Chapter 32. The Auction
I patiently listen to Alice complain about her husband.
To be honest, I don't think Frank's doubts are that unreasonable. I've come to that conclusion only because of one crucial fact; unlike I had assumed, Frank and Alice aren't school sweethearts who married for love. No, their union was actually arranged by their Houses. They're both from pureblood families with betrothals and other backward customs.
From Frank's perspective, he lucked out by marrying an exceptional beauty—a woman who had no shortage of men lining up for her. Then, barely a couple of years into their marriage, he was tortured into a vegetative state, leaving her alone and freshly in need of companionship.
Is it really odd to assume she would've moved on and found herself another man?
Frank isn't the strange one here—it's Alice, who displayed such an extraordinary streak of faithfulness to a man she'd only briefly lived with.
I do not say any of that out loud, of course. I just listen.
"Shame." I pat her knee, having scooted closer during her rant, the sofa too large for my purpose. "To think anyone would dare to question your loyalty. From what you've said, I'm not the only man surprised and awed by your dedication. In a situation where you could've saved millions of galleons by simply sleeping with me—an easier choice—you chose to lose it and retain your honour. And you did that every single time a man showed interest in you. For what? Just to be mistrusted by your own husband? Despicable."
She sighs, sinking back into the backrest with arms crossed at her chest, pointedly ignoring my hand placement. "You have no idea how easier my work would have been if I'd used my body. I've seen plenty of widows from great Houses resorting to that tactic. But I stayed loyal to my husband anyway."
I slide my hand up and rub her thigh, her midnight blue gown feeling negligible beneath my fingers. I can feel the warmth of her skin, the plump thigh clenching under my touch.
She peers at me through hooded eyes, her lips slightly parted. "Not all men who fancied using their power over me were unattractive. There were a few tall, handsome ones who could make any woman hesitate and consider the generous offer. But I persevered. For what? Frank's suspicion? For him to snatch all the power I amassed over the years? For him to turn me into a purposeless housewife?"
My fingers curve into a claw as I grip her leg, my thumb drawing a circle over her covered inner thigh.
She shudders.
"Don't worry about that," I reassure her, letting my hand drift further up. "Even if your husband forces you to step down, you won't become a mere housewife. You're the woman I trusted with my Cure-All. You'll have more power than anyone else in the world. After the auction ends and I secure an exorbitant sum, I'll announce the launch of my business. That's when I'll begin selling the Cure-All. Anyone who wants to reach me will have to go through you. You'll have the sole authority to accept or reject orders. So stay with me, as my secretary—as my partner."
Her eyes snap wide open and she scoots away, causing my hand to fall off. "What?"
Before I can answer, I notice the loud cacophony brought by the people streaming into the chamber below.
It seems the auction hall has opened for the event.
"We'll discuss it later," she says quietly, straightening her back. Her gaze shifts downwards, and she smiles at the audience/customers. "For now, just smile and be professional. And don't pull any of your usual antics. We're being watched by the richest people on the planet."
I nod but do not smile.
Rayhmir does not smile at strangers.
~xXxXx~
Isabella Zabini
A familiar face makes her frown, cutting her fun short.
She was sauntering up to powerful men and seducing them with ease. Her natural magnificence, combined with the power gifted by her lord, made the task laughably easy. The Veela allure—more potent than any else in existence—paired with her erotic appearance is an overkill when it comes to entrapping people. Not to mention her dress, a white garb so flimsy and tight at certain parts that it would be impossible not to stare.
It was all fun and games as she approached the wealthiest men in the entrance chamber, reducing them to fumbling, stuttering messes under her control. All she needed to do was lean in with a smirk, the slight movement of her enormous breasts doing the rest, hypnotising her conversation partners. Even when she left them to toy with others, her sashaying backside kept them spellbound.
Unfortunately, the cool visage of Teresa ruined her mood.
Her master's greatest experiment leans against a wall, away from others, staring right at her.
