The Spare

Chapter 3

The next day, Friday, they started prepping us.

An old man came in with the Death Eater from the day before. He clears his throat, eyes scanning us, but not meeting anyone's eyes. "Is this all of them, Mr. Yaxley?"

"There's about twenty males down the hall," Yaxley replies. They were auctioning off men, too?

"Well," the man says, busying himself by cleaning his classes. "The best way is individually, but I fear we'll run out of time. Proceedings start at eight?" He pushes his glasses back on, staring at the ceiling.

"Eight sharp."

"Then let's get the women cleaned up," he nods. "I'll start appraisals on the men in the meantime. We might need to do groups." He sweeps out of the room.

Yaxley looks to Hermione. "Mudblood. You're up."

~*~

In groups of five they were taken and returned, some dressed in plain white or grey dresses and Mary Janes. I scoff at the obvious meaning for the white dresses. How original.

When it's my turn, I'm taken to shower, and then back to the room where they performed my "exam". Except instead of Healers, there are cosmeticians. I'm placed on the exam table and they begin rubbing lotion onto my skin. Then they point their wands at different areas of my body, mutter a spell, and I feel the area start to go numb. I look at the area more closely and watch as the hair burns away, sizzling down to the roots.

Thank god, I hate shaving. All my life I felt like I was cursed because of my pale skin and abundance of dark, coarse body hair. Here they are removing it... Everywhere. They even do my face and between my legs. Now I have one less thing to be insecure about. I know it's for whoever the fuck buys us, but I don't care. I'd have done it years ago, honestly.

They curl my pink hair and pin it back. One of the cosmeticians charms one of the basic white dresses to fit me. I smile at her gratefully before pulling it over my head.

When I'm returned to the room, they've already started pulling girls to be appraised. Hermione thinks it's by the names on our arms. Luna says she'd seen the boys, and it looked like they weren't feeding or bathing them much. This doesn't shock me at all.

When it's my turn to be appraised, I'm taken alone, meeting Goyle in the room with the old appraiser.

"Goyle's lot..." he trails off, flipping through papers on the table in front of him. "Alright, name?"

"Melisa Alder," I say, monotone.

He repeats it, saying the pronunciation wrong. "Age?"

An enchanted quill and measuring tape floats next to and around me, taking my measurements - chest, hips, waist, and height. "24."

He wrote that down. "Status: Mudblood. American." He references a list, and marks my papers with a V. He speaks to Goyle. "Based on her maiden status, starting bid should be 5,000 Galleons. Based on her appearance following the guidelines I've been given, I estimate bidding to be no higher than that."

"What?" says Goyle. "She's got big tits, doesn't that count for something?"

The appraiser clears his throat, uncomfortable. "Erm, due to her... proportions, no."

I guess I should be grateful he pulled me off the grounds and healed me, but he really got the short end of the stick. I press my lips together to keep from laughing.