Chapter 3

Sure, there was a time when he would have had no problem with this arrangement. He would be ecstatic. He wanted that much power, the power of deciding the life of another human (even though the pamphlet said the he couldn't kill the slave). But that was the pre-war Draco.

But now, he had seen how it felt to be at the other side. He had seen how Voldemort used the Death Eaters, how he used Draco's father and him. They were no better than slaves.

And how could he owe another slave, when he had been in the same place, felt how it feels to be at the mercy of other?

Draco sighed. Well, he would go out, buy one, and see how it works.

He stood. "Solomon!"

The house elf came inside the room. "Yes, Master?"

"I am going outside. Take out my robes."

"Yes, master. May I ask where you are going?"

Now, most wizards would be infuriated at this question. How dare a house elf ask such a question?

But by now, Draco was used to this. In fact, it felt nice, to know that there was someone who cared, someone who awaited his arrival. Even though it was an old house elf.

Draco frowned. Maybe his parents were right. Maybe he did need a slave. He was going out of his mind, being alone.

"I am going to buy a slave. Sure enough you heard the conversation?"

Solomon smiled but otherwise avoided the question. "Very well, master. Must I prepare a room?"

Draco hadn't thought about this. Will the girl (It must be a girl. He won't have a male slave.) sleep with him? What would she wear? He hadn't had any female clothing. What would she do? Solomon and the other house elves took care of the house, and Draco spent most of his time working, outside the house.

Merlin's beard, keeping a slave was difficult.

Solomon, sensing his dilemma, said, "I'll prepare the cellar. Is that alright, master?"

"What? Why the cellar?"

"Um… most wizards keep their slaves in their cellars or dungeons, master."

That was horrible. Draco couldn't imagine living in a cellar, let alone forcing some poor girl to sleep there.
Besides, this was the same cellar where Peter died, where Granger was tortured by his aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, where numerous prisoners were held and killed when Voldemort lived with them. Draco hated going down there. He could still hear the screams.

He certainly won't allow the girl to live in the cellar.

"I think the bedroom across from mine would be alright."

"Very well, master." Solomon bowed, but Draco sensed that he was surprised. Why wouldn't he be? It was unheard of, giving a slave her own sleeping quarters.

" What about her clothing?"

"I am sure Pexa can do something. We do have some lovely lengths of silk and satin, if I am not wrong."

Draco sighed in relief. "You are a savior, Solomon."

"Just a house elf, master. Meant to serve you."

Draco swallowed. He had heard his father.

"Solomon, I-"

Solomon waved his hand. "What he said was true, master. Doesn't matter. This is what I do, and in my work, I am happy. You must go before its night."

"Very well." Draco went to his room and changed his robes. He was back within five minutes.

"I will be home in an hour or so."

"Goodbye, master."

Draco came out of the front door, through the large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated hallway. It was just before twilight. The air had cooled considerably. He was about to disapparate, but then he realized he didn't know where the slave market was.

He tried to think. He did know where one was. He just couldn't remember the place. Was it in Diagon Alley? No, not there.

Ah- yes, in Knockturn Alley. Right.

Draco disapparated.

Knockturn Alley always reminded him of darker days. He hated the place.

Still, he had work there. After the war, the demands of objects of dark magic were increased. And they weren't technically illegal. Most of the objects which the ministry had taken from the Malfoy Manor before the war were given back.

But Draco wanted to get rid of them. So came into Knockturn alley frequently, to sell them. Soon enough, other dealers began contacting him, and he found it to be a pleasing distraction. So he bought these items and sold them. He didn't need to, but he liked the work.

The alley was as usual, filled with filthy, poor wizards and witches. Many of them stared at him as he passes. Few even raised their wands. Draco supposed that he made quite a good slave material. If they could capture and sell him, they would be rich.

Still, their raised wands couldn't fathom a spell. As soon as they looked him in the eye, they lowered their heads and hurried away. He had a ferocity about him which scared them.

The slave market was at the end of the alley.

Zarathurasta: Slaves for keeps