Dropping the exaggerated gait, Isabella walks over to the girl. "What are you doing here, Miss Clare? I doubt he assigned us both to this job."
The uncanny silver eyes stares into her soul. "I'm with a friend. She thought my skills could be useful if anyone tried to cause a scene at the auction."
Friend? That's a first. And who is this friend? As far as Isabella knows, Teresa hasn't turned into a new leaf at Hogwarts. She's still the same introverted girl who likes to keep it to herself. Maybe she needs to visit the castle again.
"I see. Does he know about it?" She keeps her bright smile, though her tone makes it clear this isn't a friendly conversation.
Teresa wasn't supposed to leave the castle. But there's not much to be done now. Isabella neither has the ability nor the will to drag the girl back to where she's supposed to be.
The blonde shrugs, feigning indifference. "No. But I'm sure he won't mind. Where is he?"
"Home," she replies, pinching her nose, looking over her shoulder as the others start walking through the hallway. "He was planning to attend this auction in person. But now he's so engrossed in his new project that he couldn't bother to leave the chateau. You know how he is."
Stark disappointment flashes across Teresa's face.
"He's not here?" she asks, clenching her hands at her side.
"That's what I said." Isabella rolls her eyes. "Don't tell me you're missing your daddy."
Teresa's glare is cute.
"He's not my father."
"If you say so." She adopts an infuriating smirk, fishing out the invitation card. "I'm going in. If you're concocting some stupid plan to run away again, just remember all your previous attempts. Don't make things harder for yourself, poppet."
With her warning stated, she leaves the hard-headed girl and makes her way through the hallway.
She has better things to do than keep an eye on a troubled child.
At the end of the hallway, she passes through the shimmer. Her appearance isn't affected.
Interesting. She knows about this enchantment. It would reveal the true form of anyone who passes through.
The organisers have taken quite a few safety measures. As they should. The Cure-All may very well invite greedy attackers.
Finding her assigned seat, she goes down the theatre-like steps until she reaches the bottom—the front row. Perching down gracefully, she looks around. It's a large room, able to easily fit in hundreds of people. Though the crowd is decidedly small and occupies only a meagre number of seats. Standing some distance before her, behind a podium, is Damian Greengrass, the richest man of Britain.
He nods at her respectfully, knowing his place. He may be someone powerful in the Isles, but compared to her master, he's nothing.
Glancing up, to her right, she finds a gallery jutting out of the wall, an enclosed VIP room for the man behind the Cure-All potion.
Rayhmir is a blonde man. From what little she can see, he's a beautiful man. He sits upright, gazing down at them coldly, like a god from his throne. For creating such a potion, he can act like that.
Beside him is a sensual dark-haired looker. Alice Longbottom is the name, if she recalls correctly. That woman is not much of a player on the world stage, but that will definitely change. Being allowed to manage and organise the auction of the Cure-All means Longbottom has quickly shot up to the top.
Isabella wonders if the woman would be skillful enough to take advantage of her newfound influence.
"Ladies and gentlemen, a warm welcome to you all, and to what shall undoubtedly be the most remarkable auction in history," Damian begins, his voice soft yet audible. "Today, the Cure-All potion—something of legends and myths—will be offered to the highest bidder. Whether you wish to cure the incurable, restore your youth, or perhaps both, this potion shall grant you that desire.
For those few unacquainted, the creator of this unparalleled miracle is here amongst us. A round of applause, if you will, for Mr. Rayhmir."
She joins the others in applause, her eyes lifting to the stone-faced man.
"Now, without further delay, let us proceed. The starting bid, ladies and gentlemen, shall be 500,000 galleons."
~xXxXx~
There are dozens of bidders in the beginning, but as the numbers climb, only a handful remain.
"Mr. Torres raises the bid to 4 million galleons. Do we have a bid for 4.5 million galleons? Yes, we do. Miss Zabini has raised the bid to 4.5 million galleons."
