It's a comic FanFic which, ironically, might be the best bit of theory work I've ever done.
Lord Voldemort stared at the sheet of parchment where he had crossed out, "Get Paid to Make a Human Happy!" He did not like the word happy. His eyes scanned down to the next line: "One Galleon a Month! Dental Plan Included!" That was better.
A galleon a month -- for house-elves! Voldemort wasn't about to pass up a bargain like that. The Giants worked for free, of course, but the simple cost of feeding them ran well beyond the standard house-elf wage.
The house-elves would expand his army soon. Voldemort needed only two things. The first was money (his assets had been seized by some legal trickery relating to Dark Arts, murder and Reign of Merciless Terror -- what rubbish!). The easiest solution was to hold an auction. He ought to get a fair price, based on historical literature. He never used it anyway, so he certainly wouldn't miss it.
The second thing he needed was a good catch line for his ad. He picked up his copy of the Muggle book Marketing Your Employment Opportunities. Just as happened the last three times he picked it up, Voldemort found nothing useful, largely as a result of his impatience and ineptitude with all things Muggle. He hurled the volume to the floor, pointed his wand at it, and cried, "Crucio!". The book did not respond.
This damned auction had better work, he thought.
Harry woke late on Saturday morning and made his way down to the Common Room. Dumbledore had warned Harry's teachers to go light on the homework, which meant that, thanks to Hermione's unabated "reminders", it had all been finished by early Friday evening. Harry slumped into a chair next to the rest of his Trio and sank his face into his hands.
"I'm exhausted. Why is that?" he asked of nobody in particular, or at least seemed to ask of nobody in particular, knowing full well that Ron and Hermione would answer in a supportive manner.
"It's the stress, mate," said Ron.
"Yeah," agreed Harry. "So tell me again: are we winning or losing?"
"We're winning," replied Hermione in a lofty tone that suggested she knew more than anybody else in the world. "At least, we're winning right now, but if Voldemort gets some new supporters we could be in trouble," she added in a confident tone that suggested, more accurately, that she knew more than anybody in the world except Dumbledore.
Another voice interrupted them, "All right there, Harry?"
"Bill!" said Harry, looking up suddenly. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm managing your portfolio," explained Bill, patting the thick folder tucked beneath his arm.
"How did you get into the Gryffindor Tower?" asked Ron.
Bill shrugged. "I just smiled and winked at the Fat Lady. She blushed and opened the door."
"Will I grow into that?" asked Ron hopefully.
"Er... sorry, Ron, no time to answer those lengthy 'yes/no' questions. We've got an auction to attend in fifteen minutes. Follow me."
Bill led them out of the Tower, through the hallway, and down the stairs, explaining the auction as they went.
"So what's in my portfolio?" asked Harry.
"It's a listing of your assets," explained Bill.
"You mean my gold in Gringott's?"
Bill laughed. "Yes, that too. But you've got much more than gold, Harry. You have wizarding life-debts and curse-debts up the wazoo."
"What's a wazoo?" asked Hermione at once, intensely concerned for the existence of a word that she did not know.
"Banking term," lied Bill. "That's part of the reason why I'm here. I picked up the intricacies while working with the goblins. Ah, here we are."
Classroom Eleven still looked like a forest clearing when they entered. "Of course, this isn't just a random enchantment," explained Bill. "We are actually looking at a location in the Dark Forest." As if to confirm his words, a bird appeared from nowhere and dropped its business right above Ron. The droppings passed through Ron's startled head and disappeared from sight.
"Finitie" said Bill casually. The forest disappeared. "Now, don't be alarmed," he warned them in an ominous, alarming voice. "Virtuo Gringott's!"
The classroom was replaced by a longer, dusty chamber, filled with chairs that faced a podium at one end.
It was occupied.
An officious-looking goblin (as if there were any other kind) stood haughtily behind the podium. Several other goblins milled about. There were a half-dozen people spread out among the seats, most of them wearing dark hoods to hide their identities. Sitting next to the podium was none other than Lord Voldemort. He glared at Harry with hatred and curiosity.
