LUCK OF THE DRAW
The door to the Potions dungeon slammed open. Snape billowed into the room and swept to his usual spot beside his desk. He turned neatly on his heel and faced his seventh year Gryffindor-Slytherin class.
"Do all the foolish wand waving you like," he said, his voice less like silk than a gaudy sarong print. "Brew glory, bottle fame, put a stopper in death. Brew beer, bottle pixies, and preserve apricots for all I care." He flopped down in his seat. It was virtually unused. In all the years he'd been Potions Master, he'd hardly sat in the classroom, being ever vigilant. His students put it down to Potions Piles.
He had a smile on his face. This made the crowd uneasy to begin with. Snape looked relaxed. This was scary. His hair was trimmed to shoulder length and clean, and he'd changed his never-changing black ugly clothes for black nifty clothes. This was beyond scary and into serious scream-and-run territory.
Harry Potter nudged Ron, who was already getting out a batch of apricots.
"What's with Snape?"
Ron shrugged. "Should I care? He's obviously taken his Humanising Potion." He measured out sugar, and handed the container to Neville.
Neville tipped a generous amount of sugar into his cauldron. It promptly exploded. He would keep buying cheap imports with bottoms that were too thin. Many people were covered in syrup, and Draco had an apricot kernel up his nose.
"Professor," he whined.
Snape shot him a look. "Well, go to the Infirmary, boy. And all those with syrup burns better go with him." He didn't rise from his chair, and actually put his feet on the desk.
Hermione was leafing madly through her A Social History of Wizards, frowning. "I know I've seen something in here," she said.
Ron grabbed the book from her. "Yeah." He flipped to the centre pages. "Check this out."
Hermione slammed the book shut. "No one wants to see that!"
"You're not kidding. Who would've thought Macgonagall posed for the centrefold way back when? She was okay, in a tartan scarf way. Right, Harry?"
Harry was trying to ignore them both, wipe apricot syrup off his clothes, and not open his own history text. He had a later edition, and it had Madame Maxime in it.
Hermione snatched the book back off Ron and began her frantic search again.
"I will save you the trouble, Miss Granger," said Snape. "It is June 30th. Freedom Day." He raised his voice. "You may all have the afternoon off. Go out and kill each other or something."
The students didn't have to be told twice, except Goyle, who had apricots in both ears, and a mouth full of Fame Potion. Who knew he would briefly be famous around Hogwarts for having apricots in his ears? Nasty thing, magic. Never worked the way you expected it to.
"Freedom Day!" Hermione gasped, as the Terrific Trio thundered out of the dungeons.
"What's that? The teachers set us free from schoolwork, only to hunt us down later with broadswords, or something? No wonder Snape's in a good mood, then." Harry thought glumly of Godric Gryffindor's sword. Was that what it was all about?
"No. Every ten years all wizarding marriages are dissolved."
"Oh yeah." Ron was disinterested. "Mum and Dad always choose each other again. And Charlie says he's going to choose Sweden again." No one had been surprised when the enterprising and supremely trendy Charlie Weasley had married a girl called Sweden. He was that sort of guy.
"What's all this about?" Harry asked. He often felt his education lacking when it came to wizarding social customs. He wished someone had told him about the Stoat Day that occurred every six years. It would have saved a lot of embarrassment, and he would not have had to put ointment on his bum every night for four damned months.
Hermione got into her favourite mode - prissy lecturer. "Several centuries ago, it was feared wizards would die out, as a breed. Breeding with Muggles was only diluting the blood, and there were too many Squibs being born." She looked uncomfortable. "So I guess old Salazar Slytherin did have his reasons after all, for that pure blood thing. Anyway, there was a law brought in. All wizards and witches had to marry one of their kind at least once in their life. The marriage would last ten years, long enough for any children to be born and raised to independent age. It's become the custom for a lottery to decide whom one marries."
"And all wizards and witches are in it?" Harry swallowed. He really, really, really didn't want to be paired up with Mad-Eye Moody.
"At least once in their lives. Some people use it as an opportunity to get out of bad marriages, or renew their vows. But those whose names are drawn have to marry."
Ron grinned. "Glad I'm not eighteen until the end of the year."
Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. They'd already had their birthdays. Perhaps they'd end up….ewwwh, didn't bear thinking about.
"So that's why Snape's so happy. He must've just come out of a bad marriage," Harry said, quickly skating away from the 'marrying Hermione' topic.
