Lovesbitca8 TAKES CREDIT THIS IS HER WORK - FOUND ON AO3
On a day she assumed was Thursday, they showered them again. She was taken first, alone. Dolohov watched her undress again, watched her under the spray. He scourgified her clothing and handed each item back to her, one at a time. Starting with her knickers.
He smiled and ran his fingers across the cotton as she stood in front of him, dripping in her towel.
"Cherish these moments, Mudblood," he said. "You won't need little knickers any longer after tomorrow."
She gave him no reaction. Unable to speak, she concentrated on becoming expressionless. She tugged the knickers on under the towel, and struggled the rest of the clothing on her still wet body.
When they returned her and took five girls, then five more, none of them complained about the lack of privacy in the showers. So, she assumed it was a special circumstance for her.
Word got around among the girls that the Auction would take place that Friday night. Enough whispers had been overheard to take a solid guess. Ginny began to pace around the room, trying to figure out as many details as she could. Hermione sat in the corner with Luna while the blonde played with her hair, braiding it and unbraiding it absentmindedly.
"Should we try again to attack?" Ginny asked the room. "We don't have magic, but we have numbers. Instead of five against two, we could be fifty against a handful."
There was a thick silence, and someone said, "After what happened... with Parvati and Lydia... I just—"
"I'd be more afraid of living than dying, if I were you," Pansy said, staring at her nails.
"Are you volunteering with me, Parkinson?" Ginny asked.
Pansy smirked. "I don't volunteer."
Ginny looked over at her. "Hermione? What do you think? They haven't upped the number of guards. It's still just Dolohov and at least one more. The next time they come into the room, we could... I don't know." Ginny let her arms drop to her side.
Ginny stared at her, hopeful, excited. Hermione stared back.
Ginny had private showers for five days now. She hadn't watched Lydia Baxter bleed to death in front of her. She hadn't listened to Luna's screaming. She hadn't felt the heat of Dolohov's hand between her legs, hadn't felt his foul breath as he talked in slow whispers about what he wanted to do to her body.
Ginny had a voice.
And it was brilliant that she still wanted to use it. Truly. But Hermione was already having trouble making eye contact with people. And she knew enough about shock, and submission, and torture to know that she was not in the right state of mind to discuss this right now. That people would die, and it would live on Hermione's soul like a fungus.
Ginny was waiting for an answer. The entire room was.
Hermione still had no voice. Instead, she shrugged.
Then, watched Ginny blink at her. Watched several of the younger girls look away, eyes wet. Watched Pansy's eyes narrow and Penelope Clearwater's gaze drop.
Luna took her hand, laced their fingers together and hummed a small song.
"Nothing?" Ginny scowled. "Just"—she shrugged, an imitation of her—"Just nothing?" She laughed, a hollow sound. "Merlin, Hermione! Think! Give an opinion! Isn't that what you're good at?"
Ginny's eyes were wide and on fire. Several girls shifted and stared with rapt attention.
"Ginny—" Cho started.
"No! She's always thinking. Always with the plan and always two steps ahead of everyone else, planning adventures no one else is invited on, and saving the world whenever Harry asks, but now Harry's dead and she can't be bothered to care?" Ginny sucked in air, voice quivering. Hermione felt her cheeks flush and tears spring to her eyes. "She's not fighting!"
"She did fight! She lost!" Mortensen yelled.
"Then she fights again!" Ginny snapped back. "If she doesn't—" Ginny turned to face her, addressing her again. "If you don't fight then what the fuck are the rest of us supposed to do?!" She gestured to the room of them. Hermione felt a buzzing in her ears. "Kingsley and McGonagall are gone. So, there's just you, Hermione! If Harry were here, he'd—"
Her voice cracked, like it had been cut in half. She moved her lips wordlessly, squeaking.
"If Harry..." she tried, breaking. Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and watering.
Luna released Hermione's hand, nudging her to move, and Hermione was up, crossing to Ginny, pulling her into her arms, and holding her as she broke into pieces, voice echoing against the tiles in strange patterns.
She mouthed words against her ear, telling her how sorry she was and how much she wanted things to be different. All the clichés that sounded awful when said aloud, but when breathed into Ginny's fiery hair, they made sense. She told Ginny about Dolohov, about his hands and his eyes and how she wished she had killed him when she had the chance.
