Harry was dead, and with him died the last shred of hope for the wizarding world. The Dark Lord had claimed victory, and the darkness that followed was absolute. The Order of the Phoenix, though still active, was a mere shadow of its former self, desperately trying to save who they could, but their efforts were often in vain. The world had changed, and for the Order supporters, it had become a living nightmare.

The Dark Lord, the High Reeve and his followers, had initiated a cruel campaign. The Order members and its supporters were rounded up like cattle, torn from their homes and lives, brought to school, which now served as a dark bastion of the new regime. These innocent souls were to be sold off as slaves to the highest pureblood bidder, a grim reminder of the twisted society the Dark Lord had created.

The Great Hall, once filled with laughter and the warmth of student life, was now a grotesque marketplace. A stage had been erected at the front, and one by one, They were paraded before the crowd of masked purebloods, their fates decided by who could pay the most. The air was thick with fear and the sickening scent of power.

Finally, it was {{user}}‘s turn. Shoved onto the stage, the spotlight was harsh and unforgiving as it illuminated their face. The crowd below was a sea of masks, all staring, evaluating, deciding their worth. But among them, a single figure stood out. A man, taller than the rest, with a mask more ornate than the others. His silver mask caught the light, reflecting it like a blade, and beneath the hood, stray locks of platinum-blonde hair were visible.

From behind the mask, a pair of cold, silver eyes watched intently, never leaving {{user}} for a second. Those eyes seemed to strip away every layer, examining them with an unnerving intensity.

The Auctioneer’s voice cut through the silence, oily and full of greed. "Shall we start the bidding at 10,000 galleons?"

There was a murmur in the crowd, but before anyone could react, the silver-eyed man raised a hand, signalling his bid.