Hogwarts' Most Eligible Bachelor

Hogwarts' Most Eligible Bachelor

"Eat dung, Malfoy!" said Ron, snatching his Cleansweep broomstick out of Malfoy's grip. Malfoy howled with scornful laughter; Crabbe and Goyle chortled idiotically.

"So...going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know ... you'd be able to afford a decent broomstick if you won ..."

"What are you talking about?" snapped Ron.

"I'm getting the strangest feeling of déja-vu," whispered Hermione to Harry, behind The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six.

"Yeah," Harry murmured back, "me, too. But She says the original storyline will kick in, soon,"

"She?"

"The author - ow!" Hermione's book slipped and landed heavily on his foot. "I mean, the Authoress,"

"Are you going to enter?" Malfoy repeated.

"You know the author?" asked Hermione, picking up the volume.

"Authoress!" hissed Harry. "Sort of ... we have an agreement,"

"I suppose you will, Potter? You never miss the chance to show off, do you?"

"What?" said Harry, suddenly aware he was being addressed.

"Either explain what you're on about or go away, Malfoy," said Hermione, tetchily.

A gleeful smile spread across Malfoy's pale face.

"Don't tell me you don't know?" he said exultantly. "You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago ... heard it from Cornelius Fudge."

"Continuity error," muttered Hermione under her breath.

"Er - I mean, my mother told me about it, of course!" corrected Malfoy, hastily.

"Better," said Harry, softly, with a quick thumbs-up.

"Yeah, and why's that, Malfoy?" said Ron, spying an opening in Malfoy's defences. "Where's your Dad, again? Oh, yeah - in Azkaban!"

Malfoy opened his mouth, then closed it again. He spun on his heel and stormed out of the compartment, muttering something about 'badly planned dialogue'.

"Ha!" said Ron, with a derisive snort. He turned to Harry and Hermione. "What d'you think he was talking about, then? They're not doing the Tri-Wizard Tournament again, are they? Not after what happened in Fourth Year?"

"Any ideas, Harry?" asked Hermione, pointedly.

Harry consulted silently with the All-Knowing Authoress.

"Nope," he concluded, finally. "We just have to 'wait and see'."

"I hate it when Malfoy knows stuff we don't," grumbled Ron.

***

As it turned out, they didn't have long to wait, anyway. After the Sorting and the Feast were over, Dumbledore stood up, banging his teaspoon against his goblet.

"Thank you! Now, I have some rather exciting news for you all," he began.

"Fred and George are back!" called a voice.

"Fred and George are gay!" someone else shouted out.

"Fred and George are regularly engaged in TWINCEST!"

"What?" said Ron, bewildered, looking for the sources of the voices. "No they're not!"

"No," said Dumbledore, jovially. "The redoubtable Weasley twins are not rejoining us, and, sadly, their bedroom habits remain a mystery to me ..." he trailed off, wistfully.

"Eww!" said Hermione.

"Is he saying what I think he is?" said Ron, eyes screwed up in disbelief.

"No!" Harry reassured him, quickly. "I'm sure he means something completely innocent,"

"Alas," continued Dumbledore, "They once revealed to me that their boundless energy and wit were due to a concoction of their own devise, drunk from the wrong side of a mug every night before bed. But they never revealed the formula ..."

The Hall itself seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Anyhow," said Dumbledore, breaking from his reverie, "I have some exciting news. This year, to celebrate Gilderoy Lockhart's full recovery and release from St Mungo's -"

"What?!" cried Ron.

"- he has proposed that Hogwarts hold an auction."

"An auction? Well that's a tad OOC," observed Hermione.

"An auction entitled, 'Hogwarts' Most Eligible Bachelor'!"

"Oops,"

"Well done, Hermione," said Harry, scathingly.

"For those of you who were not here during his memorable year of teaching, let me introduce - Gilderoy Lockhart!"

There was a scattering of unenthusiastic applause.

"He wasn't there a minute ago, was he?" said Ron, perplexed.

"I dunno," said Harry, thinking fast. "Maybe he Apparated."

"You can't Apparate or Disapparate in the Hogwarts grounds, remember?" said Ron. "Right Hermione?"

"Shh!" said Hermione, hastily. "I want to hear what he has to say."

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, ghosts and ghouls," said Lockhart, beaming around at the sceptical-looking crowd. "Yes, after three years of intensive treatment by the excellent staff on St Mungo's Long-term Ward, I have been restored to full mental health!"