Ginny quieted, and Hermione pulled back to hold her face between her fingers looking into her eyes and breathed, We will survive this. I will find you.
Ginny nodded.
Hermione stepped away, feeling every eye on them. She turned in a circle, meeting the stare of each girl, reading the fear and the exhaustion. She ended on Pansy Parkinson, who held her eyes.
She couldn't speak for herself. Couldn't give voice to what she wanted to say to them. She looked down, maybe she could spell it again.
Grapes again. In a bowl near her feet. Hermione reached down, plucked one from the vine, and looked directly into Ginny's red eyes and extended it to her.
Not alone.
Ginny nodded, and took the grape from her fingers.
She felt the room breathe, drinking in the peace.
The door banged open.
She sprang away from Ginny, grabbing more grapes, like it was her intention for being in the center of the room.
She listened for Dolohov's heavy boots, but they didn't come. She looked to the door.
"Well, hello everyone." A tall young man sending them a dazzling grin.
Marcus Flint. He'd gotten his teeth fixed.
"Granger," he nodded at her. "Lovely to see you again." He let his eyes trail down her torso, tilting his head as he took in her hips and legs. He looked down at a piece of paper in his hand, eyes running down the page. He frowned. "Ah. Of course not." He looked up at her again, sighing dramatically. "It would have been too good to be true." A smile.
Hermione stared at him, moving slowly back to her side of the room.
Raising his voice, he announced, "Let me see Mortensen, Fawcett, Jimenez, and..." His brow lifted. "Parkinson."
Two girls slowly stepped forward. Hermione eyed the open door, just making out Yaxley's boots beyond the frame.
"For what?" Pansy snapped.
Flint searched the room for her, finding her in her normal corner. He smirked. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen..." he murmured. "I have a new potion to test out," he announced. He gazed around the room, eyes landing on Hermione again. "Something that could be quite lucrative in this current... market. I needed some test subjects. And here you all are." He grinned.
Hermione shuddered from her shoulders down to her fingertips.
"So those four girls please line up—"
"What kind of potion?" Pansy pried. She had the most history with Marcus Flint and it showed in the way he glared back at her.
Yaxley turned the corner, standing in the doorway and hissed, "Do it."
Mortensen joined the other two, Pansy drifting in line last. Flint looked Mortensen up and down, and told her to leave the line. He looked at the list and called out for a Nelson, and when a pale, thin-faced girl wobbled forward, he dismissed her before she even got in line.
"Jimenez step back. Let's see Sandhu?" A tall raven-haired girl with a thin waist and long legs stepped forward. Flint appraised her and smirked. He looked down at the list again, "Let's see, let's see."
"What's the list for?" Pansy repeated.
Flint grinned at her. "I'm allowed to take my pick of any of the Lots on this list. The rest of them would cost me 5,000 galleons up front."
Hermione paled. He had a list of the non-virgins. So, whatever this was, it was sexual.
"Lots?" Ginny spoke up. Flint's eyes swiveled to her.
"Lots for sale. That's what you are now."
A wave of silence, crashing like water in the bottom of a deep well.
The first time anyone had mentioned the Auction to them. Confirmed it.
Flint looked Ginny up and down, checked his list, and frowned. "Really Weasley? Don't tell me poor Potter had to die a virgin." He looked up at her. "Couldn't take one for the team?"
Even without magic, Hermione felt the air around Ginny crack.
Ginny launched herself forward with a holler, latching on to Flint and scratching at his face, reaching for his throat.
BANG!
Ginny flew back, body smacking into the dark tile wall opposite the door, held up by Yaxley's wand.
Flint righted himself, grinning.
Girls scurried away from Ginny's dangling body like roaches in the light. Her legs kicked.
"Oh, I like her." Flint cooed. "She's Dolohov's? I'm sure he wouldn't mind if we played with her for a bit—"
"The Dark Lord wants her intact," Yaxley commanded.
Hermione braced herself against the wall, next to Luna again. The first time anyone had mentioned Voldemort to them.
Ginny chuckled, a manic sound. "Tom misses me?"
Yaxley rolled his eyes and held her there while Marcus Flint returned to his floor show.
"Alright, who else." Flint looked over the list again, pacing the room. He stopped. "Penelope Clearwater."
A shuffling from a corner, and Penelope stepped forward with her chin up.