"Who to?" Ron wasn't that interested in the answer, but thought he'd stir things up a bit.
They settled themselves on the steps to the Divination Tower. It caught the afternoon sun. They heard footsteps and turned. Sybil Trelawney looked ten, maybe twenty years younger. Her shawl and ancient floral gown had been replaced by a fashionable and rather pervy knee-length pvc skirt. Her boots were black, knee-high, and her red velvet top clung to her thin frame. Gone were the huge spectacles.
"Hello children," she said, making definite strides down the stairs. "Isn't it a wonderful day?" She walked away.
"You don't think….?" Ron said.
"If I had Snape as a husband, I'd make myself as unattractive as possible," Harry said, with feeling.
"If I had to be around Trelawney and all that Divination nonsense, I'd do the same," Hermione replied.
It was obvious what had happened. How did the old saying go? "I'm not a psychopath, I've just been in a bad mood for ten years."
They pondered a Snape-Trelawney marriage. No wonder she locked herself in the Divination Tower. No wonder he lived in the dungeons.
"Do you suppose…?" Ron began.
Harry hit him, not hard, but enough to shut him up. "Don't, Ron. Snape sex, ewwwh!"
Ron screwed up his face. "What if they had kids?"
Both young men shuddered.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't you think Trelawney is a bit too old to have children? And now Snape's cleaned up, he's not so bad."
"Madness," Ron remarked to Harry.
"Too much study," Harry agreed.
"There's only one cure."
"We've been holding off for too long-"
"It has to be done, and we're the men to do it."
Hermione scooted herself up a couple of steps. "If you're suggesting what I think you're-"
The two boys exchanged glances. Their bodies tensed.
"Get her!" Ron yelled.
They got, they wrestled her to the ground, they tickled her unmercifully until she hiccoughed.
Hermione lay there, tears streaming from her eyes. Ulp! Hic-ulp! Hic-ulp! She would get them if it was the last thing she did. She was still too weak to move when Trelawney returned. She stepped over Hermione's body.
"Hello children. Out playing, are we?" She turned back to Hermione suddenly. "Beware the lottery. A dark fate awaits you. The moon is in the seventh house." She turned on her high heel and marched back up the Tower.
Hermione sat up. "What was that load of clap-trap?"
Harry thought of the times Trelawney had actually predicted something that had come true. "Maybe you should pay attention, 'Mione."
She snorted. "The moon is in the seventh house! Next she'll be telling me Jupitur is aligned with Mars, and peace is ruling the planets."
"What?" Ron, being wizard-born did not have much knowledge of Muggle references.
"No wonder she was paired with Snape then," Harry said. "He's the only man with long hair on campus."
"What? What are you two talking about?" Ron personally thought that growing up Muggle had its disadvantages, the primary one being a mind full of a load of old cobblers.
"Give me a head with hair, long beautiful hair. Shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen," Hermione chanted.
"It was a musical. 'Hair'," Harry chimed in.
"There was a musical about hair." Ron wanted to be completely clear about this. "Has there been one about toenails?"
Harry rather thought the explanation would take all afternoon.
Very little attention was paid to Freedom Day by those who weren't affected. Life carried on as normal. But that evening, all the staff and those students over the age of eighteen were gathered to the Great Hall. A large mirror was enspelled to show images of the lottery. Harry suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Who would he get? Anyone? Not everyone was chosen each time. It was the luck of the draw.
The draw went most of the night, droning out names, most of whom Harry and Hermione had never heard of. Around 1am, the anonymous voice of the caller said: "Professor Severus Snape and Miss Hermione Granger."
"Fuck, not again! I've just finished one marriage! I won't do it again!" Snape was out of his chair, wand at the ready to blast the mirror to atoms.
"Calm yourself, Severus," said Dumbledore's voice. "You know there is no getting around this."
Hermione was flat on the floor in a faint. Snape toed her in displeasure.
"Perhaps this time, Severus, you might actually consider having a child. It lowers your odds of being chosen again."
Snape rolled his eyes. So far he'd been paired, straight out of school, with scraggy old Tertia Macbeth(who wanted to bring her bloody sisters to the marriage bed), then a blessed break, and then Sybil Trelawney. And now Hermione 'know-it-all' Granger. It wasn't fair.
"Mr Harry Potter and Miss Geri Halliwall.."
Harry blinked. THE Geri Halliwall? The Geri Halliwall who used to be a pop singer and was now yoga consultant to the United Nations? He turned to Dumbledore in bewilderment. Dumbledore inclined his head.