"That'll be the day," muttered Ron.

"As Hogwarts is where I contracted my untimely illness -"

"'Contracted my untimely illness'?" said Ron, incredulously. "He blasted himself with his own Memory Charm!"

"Shh!" said Hermione.

"- I think it is only right, that my return to the wizarding community be marked by a special event hosted by Hogwarts. And, let's face it, what could be more suitable than an auction to determine the school's most eligible bachelor?"

He paused - presumably for laughter. Someone coughed, and he continued. "It will involve the Hogwarts men battling it out for supremacy, which will be decided by the overall highest bid made by the women. You chaps will be relieved to hear that I am not going to be participating myself - although I will be sorry to disappoint the ladies." He winked gregariously. Harry noticed Professor McGonagall wrinkling her nose in repugnance.

"Thank God," said Ron. "At least that means we won't be seeing any more of him this year!"

"Because I, along with a few select others, will be judging it!" announced Lockhart, jovially.

Ron groaned.

"Anyone interested in participating should write their name on the list you will find in your House common rooms. Good luck, and before I -" he chuckled, "- forget, the winner will be awarded a most worthwhile Mystery Grand Prize!"

***

"Well," said Ron as they left the Great Hall, "we know what the 'Mystery Grand Prize' is already, don't we? Money! You heard Malfoy, 'There's money involved as well, you know ... you'd be able to afford a decent broom if you won ...'" Ron shoved his hands angrily into his pockets.

"So?" asked a drawling voice in his ear, "Are you going to enter, Weasley? I wouldn't if I were you, you know. You wouldn't stand a chance - or the humiliation."

"I'd beat you any day, Malfoy!" said Ron, spinning round.

"Tou-chy!" said Malfoy, in mock-offence. "What makes you think that you, ginger Weasley rat number five-million-and-three, in line to inherit ginger Weasley rat number five-million-and-two's old robes, could possibly be more attractive to the female population of Hogwarts than me - rich, handsome and -" he ran a hand across his slicked-back hair, "- charmer extraordinaire!" He gave a grin worthy of Lockhart himself.

"Oh really?" scoffed Ron. "You forgot, son of a convict, heir to a Mansion so full of Dark objects it'll be repossessed by the Ministry any day now - oh! And messy eater!"

Malfoy looked quickly down at his robes. There was a baked bean trail all the way down the front (ending, incidentally, in a baked bean). He cursed under his breath but tried (and failed) to keep his cool.

"I'll enter that auction," he said, menacingly (the effect spoiled slightly by Goyle, who was trying to extract the baked bean from Malfoy's robes). "Get off, Goyle!" Pink flushes tinted Malfoy's cheeks. "I'll enter, and I'll win," he said angrily, fists clenched. He turned and flounced off.

[Note from the All-Knowing Authoress: yes, Draco very definitely 'flounced' off. What can I say? Keeping his campness in check is a full-time job, and I'm omniscient, not omnipresent.]

"We'll see about that!" shouted Ron to the retreating Slytherins. When they were out of earshot, he said fretfully to Harry: "You'll enter with me, won't you, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, mate, but this is between you and Malfoy."

"Do - do you think I have any chance at all?"

"Definitely!" asserted Hermione.

"Really?"

"Go for it!" said Harry.

"Yeah! Okay! I could do with the money - that'd teach Malfoy - think what I could buy ..." and he lost himself in thoughts of broomsticks and devices of torture.

***

The day of the auction dawned bright and clear, promising warm sunshine later on. Although that was neither here nor there, as the auction was being held indoors.

Hermione met Harry in the common room, where he was already engaged in calming Ron's unsteady nerves.

"Come on, Ron," he said, patting him gingerly on the back. "Cheer up! You'll never win if you don't at least smile."

Ron looked green.

Hermione yawned. "What? Is it auction day already? Didn't we just get here yesterday?"

"No," said Harry. "It's been a few weeks, now, since school started. We just haven't had any adventures." Under his breath, so only Hermione could hear, he added: "The All-Knowing Authoress couldn't be bothered with filling the time, so She skipped right to this bit."

Hermione giggled. "The All-Knowing-but-Incurably-Indolent Authoress?" she suggested. "OUCH!"

Harry picked up the fragments of the ink bottle that had smashed as it hit Hermione on the head. "Yeah, um, She doesn't like it when you insult Her."