"Huh." Flint smirked. "I thought you'd never give it up." He walked around her in a circle, and to her credit, Penelope didn't flinch. "Oi, remember when I invited you to the Yule Ball, and you choose that Poncy Weasley instead?"
Her jaw ticked.
"Are you done yet?" Yaxley asked. Flint's eyes never left Penelope's.
"Yes. I'll take Clearwater, and bring Parkinson for Macnair. He'll probably prefer a pure-blood whore."
Penelope and Pansy were marched out. The door slammed and Ginny's body dropped from the wall.
Two hours later, they returned Penelope. She kept her eyes down, not speaking, and laid in the corner facing the wall.
Several girls tried to feed her, make her drink water, get her to talk about it. She didn't move. They left a pile of grapes for her in hopes she would eat when she was ready.
As Hermione added a grape to Penelope's pile, she looked toward the door, wondering why Pansy hadn't been returned.
~*~
When she woke on Friday morning, Pansy Parkinson was sitting next to her, staring down at her face with an open expression, like she'd fallen asleep with her eyelids open, watching her. Her deep eyes blinked at seeing Hermione awake, and the familiar sneer and pout returned to her lips. Hermione sat up slowly, heart beating fast like it did while they were on the run, always looking for enemies.
No one else was awake except a few girls in the far corner who were known to stay awake in misery.
Hermione looked back to Pansy, and the girl flicked her limp hair over her shoulder in a way that reminded Hermione of Charms class. She'd never been this close to her. If she concentrated, she could still smell her perfume. Something floral that used to stick to Draco's robes.
Pansy lifted a still-perfect brow and looked out over the room of sleeping girls.
"I used to envy you."
Hermione waited. Waited for the proof that someone else had spoken. Waited for her mind to conjure the meaning behind the words.
"On the day I left for Hogwarts, my father told me to concentrate on my studies because I wasn't pretty enough to catch a husband. I thought it was a strange thing to say to an eleven-year-old, but..." Pansy swallowed. Hermione held her breath, watching Pansy's perfect bow lips and dark lashes. "When he saw my marks at the end of third year, he told me he expected me to be the top girl in my class by the end of fourth, and I said, 'That's impossible. There's a Mudblood girl who can't be beat. But don't worry, Daddy. I can catch a husband just fine. I have the Malfoy boy wrapped around my little finger.'"
She broke into a laugh. Something low and self-deprecating. She tilted her head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling, shaking her head as if a toddler had just said something incredibly sweet and incredibly foolish.
Hermione stared, unable to speak, unable to move.
"And here we are," Pansy continued, "at the end of days, waiting in a line to be sold and raped and used. And still, I can't sleep with envy of you. Of what your life will be."
Pansy's head rolled against the wall to look at her again. Hermione stared with wide eyes, wishing more than anything that she could speak, could ask her what she meant.
Hermione watched as Pansy's eyes dripped over her face, slanting across Hermione's lips and cheeks, rounding at her temples and taking in her wild hair. Pansy's lips parted, took a breath in to speak again—
"What are you doing? Get away from her!"
Ginny was awake, tugging at Hermione's shoulders to put herself between her and Pansy.
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Calm your tits, Weasley. We were just having some girl talk." Her sneer was back in place.
She drew herself up and paced back to the other side of the room, facing the wall.
Hermione watched her until the door opened.
A frail old man entered the room. He reminded her of Ollivander. Especially his eyes. His brows twitched as he took in the room of girls.
He cleared his throat and looked at his shoes, and then turned back to Yaxley in the doorway. "Is this all of them, Mr. Yaxley?"
"There's about twenty males down the hall," Yaxley replied.
Ginny shifted next to her, probably wondering how many of her brothers were footsteps away.
"Well," the man replied, taking his glasses off to clean them, brows narrowing at his fingers. "The best way is individually, but I fear we'll run out of time. Proceedings start at eight?" He pushed his glasses back on his nose, and Hermione realized he refused to make eye contact with any of them. Refused to acknowledge them.
"Eight sharp."
He nodded. "Then let's get the women cleaned up while I start appraisals on the men. We might need to do groups." He stared at his shoes and swept out.
Yaxley turned to her. "Mudblood. You're up."
There were probably twenty Muggle-born girls in the room, but still everyone understood he was addressing Hermione. She stood, wobbling to the door, and followed him to the showers. He didn't stay in the room like Dolohov did. Didn't watch her undress. She supposed if he wanted her, he wouldn't be selling her.