"C'mon, grab some chairs," instructed Bill. Harry ignored him and remained standing. Hermione pulled out her wand and tried to recall a spell to conjure a chair. Ron sat down on an illusory chair, or rather, he tried, but fell onto his butt. Hermione conjured a tiny three-legged stool. Bill groped among the hidden classroom walls for two real chairs and pushed one into Harry's backside. Hermione vanished the stool. Ron caught on and found his own chair next to the wall. Hermione conjured a fluffy pink futon. Harry, watching Voldemort and the goblin, missed his own (real) chair and fell to the side. Hermione vanished the futon. Ron was trying very hard to superimpose his real chair over a fake chair.
After several minutes, Bill and Harry were seated comfortably. Ron was fidgeting in his seat, because the illusory chair was just a wee bit larger than his own (real) chair. Hermione was facing the podium from astride a bored-looking appaloosa stallion, which was turned backwards so that Hermione didn't have to crane her neck around his head.
While all this was going on, the goblin at the podium was checking his roll. "We will begin as soon as all parties are in attendance." He read off several names which Harry did not recognize, before coming to, "Azazel, demon of hell, on behalf of Satan?" One of the hooded figures pulled back it's hood.
"I am present, lowly mortal," he declared in a cheery voice. He turned sideways. "All right there, Harry?"
Before Harry could answer, the goblin moved on. "Bellatrix Lestrange?" Another figure pulled back her hood. Bellatrix Lestrange had a face that might have been beautiful prior to her stay in Azkaban. It might have looked hollow and wasted without the makeup. It might have looked mature but decent with a tasteful amount of makeup. She might have looked like a rookie call-girl with even a little less makeup, or at least a bit more normal makeup. Instead, she looked like Tammy Faye Bakker gone Gothic.
"Present," she declared in her sweetest tones, blowing a kiss to her Dark Lord.
"Potter and company?" asked the goblin.
"I object to Potter's presence," declared Voldemort. His voice was high and cold, heavy with the threat of Death, Darkness, Evil and Many Other Improperly Capitalized Scary Words that almost made a person wish to hear Dolores Umbridge in its place. "He may not bid."
"Yes-he-can-it's-part-of-the-agreement," declared the goblin in a single breath.
"I don't think so," laughed Voldemort, withdrawing his wand and pointing it at the auctioneer.
"Any curse performed now," explained the goblin, licking his lips in anticipation, "will immediately invoke the forfeiture clause of our contract." Voldemort put away his wand. The goblin looked disappointed. "Are there any more bidders?"
A dark, flowing figure seemed to emerge from the very walls. "Yesss, I am here to represent the Dementorssss," it announced in a voice which was cold and sinister but completely lacked any hissing quality save for that which was pompously added.
"Name, please?" asked the auctioneer. The Dementor made a noise that was, presumably, its name. But nobody could repeat it. "Very well," replied the goblin, "an entry will be made for He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named-Except-By-Another-Dementor."
"Now, hold on!" protested Voldemort. "That's a bit close to my nickname, don't you think?"
"There is nothing in the contract--"
"A bit of common decency, I might ask," interrupted Voldemort.
The auctioneer addressed the Dementor. "Would you be so kind as to provide us with a pseudonym for this occasion?"
The Dementor paused and withdrew a book from inside its robe. Harry caught part of the title, Common Names for--, just before the book turned into an icy mass of dry rot. The Dementor dropped the book in frustration. "You can call me... er... call me Finklewink."
"Finklewink?" repeated the auctioneer.
"Isss that not a good name?" asked the Dementor.
"It will do. Please take a seat, or a comfortable hovering position, or whatever you prefer." He tapped the podium with a gavel. "We shall open the bidding at 1000 Galleons plus a Class Three magical event."
"One thousand plus preferred status," said Azazel, the demon, at once.
"Fifteen hundred plus the devotion of six years in Azkaban," countered Bellatrix.
"Twooo thousand," said Finklewink. "Plusss a nice, black rooobe."
"Er... twenty-five hundred," said Harry, prompted by Bill. "Plus a Class One life debt from Peter Pettigrew."
"Three thousand," countered Azazel. "And minor-demonhood."