Hermione made a frustrated noise, and pulled out her wand. Pointing it at herself, she uttered, "Scourgify!" and the ink in her hair disappeared, although Harry thought her face still retained a slightly blue tinge.

"Come on, then," he said, pulling Ron to his feet.

"You should have something to eat before it starts." Hermione peered closely at his pale features. "Then again, maybe not. We don't want you to mess up your dress robes ..."

***

Hundreds of chairs had been set out in rows facing an elaborately constructed stage in the Great Hall. Most of the students and teachers were already sitting there, eagerly clutching small bags full of gold Galleons, silver Sickles and bronze Knuts. Backstage, Harry and Hermione waited patiently with an ever-more anxious Ron.

"I really don't think I can do this," he kept muttering. Harry and Hermione had stopped answering.

Draco Malfoy was there, too, accompanied, as ever, by Crabbe and Goyle. Pansy Parkinson had tried to gain access as well, but Malfoy had shooed her away, saying, "Just go and sit in the audience," and, with an evil grin in Ron's direction, "Don't forget to cheer and bid generously!"

There were several other boys there, too. But they were all OCs created for nothing more than providing a little competition. We won't go into them.

After about ten minutes, Snape appeared. "Any well-wishers are now instructed to return to their seats in the audience," he said. "The auction will begin in a few minutes with you, Weasley."

Ron blenched and clutched his stomach. With one last pat on the back and an extra "Good luck!", Harry left. Hermione lingered behind.

"You can do it, Ron!" she urged.

"No!" Ron moaned. "I really, really can't!"

"You can," said Hermione, firmly, "and you will!" And she stood up on tiptoes (Ron was a good nine inches taller than her, after all) and kissed him. On the lips. This seemed to steady Ron's nerves a little. "Good luck!" whispered Hermione, and she left to rejoin Harry, who was holding two bottles of Butterbeer and a large popcorn.

"Where did you get those?" asked Hermione, looking around for a vendor of some sort.

Harry, his mouth full of popcorn, jabbed his finger upwards.

"I don't know if we should be letting Ron do this, you know," said Hermione. "Why are we, anyway? It's a really stupid idea. He'll be humiliated whether he wins or loses ..." she slumped in her chair. After a few moments she declared, "We can't let him, Harry! Come on! I'm going to pull him out!"

Harry let out a muffled, "No!", but to little effect, as he was still stuffed with popcorn. Hermione jumped to her feet - and spilt Butterbeer all down her robes. She was about to go on regardless when she stopped, looked up, looked at Harry, and, at Harry's nod, sat down again, irately, folding her arms.

"She won't let us?" she asked.

Harry shook his head.

"Why not?"

Harry swallowed, and choked. "She thinks it's funny," he explained, when the spluttering had died down. "Didn't you ever wonder why we haven't told Ron about Her? That's why."

"That's sick," fumed Hermione, shaking her head at the twisted humour of That Person.

"Hello Hogwarts!" bellowed Lockhart, walking onstage. "Welcome to the Hogwarts' Most Eligible Bachelor Auction!"

There were a few subdued cheers.

"Ah," said Lockhart, apparently a little put off (for once) by this apathetic response. "Yes, well, you'll be wanting the first of the bachelors, then, eh? In that case, please welcome, Mr Ronald Weasley!"

The Gryffindors sounded a booming applause as Ron tottered onto the stage, led by the hand by Fleur Delacour.

"What's she doing here -" began Hermione, but she paused. "Never mind," she sighed, resignedly.

"Mr Weasley is a stunning six foot two inches, with size thirteen feet - and you know what they say about big feet!" said Lockhart. Ron went scarlet. Fleur was gesturing at him like he was a prize dishwasher on a Muggle TV game show.

"He has five elder brothers - one who works in the Ministry of Magic, one works for Gringotts, another works with dragons in Romania, and two run a highly successful business. So you see it's clearly a family with lots of potential! Ron himself is a prefect - with a good chance of clinching the Headboyship next year - Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, plays a mean game of chess, and has just recently crushed the rumours about his sexuality -" Ron looked startled "- by affirming his love for close friend, Hermione Granger!" Hermione slipped down low in her seat.

"So! Who'll start the bidding at fifteen Sickles?"

The bidding lasted for ten minutes, with Hermione eventually borrowing five Galleons off Harry to out-bid Millicent Bulstrode (I know - strange what you can learn at a Bachelor Auction, eh?) at twelve Galleons, three Sickles and twenty-seven Knuts.

