Dedicated to Erika! I miss you, you singing ice-cream person. 3
Chapter Four: The Lottery
After registering, the contestants took a seat in the middle of the foyer, surrounded by a wall of bleachers bisected on either side by a large platform and the main entrance where the sightseers were now queuing. Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour leaned on his cane at the back of the stage, in the shadows of the overbearing bleachers watching the young faces as they settled down into the purposefully uncomfortable folding chairs.
He wanted them to take this seriously; it wasn't a stupid game, as they foolishly believed. Rufus' partner the Lottery Director Stan Oberst sidled over, carrying a small silver box in one hand.
"Hey gorgeous," he whispered, lightly kissing the Minister's scruffy cheek. "Almost show time?"
"Open up the gates now. And remind Security to watch for any unusual behaviour, I don't want a repeat of last year's incident."
"Yes sir. Here's the box."
"Thank you." Taking the box from his lover's hand, Rufus allowed their skin to caress for a single second.
As Stan retreated through a door in the back of the stage, the Minister performed a rough check-out of all the students sitting straight backed, dead silent and prickly. In the front corner were two girls, hands clasped tightly together, their heads resting on one another.
This isn't the end. You will make it through this just fine.
With affection and subtlety, Scrimgeour projected the thought into the minds of all the contestants as a wave of spectators began to fill the stands. Eyes softened and bodies relaxed as much as the chairs allowed, the couple in front kissed each other lovingly on the lips and knew it would be okay.
"Will we?" The voice was barely distinguishable over the clamour of the crowd, but it got the Minister's attention. From the floor of the foyer a young women watched him, her brown eyes full of suspicion.
Hermione Granger sat reclined in a squashy, red armchair that she had conjured. Ron was in one identical, chatting with the person next to him about the Chudley Canons. It was only out of the corner of his eyes that Rufus saw the chairs, so he wasn't entirely sure if they existed, but the smug look on Hermione's face was enough to erase any doubt he had.
Sighing, he forced himself to ignore her, blindly hoping that the ceremony would go off without a hitch. If you can't see it, there is nothing there. Stop worrying; she is just a smartass teen.
As silence settled over the bleachers, the Minister of Magic hobbled up to the podium, setting the silver box on the table at his side. The scarred grimness of his face, framed by limp greying hair grabbed the attention of his people better than a loud noise ever would. He didn't even bother using a spell to project his voice.
"You, my fellow wizards and witches, sit before me as countless others have, on the threshold of one of those life-defining moments people always talk about. Today you will be assigned your breeding partner, with whom you will have the choice of copulating with in hopes of conception when the time comes. It is up to the female's discretion whether or not she wants to have a child, and she and her partner are given full legal rights of the child at the time of its birth, unless other arrangements are set up at the mother's request."
The Lottery has come under a lot of fire in recent years for being archaic and dictatorial; people are questioning why they have no choice in the matter. Our response is that you have the choice to participate; this is done for the convenience of the woman. It will be at Camp that you will spend every waking minute with each other, building trust and an unbreakable bond so you are fully comfortable with each other."
I will now turn you over to Stan Oberst Lottery Director. Good luck."
The Minister hobbled to the side of the stage, placing himself in a high-backed chair, from which he could oversee the proceedings.
"Thanks, Minister." Stan Oberst was a willowy man, distinguished grey hair like frosting atop his pale face. Milky blue eyes stared blankly forward, the corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. The worry line running across his forehead compressed in on itself, converging in the middle, widening a circular shape, and sinking back into his head. Birthed from the loins of his mind, a sapphire blue eye rolled into the hollow focusing on the perturbed auras of the young adults seated before it.
"Disturbing, huh?"
Those seated in the stands laughed uncomfortably; no matter how often they saw it, the eye still left most with feelings of anxiety and guilt.
"It's kind of useless really, I'm still blind. All it's good for is seeing who you are past all the superficialities, which comes in handy when separating you into pairs."