We watch silently, hardly able to believe our eyes.
"This is an uncomfortable reality pill. I thought House Longbottom was wealthy," Alice chuckles, incredulous.
"Do we have a bid for 5 million? Mr. Richards bids 5 million," Damian announces.
I lean back with a satisfied smile. "Remember when I was willing to give it to you for 2 million? Letting you take it for free was the best decision I ever made."
"You're welcome." She rests her hands in her lap and leans forward eagerly. "I think this will go on for a while. Six people are still bidding without hesitation."
"Probably. Mind turning the glass opaque? I think they've stared at me enough."
Alice nods and waves her wand. "No one can see or hear us from outside now."
It remains unspoken that we can continue spectating.
"Should we discuss your continued employment, then?" I shift my position to face her.
She wrenches her eyes away from the auction and nods slowly, mirroring me. "First tell me what you're planning."
Taking one last glance at the still rising numbers, I smirk at her. "Once the auction ends, we'll have a definite value for my product."
Alice is quick to argue. "I don't think anyone will be able to match today's price."
"Correct. That's why I can sell it for 2 million and there'll still be people willing to buy. Because instead of asking for its true price, which will be decided by the ones below, they'll get it at a far lower price."
"That will make you enemies," she remarks, pointing down at the ongoing auction. "The winner here will feel scammed if you go that low."
We glance at one another as the bid reaches 8 million galleons.
"Then we won't reveal how much we sell it for. We'll have a non-disclosure contract for our buyers."
She hums thoughtfully, thinking it over. "If we're going that route then there's no need to put a fixed price."
I snap my fingers. "That works. We'll try to squeeze in every knut from our future customers. The richer ones will give more profit, but the slightly less affluent families will also be able to afford it. Different prices for different people."
"There are other ways to pay too if they don't have enough monetary funds." Alice's lips curve up slyly, her excitement barely contained. "If we play our cards right, we can have every individual with power owing to us. With enough influence, we'd be able to do anything without fearing repercussions."
"You're such a cutthroat." I laugh. "But yes, I like the sound of that. I'll leave all the work to you. Contact me when you choose a customer."
She inclines her head, her eyes bright with greed and purpose. "I'll take care of everything. Just keep making the miracle potion."
"Deal." I offer my hand.
She clasps it tightly. "You're going to make me filthy rich."
"Same to you, Alice. Though I wonder if your husband will be fine with it." I ask, grinning suggestively.
"As if I care." She scrunches her nose, waving it off. "I'm not letting this opportunity go to waste. No matter what."
"Good." I take back my hand and watch over the auction. "You shouldn't be shackled."
The bid rises to 9 million.
"I'll take off my gown if we get 10 million," she whispers beside me.
…
…
At my humorous look, she smirks. "I'm just offering fate an incentive."
"...okay."
Alice is sure in her 'bad-girl' phase. Frustrated by her marriage and eager for the upcoming business, she's acting so bold and free. Not that I'm complaining. I love where this is going.
"Mrs. Singh raises the bid to 9.5 million."
We observe the auction with painstaking attention.
"Do we have 10 million? Miss Zabini raises the bid to 10 million."
Alice gets up swiftly, giving me a wry smile. "I guess I have to do it."
Before my very eyes, she begins unlacing her gown. Since her back is to me, I don't see anything as she undresses. But when she shrugs it off, my breath gets caught in my throat.
Her pale shoulders are first to be bared. As the gown slithers down her back, the line of her spine comes next. The fabric drags further down, revealing the straps of her black bra. I swallow and ogle as her narrow waist is exposed next. And then her knickers-clad arse. The round swell of her buttocks steals the breath from my throat, and her black thong doesn't cover much.
I press my open palm down on my erection.
Her thick thighs are next, the very same ones I was touching earlier. And as the gown lands soundlessly on the floor, she turns around, her bra barely supporting the weight of her perfect voluptuous mounds.
