Severus Snape sat in his office and, for lack of a better word, sulked.
His day had not started well – that should have been warning enough. Coffee spilt on important research notes does not generally put one in a pleasant mood. It was true that his morning classes had been no worse, albeit no better, than usual, but that was little comfort.
It was the final class of the day - 2nd year Gryffindor and Hufflepuff – when things had gotten notably unpleasant.
Portia Perkins, in what seemed like a perverse parody of Neville Longbottom's sole Potions-related talent, managed to explode her fourth cauldron this year. All things considered, it was lucky the contents of said cauldron had turned out to be nothing more dangerous than a rather indelible pink goo. The negative side to this was that Severus had spent two hours in the shower scrubbing before his hair regained its normal colour.
Things had gone downhill from there
He had received the invitation-cum-request (along with a mildly threatening letter, listing a number of unpleasant consequences if he chose to refuse) after he had emerged from his bathroom, and once he had regained some degree of self-control, flew up to Dumbledore's office in a flurry of billowing black fabric (Fresh clothes, of course. The robes from the Perkins Incident had been tossed in the fireplace to go out in a blaze of fuchsia glory).
And the old man had been waiting. He had known.
After letting Severus rage for about twenty minutes, he had popped a lemon drop in his mouth, sucked on it pensively, then, in no uncertain terms, insisted he accept.
Accept! Agree to allow himself to be paraded about like a side of meat!
Severus ground his teeth together and clenched his fists. He would be made a fool of; that was a given. He was just the humorous selection, thrown in the lot to give the audience a good laugh. Hadn't he already paid for his misspent youth by helping to bring about the final end to the war, and Voldemort? Didn't he deserve any bloody peace?
He had said as much to Albus.
But no, the daft old man had just smiled benevolently at him, twinkled like a bloody Christmas tree, and made some cryptic comment;
"You know, Severus, they picked the candidates based upon feedback from the female contingent of the wizarding community. If you really believe you're so unpopular, why don't you take a poll?"
As if that made any sense.
Severus sighed and slumped down in his chair, a defeated man.
'I just hope they don't supply interesting bloody facts before the bidding,' he thought forlornly.
~*~
Hermione Granger, freshly graduated from Hogwarts and in her first year of university, ran her hands over her hair one final time before grabbing her handbag. Glancing at the gilt invitation once more before stuffing it in her purse, she Disapparated…
…And was suddenly standing outside the front gates of Hogwarts. Dumbledore had generously agreed to host the event, as there weren't many other venues quite up to the castle's standards. There were already people queuing up for the horseless carriages that would take them up the long driveway to the entrance to the castle. She slipped into the nearest one and sat back, reminiscing through the bumpy trip. The carriage deposited her outside the wide front steps of the school, where people were flowing in through the large double doors, all in black tie robes. She compulsively patted her hair once more, and then jogged up the stairs to the entrance.
The foyer was brightly lit by floating candles, in the midst of which hovered a giant banner, it's message changing every few minutes. She looked up.
The First Annual Ministry of Magic Bachelor Auction & Fundraiser!
The shimmering letters rearranged themselves, and Hermione's face split into a slightly malicious grin.
Featured Bachelors From Across the UK! Sirius Black, Draco Malfoy, Polonius Pittleweed, Bill Weasley,
Bartholomew Tweedle, Peter Pevensie and Severus Snape!
She wove through the crowds and slipped into the Great Hall. Torches and braziers lined the walls here, giving the room a shadowy elegance. Gone were the long, traditional House tables, and the dais where the Head table usually sat had been converted into something of a stage, thick brocaded curtains hiding most of that end of the Hall from view. There were rows of comfortable looking chairs stretching back to the rear of the room, many of which were already occupied. Hermione looked around with approval and then slipped into a seat near the front.
She grinned again, and tightened her fingers around the strap of her handbag. This was going to be good.
Her fiendish planning was interrupted as Lavender Brown sat down beside her and smiled broadly.
"Hullo Hermione, I didn't think I'd see you here. Don't tell me you came alone?"
Hermione smiled and shook her head. "I'm supposed to be meeting Ron and Harry, but who knows when they'll show up."
Lavender nodded with understanding and gave her a conspiratorial wink.
"And who are you planning on bidding for?"
Hermione shook her head and smiled innocently. "Oh, I don't have anyone specific in mind."
"Hmmm," Lavender grinned and turned back to the stage, sitting up a little straighter, as if in anticipation. She leaned towards Hermione, and spoke out of the corner of her mouth; "I'm going for Mister Black."
Hermione blinked, and stared at the girl beside her.
Lavender giggled, and tugged a length of silk cord out of the sleeve of her robe. "I even came prepared with a…ahem…leash."
