I pushed through the other captives to reach the perimeter of the paddy wagon. The wool gown I was forced to wear was nearly causing my skin beneath it to rash by now. With my body now pressed up against the bars, I scanned the vast crowd surrounding the wooden platform outside. I watched each person keenly, searched hard, though I had no idea what I was even searching for. Perhaps, it was for one, for any small sign of hope.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted. Cheering, roaring, and near-screams sprang about into the autum air. The crate door was unlocked and was opened with severe force. A wizard clad in all black climbed in afterwards. And with a fairly hazy mind, I was only half-aware when he told me to come to him. Cold metal shackles were clamped around my ankles. I then was hauled out, down the ramp along with the two other wizards and the four witches linked to my chains. Through the wild mob of Purebloods, we were herded like cattle towards the stage.

I dared not to view the too-familiar posters plastered upon the walls surrounding the Square any longer, for my heart ached horridly each time my eyes read the words: 'Weasleys, Teachers, and other Blood Traitors Placed in Azkaban!' or 'Harry Potter in Hiding, Find Him, and Rise Against Him!' or 'Loyal Pureblood Families Take Giant Steps Ahead While Others are Pushed Far Back.' and 'Hogwarts, a School Finally for Chosen Scholars Only!'

Once the tall podium was positioned in center stage, we were ordered to line up beside it. I was the first in line. I cringed later when the older wizard to my left, Alonso—if I remembered correctly—had been hit in his chest with a rotten tomato, and the second had flown pass my ear, slightly ruffling my hair. Yet, I was too deep in distress during the past few years to display any emotional reaction whatsoever.

The wizard in black robes who had collected us stood at the podium, unrolling the documents. "Fellow Purebloods," he boomed in enthusiasm, his rough voice now controlled and civilized, "these are the auction items the Snatcher Society are willing to present to you today."

More clapping from the audience before the platform ensued, and they prepared themselves for the bid, most of them digging out their galleons and sickles out from their sagging pockets.

Black Robes placed spectacles on the bridge of his nose and began reading down the article aloud. Three of the witches I had never heard of before, but then again they were all a year or two beneath me. They each sold easily at low prices for kitchen maids, or servants to care for any magical livestock. The last Muggleborn witch I had actually met once in Charms class. She was sold at a better price to a well-dressed, elderly witch who claimed she was in dire need of a young caretaker in her lonesome mansion. (Oh, poor old thing.) The second wizard and Alonso were purchased as a set by a Ministry director.

I was next, and I was also last.

"And now my fine Ladies and Gentleman, the last, but certainly the most prized and expensive Mudblood we have on our market, is Hermione Jean Granger, at age 21! She's not only the best friend of Harry Potter himself, but she was known for her smarts! What a collector's item she shall be to your Mudbloods at home, eh?"

The crowd roared with laughter along with Black Robes, and I unfortunately felt the blood leave my face from sickening self-consciousness. My determined scowl melted away at the mentioning of my set price.

"We will start this auction at 500 Galleons!"

I was really that expensive? My head reeled to figure the math. That was equivalent to 2,500 British Pound. I was deeply surprised, and if I were not placed in such a drastic situation, I would have been almost flattered.

"510!" a witch in emerald tried.

"530!" a wizard challenged, in addition.

"545!" the witch shouted.

"600!" another witch decided.

"900!" and another.

My, what a jump that had been.

The numbers were persistent, and continued to climb, and each bidder became more and more fascinated with the other's offer. I did not want to believe what my ears were hearing. It was so coldblooded. I was this intriguing, and was worth so much all because I had close relations with Harry.

But then a wizard's voice suddenly called out from the sidelines, and the handsome number that he stated had caused the rest to go silent with intense curiosity. "20,000 Galleons!"

I gasped.

"Final offer?" Black Robes inquired moments later.

Just my luck. I was worth near a million British Pound—I was too far too viable now to simply disregard, to place aside on the market. There went any slight change of escaping the Mudblood Coop.

"Well then, going once…going twice. And this Mudblood is sold to the selected costumer, Draco Malfoy!"

…And my luck was getting better by the second.