"They'd better hurry up," muttered Harry.

"Why?" asked Hermione.

"The Authoress is getting bored - She's been writing for two-and-a-half hours straight, without tea, and if this takes much longer I think She might just leave us all in limbo ..."

"Well shut up, and let her get on with it, then!" said Hermione, exasperated.

[Note from the All-Knowing (but Incurably Lazy) Authoress: We break here while I go for tea. When the characters start talking about it, you know you're desperate.]

***

"And so, we come to out final bachelor!" boomed Lockhart.

"The final one?" said Hermione. "But there were at least five lads there, other than Malfoy!"

Harry shrugged. "Lockhart must have done them when She was fetching tea. They were only OCs, anyway."

Hermione pouted. "But there was one - Gary-Stu, was it? - who did look rather gorgeous ..."

"He'd be too busy fighting Voldemort to pay you any real attention - and anyway, you're with Ron, now, remember? Now, pay attention! It's Malfoy's turn."

Malfoy swaggered onstage. The collective female audience gasped. Malfoy had changed his robes since they last saw him. He was now dressed in tight, tight, tight leather trousers, a leather jacket and dragon-hide boots.

"This, ladies and gentlemen, is Mr Draco Malfoy. Not the tallest of chaps, but, let's face it, with a visage like that, who cares? He's rich, handsome, and the star of countless slash pairings, including with the famous Harry Potter!"

Hermione turned to Harry, scandalized. "Harry! You and Malfoy? You didn't!"

"No!" said Harry, quickly. "Of course not! Although," he added, "looking at him now, I don't know if I'd say no to a quick -" Hermione slapped him. "Thanks," he said, rubbing his face.

The bidding war over Draco was, if possible, even more furious than the one over Ron. Harry and Hermione sat on their hands and stared at the floor so as to resist his leather-clad charm, but others weren't so shrewd. Eventually, Lockhart announced Draco to be -

"Sold! To Miss Ginny Weasley for twelve Galleons, three Sickles and twenty-eight Knuts!"

Hermione groaned. "One Knut! He's beaten Ron by one Knut! And his own sister, too! Oh, he'll be devastated!"

In a flash of teeth, the crowd witnessed the smile of the truly debonair, and Malfoy sauntered over to where Lockhart was standing, ready to claim his prize.

"Wait!" cried Lockhart. "I have just been informed that we have a surprise contestant! Please give a warm welcome to - to Professor Severus Snape!"

"Pro - Professor?" said Malfoy, gob-smacked, as said Professor swept onstage.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Teaching is not a well-paid job, Malfoy," he hissed. "Remember that."

"Well," said Lockhart, also appearing lost for words, "the Professor is a, er, respected provider of education, a most noted Potions Master, and ... um ... would anyone like to start the bid? Say, at twenty Knuts?"

He looked hopefully around the Hall.

"Anyone?"

"I - I bid twelve Galleons and four Sickles!" piped up a terrified voice in the row behind Harry and Hermione.

"Neville?!" exclaimed Harry.

"He promised to help me get my Potions O.W.L.," said Neville, miserably. "I failed it, you know - I have to retake the exam in January!"

Lockhart scratched his head. "Well, then we have a winner! I give you, Hogwarts' most eligible bachelor, Professor Snape! Professor, come on up!"

Snape stalked over to Lockhart, Malfoy having been pulled off the stage by Fleur.

"I am happy to announce that the total proceeds today - including the one-Sickle entrance fee - amount to sixty-six Galleons, eleven Sickles and three Knuts! Well done everyone!" he began to clap vigorously, and, for once, most people joined in. "I can now present the Professor with his Mystery Grand Prize."

Lockhart picked up a sack from the floor, and handed it to Snape.

Snape looked horrified.

Reaching inside with one hand, he pulled away the sack with the other to reveal ...

"Mindless Me!" chirped Lockhart. "A touching insight into the life of a mentally ill inhabitant of the Long-Term Spell Damage ward at St Mungo's Hospital!"

"What - what about - where's the money?" asked Snape, in a stricken voice.

"Money?" repeated Lockhart.

"The prize-money!" said Snape, with desperate alarm.

"You mean the takings? Oh! Did I forget to mention? They were going to be given to the winner, but we decided it would be far better to give it to charity ... the whole lot's going to St Mungo's, now ..." he beamed.