Henry said.

"Why would their lives be on the line?" Oliver asked seriously.

"I've told you to take this seriously," Henry reprimanded softly. "If they find out that we've joined the railroad, more than our lives are on the line. I would suggest using the space behind the bookcase, since there will only be a few of them."

"All right," Oliver said. Railroad? Did I, or whoever he thinks I am order something? This all sounded fairly familiar, but he didn't know how.

"Good, now that that's taken care of, I'll let you get ready for the auction, and I'll be back in one hour to get you."

"Okay," Oliver said, wondering what was wrong with his appearance that made him unsuitable.

Henry grabbed his hat, which had been sitting with a lamp on a small table, and started heading out the door. Oliver followed him, not knowing what would be considered protocol here. When they got to the porch Mammy was sweeping. "Go' day, Mista Elton," Mammy said with a warm smile.

"Good day, Mammy," he responded. "How's the southern princess?"

"Oh, don' you go tryin' to flatter me wit yo' Northern charm none," Mammy retorted waving him off.

"Yes, Mammy," Henry said, charmingly taking his hat off and sweeping in a debonair bow. Mammy rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue at him.

"Off, off wit you!" Mammy said, and Henry chuckled as he went to his cart to go back to his house.

One hour later Henry came by as promised, and Mammy had Oliver all ready. "Neve' seen a man wit so little care for how he looks," was something she said over and over while taking out which suit he was to wear, and slicking his hair back, and making put on gloves.

Oliver didn't know how he was going to survive the afternoon in this heat with the layers of clothes on, but he was determined to do so. He had been under worse conditions in Quidditch, and he was certain to get through this… he thought he could at least.

Oliver was offered a hand by Henry while Mammy and Mary sat on the porch. "Aren't they coming with?" Oliver asked.

"This is no place for them to be going," Henry stated in disbelief that he would even suggest such a thing. They rode to the auction in almost perfect silence. When they were close enough, Henry gave one last warning, "don't lose your head here, no matter what. I know that you've been here before, but I'm always afraid you might make yourself suspicious."

"What do you mean?"

"I just mean be careful what you do and say," Henry said, halting the horses in front of a man, a black man, ready to take them to a stable. Oliver followed Henry until they got to several cells, all full of black people, looking scared or trying to look untouchable with strength.

"What are they doing in there?" Oliver asked.

"New procedure, something they've been doing further south and Charleston is just starting to pick up on it. Seeing them in groups so that people get the idea that they want more than one."

Oliver wasn't entirely sure what he meant. He had heard that Americans had, at one point, used Africans to do their work, but he had no idea to the extent of torture that he saw, and that he would see soon.

"We're about to start, so everyone gather around," the bald auctioneer said, and everyone followed. There were a few women in the crowd, their large hoop skirts taking up a lot of room. They were all holding smelling salts close at hand, and their husbands or beaus offered their arms to the ladies. "Good afternoon," the auctioneer said with an air of excitement. "Today we're going to start with a good specimen, a male, twenty-five years of age, this would only be his second home."

Oliver looked around at the nods of agreement toward the black man they were bringing up to the platform. He stood tall next to the short and round auctioneer, and had his arms chained to one another. One of the workers, a middle aged man with a whip in his left hand, came from behind and ripped the shirt off the man's back, leaving Oliver in shock. A few men went up to the platform, and started looking carefully at the build of the man, feeling his biceps. Next they left the man in nothing but a loin cloth as he was looked at again. Some of the men looked at his teeth, though the man tried to jerk back then.

Oliver then witnessed the amount being bid on the man, only a few years older than him raise, though it ended around thirty dollars and two bits. Even though Oliver didn't know exactly how much that was, he understood it wasn't what any human life was worth. Anger flooded through him as they took him away and brought up a girl of fifteen, and started the routine again.

When the man ripped off the girl's shirt, and she tried to cover herself, Oliver's jaw clenched, and he took a step forward, only to be stopped by Henry. "Why are you stopping me?" Oliver hissed.

