CH 222

He? Clare flicked through the brochure and felt her stomach drop. 'He' was a house elf.

"A house elf?"

"Yes," Emma whispered back. She sounded half apprehensive, half excited. "Our lord says that he needs at least two by this time next year, and they don't come up on the block very often. But he can't really make much use of him before then, so he's going to lend him to us! Isn't that wonderful?"

Oh, yes. Wonderful. Clare felt sick. House elves were magical beings. They had cores. They could power wards. Now that Slytherin was buying one, he'd have little more need for her. They could even channel magic just like wizards could — the one advantage she had over the magical plants in the garden. She swallowed and looked over at Slytherin's ever blank and impersonate mask. If Slytherin got rid of her would she still be able to go to school? Would her new master force her to sleep with him? Would she even be allowed to keep her wand?

The bidding for lot 107 came and went and soon a small and spindly figure stood up on the auction platform. The figure was visibly vibrating with excitement. The auctioneer cleared his throat. "Lot number 108 — a male house elf — not yet named — five years old and just passed maturity — healthy and with full documentation from both the Ministry and St Mungo's — trained in domestic services and household management — we'll start the bidding at six thousand galleons (£300,000)."

Clare just stopped her eyes from bugging out. Six thousand galleons!

Lord Slytherin immediately raised his wand.

Whispers filled the hall.

Another wizard raised his wand.

Six thousand galleons was like… she did the math in her head… a LOT more than she owed anyone. Slytherin and the other wizard were shortly joined by a third.

The bidding quickly took on a frantic air. The bids kept creeping higher and higher. 6,100 galleons, 6,200 , 6,400, 6,800. Eventually Slytherin rose his wand and shot out a call for 7,600 galleons (£380,000).

"Any other bids? Gentlemen?" The auctioneer called to the last wizard still bidding. The man shook his head looking seriously miffed.

"No? Sure? Sold! To Lord Slytherin."

A faint scattering of applause filled the hall.

Slytherin stood up and made his way to the back room, leaving Clare alone with the Grangers and the Greengrasses. A heavy weight settled in her stomach.

She barely paid any attention to the rest of the auction. Not even when Emma commented on how badly she'd want to get her hands on a pair of vanishing cabinets that eventually went for almost one thousand galleons (£50,000).

Eventually, Emma seemed to pick up on something being off. "What's wrong?"

Clare shrugged nothing."

her

off.

"Nothing.

It's

Emma didn't seem convinced but didn't pry further.

Slytherin soon returned from the back room and started to bid for a few more items, so much so, that by the time the auction finished it was late at night. The crowd started to file out of the room.

Clare looked around. "Where did Slytherin go again?"

"I think he went out the back again," Dan replied.

"Well," said the witch who'd introduced herself as Lady Sunny Greengrass, stepping into their little circle. "How did you enjoy your first magical auction?"

"It was interesting," Emma replied. "There were so many things I really wanted, but didn't have a hope of affording. So many of the really good things were quite expensive."

Lady Sunny nodded. "Many heirlooms are like that. They're just not being made any more." Emma nodded.

Clare knew Emma knew all about the ways family magic gave the old houses a stranglehold on certain types of products. Eventually they were the last one's left in the room.

Slytherin appeared from the back room again. "My apologies," he intoned, drawing closer to them "One of the sellers was being a little difficult about something."

Lord Jacob Greengrass slapped him on the back. "You sorted it out?" "Of course."

"What about the elf?" Slytherin patted his pocket. Lord Greengrass laughed. "Sometimes, I wonder why you're even bothering with a manor when you're so attached to your trunk."

Slytherin chuckled. "I think someone would complain quite a bit if I decided to live in my trunk."

Greengrass snorted.

Clare watched the two lords back and forth, still not able to wrench that sickening feeling from her stomach. She didn't say anything, even as everyone else started chatting and laughing. She held herself towards the back of the group, and walked a little bit slower.

The group of six made their way out of the auction house and into the now almost deserted nighttime of Knockturn Alley. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked.

She breathed out.

Suddenly, a voice from just behind her caused her to swing around wildly, heart leaping into her throat.

"Well, well, look who we have here."

It was Robert Volf, old, balding, bot bellied, but spry and still as unusually light on his feet as ever.

"Volf." She tried to keep the tremble from her voice, backing away and towards the still receding group.

Volf leered. "Now where do you think you're going? I've got an hour to kill — the joint is just up there." She quickly shook her head. "No, that's not — I don't work there anymore."

He ignored her and made to grab her arm.

"HELP!" She jerked and tried to run away, but just as she turned she barrelled into the tall robed form of Lord Slytherin. She clutched his robes briefly before spinning and ducking behind him.

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