She could hear them like a whisper. Talking about her virginity. Hypothesizing about if she'd used her mouth before.

The lights were hot.

She focused on the lone Death Eater, still not socializing. Maybe he'd already bid on his Lot, and now was just enjoying a night at the theatre.

Ludo read out her measurements. They cackled when he suggested that she'd do fine in the kitchen, and whooped when he mentioned her muscle mass would be handy in the gardens. They crowed at the thought of her dusting their manors.

Ludo danced around the truth of the matter, teasing them, until finally:

"And gentlemen..." His voice dropped low. "In case you were curious... It will be an extra five thousand for this one."

Thunder. The acoustics shivering with the applause and screaming. The lonely Death Eater did nothing but cross his leg.

"So, gentlemen... we start the bidding at fifteen thousand Galleons."

Fifty wands shot into the air, orange sparks calling Ludo's attention.

She swallowed and looked down to find Dolohov raising a lazy hand.

Wands were only raised on the ground floor, she realized. Perhaps they'd sold spectator tickets for the balconies.

"Let's weed you out a bit, shall we?" Ludo quipped. "Sixteen thousand."

Only about five wands dropped.

"Sixteen-five. Jumping up to sixteen-five, gentleman," Ludo began.

She watched as wand hands slowly descended, Dolohov and Mulciber keeping up with each other, laughing at their little game.

Her knees felt shaky, and she wondered if she would be seeing food again anytime soon. Perhaps never.

"Eighteen thousand Galleons. Do I hear—Yes, sir, eighteen thousand. What about eighteen-five?" He pointed to Dolohov. "Eighteen-five to Dolohov. Several others still in. Nineteen?"

She let her eyes glaze over, watching the unmoving Death Eater. He sat still, wand in his lap, head supported in his hand. He looked young. Thin shoulders. Tall.

"Nineteen-five? Yes, nineteen-five to Mulciber. Do we have—?"

"Twenty-five thousand." A tense voice. Hermione blinked as every person in the first three rows turned to look at her solitary masked man. He'd raised his wand, orange sparks. Had she summoned his voice by staring at him?

Whispers and shuffling. She knew that Ginny had just sold for a bit more than that.

"Er, yes. Twenty-five thousand to..."

"Twenty-six," Dolohov snarled, sending a glare back at the younger man.

"Twenty-six-five," from the fourth row.

"Twenty-seven."

"Twenty-seven-five."

"Twenty-eight!" Dolohov yelled, irritated with the boy in the fourth row.

The boy whose voice drawled out "Twenty-eight-five," like money was no object to him. The boy whose eyes she knew to be cold behind the mask. Whose long fingers twirled his sparking wand. And Hermione noticed it was hawthorn again. She wondered if he'd stolen it back from Harry's dead body.

Dolohov hesitated, looking up to Ludo. "Twenty-nine."

"Twenty-nine-five."

And the thought floated through her consciousness that there was an auction, and she would belong to someone in a few short minutes.

And Draco Malfoy was bidding.

The theatre was buzzing. Most of the crowd had figured out that the Malfoy boy was throwing his money against Antonin Dolohov.