Unexpected
Disclaimer: I have no rights concerning Harry Potter ownership. How unfortunate for me. *--sniffle.
The Marriage Law had been implemented at suspicious speeds after the war had ended, with the specially trained, newly hired Ministry wizards and witches coming to the conclusion that the dwindling numbers of magical folk, due to the large numbers of casualties in the war, were in need of some match-making and a deadline.
It was the sole reason that the Seventh and colloquially referred to 'Eighth Year' students were seated in the newly refurbished Great Hall of Hogwarts on such a balmy October morning, gossiping amongst themselves as they put in their two knuts worth.
"Apparently, they're initiating an experiment that evenly syphons magic out between all magic folk…"
"My dad works at the Ministry and he said that my sister is lucky that she's only seven and that I'm a boy, because if I was a girl I'd be marrying some random old geezer this year…"
"I hear that they're marrying off all the purebloods to select muggles…"
The last two weren't so far off the mark.
The tall, wrinkled figure of Professor McGonagall stepped up behind the great, eagle lectern and cleared her throat in a manner somewhat reminiscent of Dolores Umbridge, causing the students to shudder visibly.
"Pardon me." The stern old witch apologised, brushing a piece of wispy grey hair that had escaped her severe bun behind her ear and repositioning her glasses.
"My dear students," she began, voice echoing throughout the Hall and reverberating excessively. It took a moment before Professor Flitwick realised that Peeves was hiding behind one of the gargoyles. He shooed him out, allowing McGonagall to continue her address.
"The Ministry has implemented a new law that will partner witches and wizards based on their compatibility as a married couple." She informed the four houses.
Gryffindor flew into an uproar, while the Slytherins glowered at the other houses and the teachers, who were trying to deflect both questions and hexes from the Ravenclaws. Nobody seemed particularly bothered by the Hufflepuffs – they were all either looking dazedly around and considering their options or sprawled upon the floor in a dead faint.
"Quiet everybody!" McGonagall commanded haughtily, her voice made louder by a quick Sonorus charm. Reluctantly, the noise was quelled and the students looked up at her with a mixed bag of expressions from worry, sadness, reluctant acceptance, anger and even excitement in a few cases.
"Generally, the pair will already be known to each other, but in some rare cases this does not occur. If your partner is not of age, you will receive a blank piece of parchment and will be required to wait until said partner participates in the following ritual when they come of age."
Stepping down from the lectern, Professor McGonagall wandered over to a large object that was eerily like the goblet from the Tri-Wizard Tournament, except that it was hideous and a plain grey stone, with a large chip out of one of the handles. Classy.
She tapped it with the tip of her wand and the goblet glowed with a bright green light that fell upon the students.
Somebody sneezed and the entire hall's attention was momentarily distracted.
"Pardon me." A tiny voice said embarrassedly, and the focus returned to McGonagall.
"I shall read the names out, in no particular order, starting with the 'Eighth years'. When your name is called please take one of these slips of paper from me and drop it in the match-making goblet. Afterwards, you will be going to a special room that you will share for the remainder of your school life. There, you will find a letter explaining the finer details. First is Hannah Abbott."
The pretty blonde Hannah stood up tentatively and delicately stepped over the unconscious form of the year's hypochondriac, Justin Finch-Fletchley, making sure he wouldn't be able to see up her skirt should he wake up mid-stride.
Climbing the steps, Hannah was aware that the entirety of the hall's occupants was holding their breath along with her. She gulped and took the proffered parchment from the Transfiguration Professor. It had her name written on it.
She walked up to the goblet and let the paper float gently into its pit.
The goblet flared once, and the parchment flew out of it in a puff of air to fall into McGonagall's outstretched hand.
"Neville Longbottom." McGonagall announced, her eyes seeking out the baby-faced, clumsy teen-turned-war-hero.
Neville stood, a blush on his cheeks, and walked up to the podium to where his new fiancée and Professor waited. She handed him a password when he stopped in front of them, following this up with a map to their new quarters and comforting pat on the back.
The Eighth year's list grew shorter and shorter (surprisingly matching Blaise Zabini and Hermione Granger … or perhaps not so, judging from the wink the Italian sent to the smiling bookworm) and then there were only a handful of them left.
Pansy Parkinson's match had been interesting too. The red-head hadn't really registered the pairing, so Pansy scowled and tapped her high heeled shoes against the floor slowly, waking him from his shocked stupor and he swallowed nervously before joining her on the podium.
"Take the password and the map, Weasley." Pansy snapped while fixing her stylishly cut black bob. Ron was practically tripping over his feet at this point, trying to keep on Pansy's good side.
'Terry Boot' was called next, and he walked purposefully to Professor McGonagall, taking a slip of paper and dropping it into the goblet.
The green light flared as it had so many times that day, and the paper floated gently into McGonagall's fingers. She opened her mouth to read it out, but closed it again, adjusting her glasses and peering at the apparently offending piece of parchment.
It hadn't changed.
McGonagall glanced over to the students quickly and cleared her throat.
"Harry Potter."
The whispers that had erupted went silent, and more than one eyebrow was raised. It was common knowledge, after all, that Harry Potter liked women (although, he did seem to have a 'thing' for Quidditch players, so perhaps that said something about his preferences).
The boy saviour stood rather awkwardly under the gaze of the remaining students and teachers, pushing his glasses up his nose as he walked determinedly to Terry. The magic couldn't be wrong; it was based upon magical signatures and general compatibility.
They were handed their map and password and the two boys walked steadily out of the hall, feeling the prickle of eyes trailing their path out of the hall.
**
Harry and Terry stood in front of a large, plush bed, alternating between staring at it and the incriminating letter held in Harry's hand.
"Well, this was unexpected." Harry finally said, needing to fill the overbearing, crushing silence that filled the room.
Terry didn't look at him, continuing to look at the bed for a long moment.
In a sudden flurry of movement, Terry dived into the squishy covers of the bed and sank into the doona.
His muffled voice reached Harry's ears.
"Sorry. I really needed to do that."
Harry couldn't help but laugh, and it proved infectious because, soon, Terry had joined in and both were laughing as they lay on top of the covers.
"Maybe this could work." The Boy-Who-Won stated when he'd finally suppressed his hysterics. He was lying quite close by his new life partner and felt hyper aware of their proximity all of a sudden.
"So, wife. Care to test the waters?" Terry said cheekily, his breath tickling Harry's cheek.
**
The quirk in the implementation of the Marriage Law, now known as the Potter Effect (to Terry's dismay – after all, he was an integral part of this relationship), had been a first in its history, and had backfired upon the initial aims of the Marriage Law (1999). Two males were not going to be able to naturally produce a child, so adoption had been the only viable option for Harry and Terry Boot-Potter.
They currently resided in a small cottage on the outskirts of Ottery St Catchpole, close to the Burrow where they took Sunday lunch each week*, with their twin daughters (adopted, but cherished as much as – if not more than – any biological child). The girls, named Leticia and Lillian, were precious little things with straight blonde hair that usually spent its time in high pigtails or thin little plaits.
They were the apple of their fathers' eyes.
*Sunday Lunch at the Burrow also meant seeing the horror called Anastasia (Pansy and Ron's 'devilspawn', as Terry referred to her in the comforts of his and Harry's bedroom) so it was often a painful experience, despite the pleasure of seeing their old friends.
What the…? Yeah, me too. I have no idea. It's pretty much a crack-fic in my mind, just not as bad as some.
I think I need to go to bed… =P