With a smirk, she flicks her hair back and sits down besides me. It doesn't escape my notice that she has opted to sit right next to me instead of the other side of the sofa.
I can feel the heat emanating from her body, and smell the perfume on her skin.
My trousers feel tight and uncomfortable. I press down on my erection again.
"You alright there, Harry?" she asks innocently.
"Yep. Absolutely fine." I place my arm around her neck, the inside of my palm on her shoulder.
She smiles like a fond mother humouring her son. "If we get to 12 million, I'll sit in your lap."
My cock gives a twitch. It forms a tent.
I press down on it again.
I worry I'll cum before anything even happens.
"11 million, anyone? Miss Zabini raises the bid again. 11.5 million? Mr. Richards comes back in the game."
Only moments later, Zabini bids again.
12 million.
"Oh well, I guess it can't be helped." Alice's smile widens as she stands up and drops into my lap unceremoniously.
I moan as her arse lands on my tent. The soft-firm cheeks squash against my boner as she shifts to find a comfortable spot. She finds it right on top of my cock, grinding on it briefly. Leaning back against me, so her hair is in my face and her back is firmly pressed against my chest, she says, "If we reach 15 million, I will fuck Harry hard enough to break his little prick."
…
I don't play along this time.
Wrapping my arms snugly around her, I press my face in her hot neck. Her resultant playful gasp gets my blood roaring. Plunging my hand between her legs, into her knickers, I push two fingers inside her, up to the knuckles.
She cries my name and locks her legs, trapping my hand between her thighs. She holds my wrist close to her cunt, pushing my fingers further inside.
I stir the hot pot, rubbing the inner lining, and she quivers, grinding her arse on my lap. Using my free arm, I undo her bra and grab a handful of her glorious full tit. Squeezing it produces another throaty moan.
"13 million galleons, and I'll bounce Alice Longbottom on my cock until she blacks out from pleasure." I kiss her neck, still fingering her, still groping her tits.
"Miss Zabini bids 13 million."
"I guess it can't be helped." I whisper huskily, pushing her off.
She stumbles out of my lap and whirls around after I slap her butt. "That was cheating."
"Didn't we discuss we were going to be cheaters together?" I unzip my trousers and shove down my underwear, allowing my stiff cock to finally breathe.
Shaking her head, she slips out of her knickers as well, and straddles me. "I hope that wasn't an empty boast. Fuck me until I black out. My disappointing husband doesn't know how to use his pecker."
Hell has no fury like a woman scorned.
Her hands land on my shoulders as she hovers over my erect cock. Black hair falls around her pretty face, cascading like little brooks, and her blue eyes stare into mine. Then her pink mouth parts, just like her inner walls as she comes crashing down. I hold onto her waist as she swallows me whole in a single thrust.
I grunt, my hands on her plump, pliable cheeks, squeezing them, spreading them, as she clenches around my shaft and grinds on my lap.
"Mr. Richards has bid 15.5 million."
"If we get 20 million, I'll let you impregnate me and pretend it's Frank's child."
…
…
Nothing has ever aroused me faster than that, I realise. My cock throbs in want inside her, my heart rate spikes as she pulls halfway out before ramming down with a plap.
Her ample tits swing sideways and collide with each other, bouncing off one another.
The image awakens something inside me, and I begin slamming up into her, meeting her downward thrusts with equal fervour.
My eyes remain fixed on her jiggling tits, and my fingers claw into her bum as the sound of slapping flesh reverberates around us.
"25 million galleons, and I'll let you fuck me beside my sleeping husband!" She yells, pounding her arse down on my cock, throwing her head back and screaming.
I pant and keep thrusting into her, mesmerised by her smacking tits.
"30 million galleons, and I'll let you fuck me in the arse," she says hoarsely, riding me, her beautiful black hair dancing around her shoulders.