Hermione struggled to keep her expression neutral.
"Just in case he believes he can escape, of course," she said, a mildly disturbing glint starting to flash in her eyes.
A sudden coughing fit over-took Hermione, and she excused herself hastily. Ducking into another seat, nearer the back, she fought back the giggles and tried to breath.
~*~
Severus glared at the small, plump witch in front of him.
"If you people announce any of that, or force me to…perform, I will not go out," he hissed.
The woman just clucked her tongue and gave him a disapproving look.
"Mister Snape, this is for charity, and it's all in the spirit of good fun. Our host has been introducing all of the other bachelors in a similar manner. Why should you be any different?"
Severus fought back the urge to snarl and merely glared down at her
"Professor Snape," he hissed through clenched teeth.
She glared back.
"Mister Snape," she said, her voice full of steel, "if you do not go out there, things will go very poorly for you."
He sneered. "And what, exactly, will go poorly for me, Madame?"
The small witch smiled.
It was frightening.
"Mister Snape. You are not the only bachelor here this evening who is an expert potion brewer. As a Potion Master yourself, I'm quite sure you're familiar with some of the nastier brews out there. And yet, I somehow doubt you'd like to become intimately acquainted with their effects. Am I correct?"
Severus ground his teeth together, and finally nodded.
His new archenemy smiled warmly.
"Lovely, that's settled then. And you're out soon, dear." She flitted off somewhere into the bowels of the back stage. Probably to convince any other reluctant bachelors that it would be in their best interests to go on with it.
Unless, of course, they enjoyed body-mangling pain.
Severus stalked to the edge of the stage and watched the proceedings with distaste. Bill Weasley looked as though he was having a bloody ball. And why the hell was he wearing a fedora? Or, for that matter, doing tricks with a whip?
From the screams, it sounded as though the females in the audience were enjoying his little show. The one-armed man, a dragon tamer, who was up next wandered past, with a juvenile Peruvian Vipertooth on a leash. It was eyeing its owner as though it would be only too happy to take one of the man's remaining limbs.
Severus shook his head at the ludicrousness of the entire auction and ran a hand wearily through his hair. He turned to the small table that had been prepared for him. At least they had allowed him to specify the ingredients and tools. He smiled nastily.
~*~
"'Mione!"
Hermione winced and looked around for the inevitable shock of red. Ron Weasly grinned and collapsed into the seat beside her. Harry slid into the chair on her other side and smiled warmly.
"We just got here. What'd we miss?" Ron asked.
Hermione grimaced, and pointed at the stage. Sirius Black was cowering behind the announcer, while a determined-looking Lavender Brown brandished a silk cord threateningly. The announcer could be heard, over the laughter of the audience;
"But Miss, your immortal soul is not a valid bid!"
Ron blinked a few times before giving Hermione a bemused look. "And you said I should date her."
"I never knew she was so, em," Hermione glanced at the stage, where a whimpering Sirius was being slowly dragged off by Lavender, "controlling."
A strangled cough came from Harry's direction, and Ron glared at him. Harry smiled sheepishly and made a show of examining the programme. Behind his glasses, his eyes went wide.
"Snape's up next," he exclaimed.
Hermione smiled smugly, and tightened her grip on her handbag.
"Yes," she said, "I know."
Ron, still watching Lavender and Sirius with a mix of horror and poorly concealed jealousy, was oblivious to the tone of Hermione's voice. Harry shot her a puzzled glance. Hermione ignored him, and stared determinedly at the makeshift stage, where a wizard was wheeling a small, sheet-covered table to the center of it.
The announcer, a rotund, red-faced little man, cleared his throat and held up his hands for silence. As the murmurs of conversation died away, he grinned.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, but more specifically Ladies," he said with a theatrical wink, "we have yet another infamous bachelor up on the block. Hogwarts own Severus Snape!"
He grinned, waiting for the applause (along with a few catcalls and whistles) to die away. When the Great Hall was silent again, he began.
"Professor Snape is an accomplished scholar and Potions Master – one of the best in the UK. His skill with potions is renowned, and many attest that he has raised its practice to that of art. His talented hands," again, the theatrical wink, "can create the most noxious of poisons and the most euphoric of intoxicants.
"This alone is enough to make him a Very Good Catch for any
young witch, but there is more."
The announcer paused dramatically for a moment, his grin becoming almost lewd,
before he continued.
"Severus Snape is also one of the very, very few individuals who has been trained is the Ars Amatoria!"
There was bedlam. Hermione swore she saw an older witch near the front of the Hall faint. Both hoots of excitement and cries of indignation rang out. Ron looked distinctly ill, but Harry just looked at his friends in confusion.
"What's Ars Amatoria?"
Hermione lifted her chin primly, her eyes still on the stage.