She stood under the water, enjoying what was probably to be her last moments of privacy and relative safety in her life.
She wondered if Ron was down the hall somewhere. Or if he'd fought them. If he'd thrown himself into the fire like a true Gryffindor and attempted to smother the flames from within.
What would Harry say, if he could see her now?
Yaxley banged on the door after two minutes, and she quickly ran the shampoo through her hair, washed between her legs, and toweled off. The door opened as soon as she covered herself, and Yaxley and a second Death Eater lead in five girls for their showers. She reached for her clothes on the floor, and Yaxley stopped her.
"Ah," he chided. He vanished her garments and held a robe out to her. She took it carefully, draped it over herself, and let the towel drop once she was covered. The five girls stood against the wall, waiting patiently. As if this was routine now.
He vanished the towel and grabbed her elbow, leading her out of the room. Dolohov was standing guard outside the showers and sent her a wink.
"Make sure they take all of it, Corban. I like 'em bare."
"Yeah, yeah," Yaxley griped.
He turned her away from the usual path back to the holding room, and brought her down a new hallway. One Death Eater stood guarding the door. A young one Hermione recognized from Hogwarts. Maybe he'd been Slytherin's Seeker before Draco.
He opened the door for Yaxley, and Hermione found three witches in bright blue robes hovering around three padded tables and three chairs. One of them with bright orange hair gasped when she saw Hermione, bringing her fingers to her lips. Hermione didn't recognize her.
"Is there a problem?" Yaxley hissed.
The girl responded in a French accent, "No, monsieur." The other two looked down, one of them wringing her hands.
"Do not communicate with her." He yanked a curtain around the table and chair, standing on the outside of it.
The girls started speaking lowly in French, eyes wide and jumping to her. Hermione just stared back.
"You better be discussing curling irons," Yaxley bellowed.
The girls quieted and indicated that Hermione should sit on the first table. The orange-haired girl touched Hermione's shoulder and gestured for her to remove the robe.
Hermione frowned and shrugged. Why the hell not. They peeled the robe from her, and immediately started pressing lotion into her skin. She tensed under their hands. One of them lifted her arm above her head and pressed their wand to her armpit. Hermione twitched as the skin went numb, looking down anxiously. The witch muttered another spell and Hermione watched the hair burn away, sizzling down to the roots under the skin.
Inventive. She'd heard Lavender talking about this process, but she herself had never needed it. She would have liked it on the road with Harry and Ron though.
The memory pulled at something in her, and she looked straight ahead at the closed curtain, watching as the colors blurred.
The repeated the process under her other arm. Then removed hair from the tops of her forearms. Hermione frowned, her remaining vanity spiking. She didn't consider herself hairy.
When one girl started on her legs, the door opened behind the curtain. Yaxley led in one of the captured girls, fresh from her shower. One of the Lots.
Hermione snorted soundlessly. The Lots. Well done, gentlemen.
The sensation of her entire leg being numbed for the hair removal had her feeling a bit weightless, like her limbs did belong to her. She swung her legs, not feeling the air swish by. The girl rubbed lotion onto her hairless skin, and Hermione couldn't help but feel like she was being prepared for slaughter.
The skin of her underarm started pricking back to life. One of the French girls started in on the new Lot while the other one cast a hair-drying charm on Hermione's wet hair. The girl's eyes bugged out of her head at the sheer volume of Hermione's dried, frizzy hair, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh.
The hair girl charmed her wand to blow hot air, trying to tame down Hermione's curls, fixing her mistake.
A third Lot was brought in, and then only the French girl messing with her hair stayed with her. She kept frowning and huffing, and Hermione smiled at her knees. Her hairless knees.
I like 'em bare.
They'd be taking the hair from between her legs next.
Hermione picked at her chipped nails while the girl fought her hair, trying to remember the way she'd gotten ready for the Yule Ball. She'd bought that sweet-smelling potion and spent hours on her hair. She'd been about to jump in the shower to wash it all away when Lavender and Parvati had come back to the dormitory and squealed at the sight of her, telling her she looked stunning.
They were both dead now.
The French girl had her lay back, open her legs, and remain still while she removed the hair from her sex.
~*~
They were returned in small dresses and Mary Jane shoes. Half of them in white, half in grey. She could guess what the white meant.