"Lovely girl. Came through Hogwarts a few years ago. Majored in spice potions, didn't she, Severus?"
Snape muttered something.
"What was that, Severus?"
The potions professor cleared his throat. "I said that she's not backwards about coming forwards." He shot a wolfish glance at Harry. "She'll certainly tell you what she really, really wants." He smirked. It was not a good look. "Spice up your life, Potter."
Harry looked pale. Dumbledore to the rescue.
"Perhaps you could take Miss Granger outside, Severus? Get her some fresh air?"
Snape obediently dragged Hermione out of the Great Hall by one arm.
The lottery went on, and on. Up and down Britain, wizards and witches were weeping, shouting with joy, or being quietly ill.
"Professor Albus Dumbledore, and Madam Sybil Trelawney."
Trelawney sighed. "What can they be thinking, Albus? Didn't we do this once before?"
"That was my brother, Sybil."
"Oh yes, I remember the goats now."
The lottery came to a close at 5am. Professors Macgonagall and Flitwick stopped sweating. Draco Malfoy swore because he hadn't been chosen. Seven years at Hogwarts and not one girlfriend. Was it the frog spawn aftershave? The ant-egg toothpaste? His habit of trying to jump the bones of any girl who so much as looked at him?
Dumbledore rubbed his tired eyes. "Do you wish to move your things into my rooms, Sybil?"
She sighed. "I suppose so. You don't have any goats, do you?"
"No, dear. But there is Fawkes."
"Oh for Merlin's sakes! I think I'll stay where I am, thankyou anyway." She turned to leave. "I'm a firm believer in open marriage. Let's just leave this one as open as possible."
And that seemed to be the last word on the subject.
Hermione woke up, hair full of cobwebs, nasty bump on her head where she'd hit the floor, and she was sprawled untidily on a large futon bed. It had black sheets, black doona cover, black pillowslips, and there was a black cat curled around her feet. She moved and it bit her.
"You are awake, Miss Granger."
Snape was laying beside her on the bed. Why hadn't she noticed that skerrick of information? He was wearing a set of black pyjamas. If it weren't for his pale face, she'd never see him at all. She scrambled to get away from him, but he was quicker, holding her arm tight.
"We may as well get this over with. We're married. No option for divorce, no pleading your case unless you have a successful prior marriage. Believe me, I've tried everything. You are my wife."
"We haven't had a ceremony." She couldn't think of anything else to say.
"In lottery marriages, there is none. We're married, this is my bedroom. Now, can we get on with it, please? I have to teach this afternoon and I don't want to miss the joys of a first year Hufflepuff session. Their mistakes make my day."
Hermione goggled. "Just like that? You want me to….you know…with you?"
"It is called sexual congress."
There was no getting away. She knew it. She'd spent some time in the library, reading up after Harry and Ron had left her. Not one successful appeal against the lottery, unless by prior successful marriage. Lucky, lucky Mr and Mrs Weasley. Super-lucky Charlie Weasley. Professor Macgonagall had seven children by three different husbands.
"All right, then. Sexual congress. That lends a sensual atmosphere to proceedings. Would you like me to sit an exam first, just to complete the vibe? Because I'm feeling just so ready." She snarled at him.
He moved, quick and quiet and put his hands on her, rapidly moving under her clothes. Oh. Oh, er. Ooo-aaah! Holy cow, the man knew what he was doing. Oh, oh, oh. Good heavens, he was touching her,….no, no, a little to the left. Ooooooooooo…….
Harry was enduring his first meeting with his new wife. She wore as little clothing as possible, and was poking him with her wand.
"Call me, Geri. Hey, great, it's breakfast time. Do they have organic fruit? How big's your bed, Harry? Been married before? First time for me, too. I won't ask you about Voldemort if you don't mention Robbie Williams, right, mate? Brilliant! Do you like my breasts? You keep staring at 'em. And before you ask, no, I don't have the Union Jack dress any more. Gave it to charity. Who's your friend? Like the red hair."
"Hello," Harry said weakly, as he was led into the Great Hall for breakfast.
Hermione was already at the table. She stood up, stood on her chair, then on the table.
"I've won the lottery!" she screamed.
Trelawney swore into her Weet-bix. Harry grimaced. Draco burst into tears. Dumbledore leaned forward and surveyed Snape, who was looking at his new, young, over-achieving wife.
"Severus, I do believe your numbers have come up."
***** *****