"Really Harry, you should know enough Latin now. It's translated as "The Art of Love" – it was written by Ovid, during Augustus' reign over the Republic of Rome."
Harry paled, and stared at Hermione in shock.
The announcer raised his hands, and called for order, which he got grudgingly.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Severus Snape!"
There was no applause as the tall figure stalked onto the stage, and stood behind the small table – just awed, hungry silence. After glaring out at the audience for a beat, he whipped the sheet off the table with a flourish and dropped it onto the floor in front of him. There were vials, bottles and piles of freshly prepared ingredients surrounding a small cauldron. With a flick of his wand, he lit a fire underneath it and went to work.
His long fingers poured, dashed, minced and stirred as he brewed the potion. The speed and sureness with which they moved was astounding. The Great Hall was utterly still but for Snape's movements – it was as though everyone was holding their breath.
He sprinkled a shimmering powder into the cauldron, and a great mushroom cloud of purple smoke belched up, generating a chorus of 'ahhs' from the audience. Snape ignored them and continued working at a blinding speed.
Hermione watched his hands with rapt attention, engrossed in the display, and trying to work out what he was making. He paused, holding what looked like a bay leaf above the cauldron, and looked up at the crowd spread out before him. With a smirk, he dropped it in. Hermione's eyes widened – she knew what was in the cauldron.
Snape dipped a spoon into the potion and poured it into a small glass produced from the depths of his robes.
He strolled over to the announcer, looking almost relaxed, and handed it to the small wizard. The little man looked up at him, and gave a nervous chuckle. Snape glared at him, and made an impatient gesture towards the cup. The announcer looked panicked for a moment, before giving in. He eyed the glass, and then finally took a sip. Snape plucked the cup from him and smiled unpleasantly.
Nothing happened for a moment, and the announcer relaxed visibly. He turned to the audience, and made to begin speaking, but when he opened his mouth, no sound came out. His eyes widened, and his lips moved rapidly, but he was utterly silent.
Snape touched his wand to his throat, murmured 'Sonorous', and turned to face the audience full on, ignoring the panicked flailing of the small wizard beside him.
"The Reticeo Potion is quite simple to brew, and can be completed in a matter of minutes, as you have just seen. Though classified as a poison, it is not fatal, and merely renders the victim mute."
Snape shot a disgusted look at the cringing announcer behind him. "It is also immensely useful when one is faced with a person who does not know how to shut their mouth."
The announcer whimpered silently. Snape rolled his eyes and produced a vial from within his robes.
"Unfortunately, it is also easily cured with the antidote."
Without looking he tossed the vial over his shoulder towards the announcer, who scrabbled madly to catch it. The little wizard managed to catch it, after a few close fumbles, and drank the contents down in one gulp. He coughed a few times.
Ron blinked and turned to Hermione. "Thank Merlin that wasn't on the final."
"Well," he said, testing to see if the antidote had worked, his round face lighting up when it did.
"Well, Professor Snape is certainly full of surprises," he giggled nervously. Snape glared at him. "I believe we shall now start the bidding," he said, sidling away from the tall wizard, "at 5 galleons. What lucky witch wants to take private lessons from the Professor?"
There was an outcry, and a mad waving of hands. The poor little announcer was calling out bids as fast as he could, barely keeping up with the excited witches. Within a minute, Snape was going for 50 galleons. As the bids got higher, disappointed witches began mumbling angrily to their friends, until there was a war between a blonde witch and Sybil Trelawney. The Divinations Professor finally screeched, "80 galleons!" There was silence, and the other witch shook her head, defeated.
The announcer grinned broadly, ignoring the horrified look on Snape's face.
"80 galleons, going once…going twice…"
"100 galleons."
The crowd murmured confusedly and looked around, trying to see who had made the bid. Trelawney was frantically pawing through her huge, beaded handbag, and let out a wail – she could not match the bid. The announcer peered into the crowd,
"100 galleons, to the young lady in the back, going once…going twice…SOLD!"
Hermione Granger stood up demurely and, ignoring Ron's hyperventilating and Harry's appalled silence, made her way up the central aisle to the stage.
~*~
Snape was far too relieved that he had been rescued from Trelawney's bangle-covered clutches to care who his savior was. At the sight of a very determined Hermione striding purposefully towards him, he wondered whether 'rescued' was an appropriate description. He had a sudden premonition of being grilled mercilessly on the properties of obscure potion ingredients all night.
He shot a look over at the wailing Divinations Professor before looking back at Hermione.
Then again, anything was better than Trelawney.
The young woman climbed the stairs to the stage and walked directly up to Snape. He pulled himself up to his full height, looked down his nose at her, then inclined his head forward slightly; as overt a gesture of acquiescence as one could ever hope to receive from the Potions Master.