The girls who could still speak started informing the rest of the room what was happening. About an hour later, Dolohov and the young Death Eater started taking a few at a time to a separate room. The Appraisal, one of the returning girls said.
"It's 5,000 galleons more if you're a virgin," Mortensen murmured from the corner, in a grey dress. "Parkinson was right."
Pansy looked stunning in her slate grey dress when they returned her. Hair thick and sharp. She might have even conned them into swiping mascara on her eyes. She stood in her corner, arms crossed, lips pressed together. As cool and collected as ever—and it made Hermione wonder what it was they did to her. What they kept her for. She wished she could ask her, but even if she had a voice she didn't think she'd have the courage to.
They took Ginny and Luna together, which she thought was a mistake, but she wasn't about to protest. Dolohov led them away with two other girls, and returned them fifteen minutes later. Ginny looked a little green.
Luna plopped down beside her and said, "We saw Neville." Hermione snapped her head to her, waiting for more. Luna just smiled and said, "They aren't feeding or bathing them much."
"Granger and Parkinson," Yaxley called from the doorway. "Let's go."
She stood. These pairings... Not ideal for them. When Pansy met her at the door, Hermione finally caught a glance at the tattoo on her arm, now without her school clothes in the way.
C. Yaxley
Just like hers.
Yaxley was taking his Lots to be appraised. She wondered again how Pansy had gotten here. Was she held in the same location Hermione was before being dropped off at the Ministry? Had she been captured at the Battle of Hogwarts? Or later?
Yaxley took them down the corridor and into a completely new room where the older man with kind eyes sat at a desk, piles of paperwork around him.
"Who's next," he hummed, voice tired and thin.
Yaxley pushed Pansy forward. She stood tall. A measuring tape floated up and began taking her height while an enchanted quill worked beside it. It nudged her to raise her arms, measuring her waist, hips, chest.
"Name," he said.
"Pansy Parkinson," she stated proudly.
He looked up quickly, then looked away, pressing his lips together. "Blood status: pure-blood," he muttered. "Age?"
"Seventeen."
He wrote that down, and took the measurement page from the air, copying down that information as well. He shuffled through a pile and found another parchment, frowning down at it. "Anything in your medical history we should know about?"
Pansy scoffed. "Will it really matter if I broke my leg when I was nine?"
He grimaced down at the page. "No, I guess not." He reviewed what seemed to be the medical page the mediwitches had scribbled up for each of them a few days before. He dragged his eyes back to Pansy, and peered at her over his spectacles, making note of her eye, hair, and skin color.
He sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and said, "Alright, based on the scale you've provided me with, starting bid should be 4,000 Galleons"—he marked this on his page—"and you can expect bidding to escalate to 12,000, based on her physical appearance and blood status. She was not sterilized, so she might be seen as valuable for certain families."
Hermione pressed her lips together, breathing slow. Pansy, on the other hand, turned to Yaxley and said, "Not bad, Yax," with a sly smile. "We can bump that starting bid up, though, can't we? Trust me," she said, leaning toward him conspiratorially. "I'm worth at least as much as one of the virgins. Much more useful." She winked.
Yaxley glared at her and threatened to silence her as well.
Hermione frowned, watching Pansy smile and flirt. Defense mechanism.
She'd probably been raped last night. Or tortured, or both. And now, instead of sitting quietly in a corner like Penelope Clearwater, Pansy Parkinson was weaponizing herself. Her body. Her wit. Her charm. All so she wouldn't break down.
Hermione didn't know how to do that. And she wasn't sure she wanted to learn.
"Next," the old man said.
Hermione stepped forward, and the measuring tape wound around her.
"Name."
"Hermione Granger," Yaxley replied for her.
The older man snapped his eyes up to her, taking her in. He blinked several times before returning to his paper.
"Blood status: Muggle-born," he said.
"Mudblood is the term now," Yaxley corrected, and the older man nodded.
"Age?"
"Seventeen," Yaxley replied, and she turned to correct him.
"Eighteen. She's eighteen," Pansy said.
Hermione blinked down at the tape circling her chest.
The old man pulled her medical form. He shook his head slightly, clenching his jaw, and Hermione saw him make a mark in the top right corner of his notes page: V
He copied down her measurements, did some calculations, and said in a hollow voice, "Starting bid for Miss Granger should be no lower than 7,500 Galleons based on your grading system." He pulled his glasses from his face. "But I've heard she and Miss Weasley will be starting at 10,000 regardless."