"This isn't the time," Henry said. "If you want to help, this isn't the time," he articulated, trying to keep others around him from noticing.

Oliver jerked his arm away, and turned, walking boldly from the situation. He was determined to find someone to stop this madness, this insanity, this inhumanity. He was walking down the dirt road for nearly an hour before Henry came by with his wagon. He went slower, matching Oliver's pace. "Stop being a fool," Henry said.

Oliver had seen that the young black girl, whose inspection he had left during, was in the back of Henry's wagon. "I won't associate with any Slave Traders!" Oliver said loudly. Henry was glad no one was around to hear that.

"I don't know what's wrong with you, but get in the wagon and I'll answer for your concerns," Henry said. Oliver looked up at him warily, but got up into the seat.

"I thought you were against this," Oliver said angrily referring to the girl in the back.

Henry looked around to make sure no one was anywhere nearby. "I am, you know that better than anyone. This is Karla's girl," Henry answered. "I heard about her being on the auction block, and hoped to get her, and I did."

"Why did you let them humiliate her then?" Oliver said, not knowing who Karla was, but he didn't care at this point either.

"I've told you that we have to play their game. Luckily I was able to turn your little scuff back there to our advantage. They now think we're fighting and that gives you an excuse not to be at the party," Henry filled in Oliver.

"What exactly will I be doing?" Oliver asked.

"There's a small family coming, they have a baby so make sure you're ready for that," Henry said.

I can use a silencing charm, Oliver thought, before remembering that he didn't have his wand.

"Don't get caught, because you know what that'll mean for you and the family," Henry said, not knowing how little Oliver understood.

"What exactly would happen?" Oliver asked after a few moment of silence.

"Don't do this to me now."

"No, really, c-could you just er, humor me?" Oliver asked, trying to sound casual between the anger from the auction he had witnessed, and having a hard time understanding what was really going on here.

"Well, they'll get the Devil's Brand-"

"What's that?"

"You know, the brand of their owner."

"The devil owns them?"

"Might as well," Henry said with real bitterness in his voice. "The way some of them are treated they might as well be in hell."

"Why are you buying any then?"

"For the same reason your uncle bought Mammy, rest his soul."

"Why?" Oliver persisted.

Henry seemed to finally be in a stage of wanting to talk about all of this in the open. "So we can buy their papers for them to have liberty. We always tried to do this as much as possible. Of course you know not to go telling people Mammy has her papers. Better that they think we believe in the same values they do."

"Why would anyone have those values though?"

"Who knows? Selfishness, I suppose. They like to think they're better than their slaves, but their not."

"What's the Underground Railroad?" Oliver asked. Henry gave Oliver a look of disbelief.

"Funny, really funny," he said. "How are you back there?" Henry asked the girl in the back, who was wrapping herself tightly in a cotton sheet Henry had brought, knowing her clothes would be very shabby, if intact. The girl nodded.

Oliver had hoped that getting the question answered might allow him to go back to Hogwarts, but Henry didn't seem too keen on answering that question.


A/N: These chapters might become few and far between for the pure fact that they are very hard to write because I find that period of history in America absolutely… I can't even think of a word so horrible to describe the events of that day and age. I find the culture very interesting, and I'm going to try focusing on what good was being done to stop this (which if you haven't been able to tell Oliver is one of the Conductors of that, though he doesn't quite get that yet). Please be patient, but I'll try to keep up on this one with my many others.

Thank you:

Miss Lady Padfoot: This won't involve the others as much as you think, but I hope it's still worth reading. I love those small characters too! They're so much fun!

Arendi Star: Here's more... as I said I'm going to try keeping up with it, but I'm finding it very difficult to wade through the emotions of this one takes a deep breath

JamieBell: I'm glad you like this story because you know your opinion is a big factor with everything I write =)

Kitchen Ballerina: Hope you keep liking this, and I know how you feel with not being able to express exactly how you feel on a piece.