This is worse than I thought. Hermione sat up in her chair, teetering on the edge, fingers digging into the coarse fabric. Supplanting the momentary shock of witnessing an eye sprouting from the centre of a man's forehead, a feeling of anger washed over her, trouncing all other grievances in leaps and bounds.
The sudden change in her aura alarmed Oberst, who let the words fall dead in his mouth. With eerie precision and control, he focused his eye right on her, a cloud of red light exuding from her being and smothering those around her. All they felt was a small shiver run down their spine, but it was disquieting.
"Hermione Granger…" he breathed, placing an elegant hand atop the silver box on the table beside him. Vines bloomed from its façade, intertwining gracefully with his fingers, creeping up the sleeve of his arm. The only way to track their movement was the subtlety with which the vines disturbed Oberst's clothing as they travelled up his arm.
"You'll be first." The voice echoed throughout the room, though none could testify that his mouth actually moved from the wry smile eerily frozen on his face. There was a collected inhalation of breath, everyone excited by the sudden start of the proceedings.
Breeching his collar, the threads of silver twisted around his neck and up the back of his head, uniting at his third eye and squirming around it to its backside where they melded with the optic nerves. Dust particles rose through the top of the box and began to swirl in a large shape above it, slowly taking the shape of a very happy looking Hermione, waving pleasantly to the collected masses of the room.
The entire time Hermione had sat in fuming silence, waiting for the perfect time to unleash a barrage of verbiage on her contemporaries. The more she saw of The Lottery, the more she knew it violated every sense of being that she was aware of in herself. Looking into a person, without permission, in accordance with a superficial ceremony was borderline rape.
"Hermione Granger," Oberst repeated, closing his normal eyes and breathing in deeply the aroma of her. "A very smart young woman, with more potential than anyone will ever choose to recognize. You are going to be an interesting one to match. Are there any boys that are as good for you as the woman you are with now?"
"Yes."
Hermione stood up, her hand planted on Ron's shoulder, whom was now trying to sink away from all the eyes now staring right at the pair.
Oberst's eye fluttered open, the image of Hermione waving to everyone flickering dangerously. "Oh?"
"Ronald Weasley, sir."
Stan gave the red-haired young man a quick look over with his eye, shaking his head sadly. "He is not good enough for you. Not even on the same planet. You are not a good match."
"But what does it matter if I won't even give the guy you match me with the time of day. I'll just go home to my girlfriend and let him go home to his lover. Bonding camp would be a waste of time."
Scrimgeour stood up rapidly, loosing his balance slightly. Slamming his cane onto the wooden platform he regained composure and the ears of all those gathered. "You dare question what we are doing here?"
"You dare to force me to participate?"
"You have every right to refuse to breed with your partner, but only after camp."
"Why can't I choose here and now whether or not I want to go to camp? Why can't I say no?"
"That's not the way things are done!"
"Then enlighten me… Voldemort."
The name shattered the uncomfortable silence in which everyone sat, now breaking out into gasps of shock and anguish. Shouts of outrage began to fill the room, people disgusted with Hermione for destroying the sanctity of the ceremony and the Ministry by using such vulgarities.
Hermione's eyebrow slowly raised in arrogance as the Minister stood there, hand gripped tightly on his cane.
"I gave the better years of my life combating him and his followers. I have had more neglected partners leave me than I ever want to recall." Rufus' words were terse and strained. "I have watched my friends die at his hands. You have no right to imply that I am the same man he is."
Oberst watched the anger fade from Hermione's aura, replaced by regret.
"Please leave now, Miss Granger; both you and Mister Weasley. I will concede to your request, as long as you agree to attend bonding camp without a fuss," the Minister said, guarding his emotions once more.
Humbled, Hermione nodded shortly.
"Come on, Ron."
He stood up and followed her through the gauntlet of gazes. Walking out the front gate, Hermione turned around and stared right at Stan, who was smiling just for her.
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