Her eyes roll back in her sockets and she slumps on top of me, clinging to my shoulders. Her pussy roils around my drilling cock, her inner muscles clenching and unclenching like crazy. She bites my neck and muffles her shriek, and I feel her juices moisten my already slick cock.
She climaxed.
Clutching her arse cheeks, I growl and allow myself to finish too, raining spurt upon spurt inside her.
Remembering my promise, I pull out and push her off my lap and down on the sofa. "Spread your legs. Let me actually fuck you into unconsciousness."
She moans and lazily parts her knees, my semen trickling out of her.
Just as I kneel to re-enter her, alarms begin blaring obnoxiously.
Alice's lethargy vanishes in an instant, and she sits up alert. "We're being attacked."
~xXxXx~
Isabella Zabini
Bidding in an auction is amusing when you have unlimited wealth.
She 'hesitates' as Mr. Richards raises the bid to 20 million. His victorious grin looks ugly on his whiskered face.
The plump man eyes her with disdain, lording his presumed triumph.
It's at this moment that she decides she had toyed enough with the poor peasants. As Damian Greengrass prepares to ask for 20.5 million, she raises her hand and declares her bid with a nonchalant grin. "50 million."
…
…
She bites the inside of her cheeks to stop the giggle bubbling in her belly. The flabbergasted silence is more than a little rewarding.
Damian clears his throat, dabbing the sweat off his forehead. "Miss Zabini has raised the bid to 50 million galleons. Do we have a 50.5?"
No one dares to bid again. They just gawk at her. It's really great to have the backing of the greatest Alchemist.
"Sold. A vial of Cure-All will be handed over to Miss Zabini once the transaction completes. Thank you all for—"
She quirks her eyebrow as the warning alarm starts blasting.
Moments later, dark-robed men march out from the entrance hall.
Her wand is in her hand, though she doesn't try to be a hero and simply spectates the procession. The guards have already taken a protective stand before them. Unfortunately, they're vastly outnumbered. There are at least 50 assailants, all dark-robed, their faces covered by silver masks.
Isabella isn't oblivious to not identify the attackers.
Death Eaters. She had heard the rumours of the second coming of Voldemort. And then there was the Azkaban break-out. But she hadn't paid it much attention, considering very few people rise from the dead.
She should have paid attention.
"Mercenaries." The voice booms as a middle-aged brown-eyed man walks out through the shimmering barrier. "I'll pay you triple of what Longbottom has paid. Leave and retire. There's no need for violence. You are before Lord Voldemort. Fleeing wouldn't be a cowardly decision; it would be a wiser one."
His announcement is followed by the loud cackle of Bellatrix Lestrange, whose wand shines with a green glow, daring anyone to defy her master's order.
The guards' faces turn ashen at the name. Understandable. Everyone knows the infamous Dark Lord, the man who plunged Britain into chaos for nearly a decade.
Isabella isn't surprised when the guards glance at one other before shrugging and walking away. That's a risk of hiring mercenaries. You can never depend on them. Inexperienced move on Alice Longbottom's part.
The chamber is filled with fearful murmurs as the most wealthy and powerful men are turned powerless. They jump off their seats and converge around the podium on the stage, where Damian is frozen, as if he's seeing his nightmares turn to reality.
She keeps her calm, obviously, joining the crowd, increasing the gap between her and the Death Eaters. Voldemort is nothing compared to the great Nicolas Flamel, the Immortal Alchemist. She does not need to fear anything. She has his champion near her.
It's a little strange that Teresa hasn't already cleaved through them.
The Dark Lord halts on the topmost step, looking down at them with a cruel smile. His Death Eaters fan on either side, covering the entirety of the landing, caging them.
"There won't be any bloodshed, I assure you, if you don't give me any reason to. First, I'd like to meet with the Miracle Maker. Where is Mr. Rayhmir?"
The door to the gallery opens, and the blonde man descends the stairs. He lands on the other side of the Death Eater chain. He can run away if he's quick enough. Though she doubts the survival rate. There must be more Death Eaters on the other side of the Hallway.