The announcer babbled excitedly and directed the couple off stage, back into the wings, but not before handing Hermione a piece of parchment, rolled up and wrapped with a thick silver ribbon. She tucked it into her handbag and led the way. Snape found that he was feeling mildly unsettled – this girl was radiating dominance and determination. He sneered half-heartedly to himself, but couldn't deny that she had matured, and turned her bossy, loud-mouthed tendencies into something far more concentrated and intense.
Not to mention attractive.
Snape paled slightly, and clenched his teeth together.
'Ex-Students are very, very high on the Do Not Touch list. No matter what Sinistra might say,' he reminded himself.
Hermione was still walking – she had guided him through one of the smaller exits at that end of the Great Hall into a comfortable antechamber. The last thing he heard from the Auction, before the door closed behind them and effectively muffled the whole absurd spectacle, was the shrieked bid of "a NEW CAR!"
Snape shuddered, and shoved the back of a nearby chair under the doorknob.
He turned, and looked at Hermione, who was regarding him critically. Embarrassingly, he felt the first warm fingers of a flush creeping into his cheeks, and he scowled at the girl, crossing his arms, trying his best to look intimidating and terrifying.
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, and snorted.
Snape blinked.
He tried to remember the last time he'd been…snorted at.
By an Ex-Student, at that.
His scowl started to take on a distinctly sulky shade.
Hermione, apparently finished with her thorough appraisal of him, pulled out rolled parchment she had received from the announcer and began pouring over it.
Snape continued to scowl/sulk, but sidled a little closer, trying to get a look at whatever Hermione was reading. She gave him an exasperated look, and took a step back, the parchment held high, and curled in towards herself, looking for all the world like a rather crusty old woman playing cards. Playing to win.
Snape threw his hands up in the air and began pacing the width of the room, snarling under his breath. It was at least five minutes before Hermione coughed primly and sat down in a large armchair facing the crackling logs in the fireplace. She watched Snape disapprovingly till he stalked over to the accompanying chair and threw himself into it.
Hermione began reading aloud;
"Under the contract signed by the Bachelor (in this case, you), the Winner (in this case, me) is allowed to ask the Bachelor any question for a 24 hour period, and all questions must be answered truthfully. Also, the Bachelor must remain within 30 feet of the Winner for that same 24-hour period. It should be noted, the Bachelor can not be forced to do anything against his will, but he must remain civil and cordial to the Winner at all times."
Snape stared at her incredulously.
"You're bloody joking."
Hermione smirked and shook her head, "It's the contract – you've signed it, your name is written right here."
Snape simply continued staring at her.
Hermione rolled her eyes and held it up. There, at the bottom of a page overflowing with fine print, was his scrawled, spiky signature. He remembered signing now; Dumbledore had told him it was merely legal jargon, and not the be worried about it.
As Snape started to turn an alarming shade of purple, Hermione rolled the parchment back up and slid it into her handbag.
She leaned back in her chair, smirked at the furious man, and steepled her fingers in front of her.
"So, Professor. Boxers of briefs?"
~*~*~*~
A/N: First off, I should note that this is a response to the Potion Masters' Bachelor Auction & Fundraiser Fic Challenge, at WIKTT. With that said, I can continue babbling.
This really took me far too long, all things considered. I loved the idea of the Bachelor's Auction Challenge when I first heard it, and decided I had to enter something. Now, I know I deviated somewhat from the basic plot – but I thought that limiting the Auction to merely that of Potions Masters was just that – too limiting. I hope my random plot bunny (and lust for Indiana Jones-cum-Bill Weasley doesn't disqualify me).
To make up for this aberration, I have managed to include all 5 lines. Bonus Points can be emailed to me *grins*.
And regarding the odd title…I just really liked the phrase. Yes, I'm odd.
Disclaimers:
I own nothing of JKRs, and am not making any money from it.
Ars Amatoria comes from Maenad's lovely story of the same name, and I hope she doesn't beat me up for borrowing it.
The capitalized words are from Elaine's Good Deeds. I don't want her to beat me up either.
This sentence and idea "She gave him an exasperated look, and took a step back, the parchment held high, and curled in towards herself, looking for all the world like a rather crusty old woman playing cards. Playing to win." is from the Pratchett book Witches Abroad – the Granny Weatherwax/Cripple Mister Onion scene. So funny, it made me cry.
As was already mentioned, Bill Weasley's odd behavior on stage is a direct rip off of Harrison Ford's character Indiana Jones, from the movies of the same name (yummy).
One of the random bachelors – Peter Pevensie – is a character from C.S. Lewis' The Chronicles of Narnia.
Reticio is Latin for "to keep a thing silent".