"Thirty-five hundred plus thirteen years in Azkaban," said Bellatrix.
"Bill, what am I going to do?" whispered Harry. "I can't bid with Ginny's debt!"
"Hold on, Harry. You won't have to," answered Bill.
"Four thousand," offered Finklewink. "And the robe."
"The bid is invalid," argued the goblin. "You need to add a Class One magical event or service."
"We can entertain at parties," offered Finklewink hopefully. The goblin checked his notes. "Spinnn the bottle?"
"Denied," said the goblin.
"Forty-five hundred," bid Azazel. "Minor demon status and a private drinking fountain within the furnace of hell."
"Five thousand, all my devotion, and -- and my heart!" said Bellatrix.
"Check on the heart, please," replied the auctioneer. Another goblin approached Bellatrix and passed a silvery instrument in front of her. He then shook his head at the auctioneer. "Denied."
"Now, Harry. All in," whispered Bill.
"Fifty-five hundred Galleons," declared Harry. He nervously added, "Plus life-debts for Peter Pettigrew, Ron Weasley, Fleur Delacour and Gabrielle Delacour."
"The latter three debts are invalid," said the auctioneer, pretending to check his notes. "Lord You-Know-Who warned that you would try this." Voldemort tried to smirk.
"They are valid," declared Bill calmly. "Two from the lake and one in the Tri-Wizard maze."
"Those were test conditions," said the goblin. "They were not in mortal danger."
"My affadivits say they are." Bill removed a sheaf of parchment from Harry's portfolio, strode briskly through both people and furniture, then presented them to the auctioneer. The goblin nodded and approved the affadavits. Bill spun back around and gave the Trio a confident smile. He strolled casually back to Harry's side where he tried to sit in an illusory chair, fell sideways and landed in horse poop.
Azazel glared hatefully at Bill and the Trio. "I would like to make one final examination of the merchandise," he asked. The auctioneer nodded. Azazel hopped to the front of the room and sniffed at Voldemort. "Bah! We'll have it soon enough!" he decided. "No more bids!"
"Going once, for 5500 plus four life debts," announced the goblin. "Going twice..."
"Six thousssand," said Finklewink. "Plusss firsst dibss on the faaat kidd when weee go baaack for himmm?"
"Denied," declared the goblin. "And sold! One Dark Lord's Soul, to Harry James Potter. Thank you all for participating."
"Pity," said Finklewink. "I was feeling a bit peckish."
An hour later, Bill and the Trio were huddled around a colorful ledger in Professor Flitwick's office. Gregory Goyle was working his way through an enormous pile of sweets in the Room of Requirement and Filch was shoveling dung out of Classroom Eleven.
"Next," said Bill, leaning over Harry's shoulder. "Transfer all the figures from Asset Column N to Claims Column Q. This will cancel any debts from Ginny and also from the Twins, for your Tri-Wizard Gold, and convert them into liquid assets."
"I had no idea you could do that," said Harry, copying the figures with a magical quill. "My scar is worth a bit more now, isn't it?"
"Lucky you know all the Weasleys, Bill," said Hermione.
"And the Delacours," added Ron.
"Why do you think Dumbledore recalled me before anyone else in the Order when he started reading the signs? Anyway, we're almost there, Harry."
"Hold on, speaking of scars..." Harry turned back a page to review Debit Column F. "I've got a 15% depreciation on the debt from Wormtail -- Goyle has a lien because of his own scar. Won't that affect my claim on Voldemort's Soul?"
"The lien is cancelled," replied Bill, showing the document which Goyle had recently signed.
"Oh, yeah. So let's see..." he carefully totaled the figures from Column W, Voldemort's Aggregate Value. "That all comes to a big, fat zero!"
Several hundred miles away, the Dark Lord Voldemort screamed. He screamed in pain. He screamed in anguish. He was just about to scream in frustration when he suddenly vanished in a puff of Accounting.
"Harry, look!" said Hermione happily. "Your scar is fading!"
"Oh... well, it looked pretty cool," replied Harry with a shade of disappointment.
"And your hair!" said Ron. "It's starting to lay flat!"
"WHAT!?"
"Just kidding," replied Ron.
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