Now that she can see him clearly, he looks quite effeminate with that beautiful face and long blonde hair. Even his body is thin and supple like a girl's. But that's not the most noticeable thing. No, it's the complete lack of fear on his face as he approaches the Boogeyman of Britain that surprises her the most.
The Dark Lord spreads his arms to welcome him. "You must be—"
"Shut up. Drop your wand. Don't do anything."
…
…
Even though the command isn't directed at her, she feels the weight of those words. It's almost a physical thing as it presses down on them. Her mouth clicks shut and her body shakes in fright.
Rayhmir scares her more than Voldemort. Something is off about him. In hindsight, it should've been obvious that the maker of Cure-All would be on a whole another level.
In front of her horrified and awed gaze, the Dark Lord's mouth closes shut, and his wand drops with a sharp thud.
The Death Eaters snap their wands at him instantly, shaking in their boots. Bellatrix screeches and hurls a killing curse at him, which he easily dodges. With a wave of his hand, the lunatic seizes up and turns mute.
Their body stills when Rayhmir turns his gaze at them.
"Shove your wands into your mouths. Choke yourself to death."
The guests watch in terror as the Death Eaters follow Rayhmir's command. Goosebumps envelop her skin, and her mouth is wide agape. Isabella watches on dumbly as the dark-robed men push their wands into their throats, deliberately choking themselves.
Disgusting gags and squelches are the only sounds in the wide chamber.
The men fall on the ground due to lack of air, squirming like worms, their natural instinct to yank out the wands and breathe snuffed by Rayhmir's order.
Seconds turn to minute, and minute into minutes.
The squirming figures have stopped moving.
Rayhmir walks over to Bellatrix Lestrange, who's staring at him in disbelief. Isabella can relate to that. What the hell is going on?
The mysterious man stands behind the lunatic. "Aim your wand. At him. Use Killing Curse."
Bellatrix's trembling hand rises on her own, tears run down her cheeks. "NO! Please, please. Master, help me. Help me, master. Please, please, please…"
Isabella gawps at the scene, her heart thumping at a deadly pace. She clutches her flimsy white dress as Bellatrix's wand is finally levelled at her own master.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Voldemost slumps lifelessly to the ground, expression of terror and disbelief forever etched on his face.
"Who won the bidding?" Rayhmir turns to them.
She won't lie. She took a step back, just like the others.
"Me."
"Congratulations, Miss Zabini. Talk with Alice. She'll take it from here."
She nods jerkily as he grabs Bellatrix and apparates away. The sound of shattering glass fills the room as his apparition breaks the wards.
…
There's a new monster out there. She needs to inform her master as soon as possible.
~xXxXx~
Fuck.
I had this entire plan to elevate myself, to earn fame and glory by defeating Voldemort. But this happened. And now Rayhmir will be famous instead of Harry.
I did wonder if I should've let Voldemort go to save my plans. From the way the Dark Lord was acting, I'm sure he wasn't there to kill me. Either he wanted me to join him or desired the Cure-All.
I could've fled instead, but letting a mass-murderer rampage across the country just so I can keep my plans intact is too much of a dick move. I'm not that far gone.
So I sacrificed it all. There won't be any glory or reverence for Harry Evans. He'll merely end up as a mysteriously strong Hogwarts champion instead of Hero of the Wizarding World.
And it is not that bad, I think. Letting my other identity take all the fame may be for the better.
Probably.
Whatever. What's done is done.
"I'll kill you and cut you into a thousand pieces."
I look up to see the glaring Bellatrix from behind the bars, threatening me in that soft, cool tone that will cause anyone else to shudder.
Yes, I have stuffed her in the dungeon of Evans Mansion. This is the same woman who ordered that inhumane attack on my sister. And I did make a promise. It's time I show her what it feels like to be on the other side. It's time I show her how low I can fall.