Hermione blinked. More Galleons than she'd seen in her life.
"Apologies," he continued, squinting at his numbers again. "With the virginity, they will be starting at 15,000."
Pansy chuckled and crossed her arms over her grey dress.
"And what's your estimation?" Yaxley asked, Sickles in his eyes.
"Estimating 33,000 Galleons."
Hermione felt like she was swallowing sand. Even Pansy, who was used to that kind of money, went still.
That was the yearly salary for the Undersecretary to the Minister.
The four-year tuition for one of the prestigious universities that she considered applying to after the war ended.
She realized she would not be killed. No one would be idiotic enough to buy her and then kill her off. No, it would be a slow death for her. Maybe years.
She wondered how Dolohov thought he could afford this.
The old man duplicated his notes with a tap of his wand and handed the copies to Yaxley. Yaxley grinned, eyes sparkling, and escorted the two of them out and back to the holding room.
She spent the rest of the day sitting near Ginny and Luna. The energy of the room was like a cold breeze, starting at one end and rolling over them individually, forcing them to tuck into each other. At some point, one of the girls started dreaming aloud about what she wanted to do after Hogwarts. Hermione thought she was maybe a fifth year. Several others followed her, voicing aloud the things they wanted to do. Like they had choices still.
There were no windows, so it was hard to tell when the day began to inch toward evening, but hours later, Walden Macnair walked into the room, several other Death Eaters waiting in the doorway behind him.
Hermione watched Pansy tuck herself behind another girl, spine curving to become smaller.
Macnair looked around the room with a careful intensity. His eyes stopped on Hermione and Ginny, smirking.
"Ladies," he announced, and Hermione wondered if it was to be the last time she would be addressed with such formality. "We'll begin transporting you now. Your Holder will be in charge of you while you travel by portkey. Anyone who tries to fight or run or disobey orders during this process will be killed promptly."
He said this last part directly to her.
"Once you are secured backstage, you will follow instructions from the handlers. Disobedience will result in punishment. For example—"
Quick as lightning, his wand turned on her. A screaming pain rocketed through her blood, boiling and coursing through her muscles, shaking her nerves and pulling her ligaments apart one by one.
And then it was gone. And Ginny's hands were on her shoulders, holding her, screaming for her.
She stared up at the black tile ceiling, breathing hard. She'd been Crucio'd before, but this was strong. Like a concentrated force of lightning sizzling her. It took her a few minutes to sit up.
By the time she focused her eyes again, Macnair was finishing his speech, and asking for his Lots to join him. He searched the room as four girls stepped forward. The two in white were scared, but the two in grey were shaking.
He'd already raped them. Before bringing them here. Like Parvati.
"Parkinson," he hissed. "Come with me, too."
Pansy stepped out from her spot behind a tall girl and pasted on a smirk. "Long time, no see, Walden." She strutted to the group. "You gonna drop a few Galleons on me tonight?"
He looked her up and down and said, "Why would I pay for something I already got for free?"
Pansy's smile fractured, still on her face, but broken now.
Pansy and the four other Lots followed Macnair's instructions and gripped his arm. He produced the portkey and they disappeared.
Mulciber entered the room next. He called for his Lots and they disappeared. She recognized a few Snatchers come in gleefully, grabbing up eight or so girls before swirling away.
Dolohov and Yaxley came in last. Dolohov called for his Lots, and Luna and Ginny left her side.
When it was just her and Yaxley left in the room, she wandered over to him without being summoned. It was clearly a type of Stockholm Syndrome, but she was certain Yaxley wouldn't hurt her. He hadn't shown the slightest bit of sexual interest in her, going so far as to keep Dolohov from molesting her further.
He grinned at her and pulled his wand. Hermione blinked, feeling like she'd just walked into a trap.
"Bit of a costume change, love," he said, smirking. "Turns out, you'll be top prize tonight. Best for last."
His wand tapped her shoulder strap, and she watched as the dress pulled closer to her skin, curving at her hips and rounding her breasts. No undergarments in the way.
He smiled and flicked his wand again, and she watched as the fabric shimmered gold.
"Golden Girl, indeed," he said.
And then grabbed her arm and whisked her off.