Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot. All characters, spells and anything else recognisable are the property of J.K. Rowling.

Warning: swearing

Harry expected this day to come. The last three weeks had been too perfect. Voldemort was dead, the Death Eaters were dead, there was absolutely nothing left for him to do but eat, sleep, shit and be merry - in no particular order. And he had been enjoying doing all four since his arch-enemy had died. Mind you, his dorm-mates were far from pleased with his new carefree attitude. After all, closing the door to the loo did not fit into his list of things to do.

If he were honest, Harry would admit that his troubles had started over the weekend. For one thing, McGonagall had forbidden the elves from feeding him in his bed any longer. Which meant that he actually had to walk all the way to the Great Hall for food. Yes he had been doing it for seven years so far, and probably would have to for a next year if Hermione had her way (why she had access to the boy's dormitory was still beyond him) but right now he was still 'recuperating' from the battle. Well that was the official excuse. Truth be told, Harry was being lazy – and he damn well deserved it. After running around in the bush for weeks because of Voldemort, was it really too much to be waited on hand and foot for a bit?

Apparently it was.

And so, he suffered the pain and torture of leaving his wonderfully warm bed to eat in the Hall. He was quiet, focussed only on his porridge while he pondered on the future. Well the future after he decided not to be lazy anymore. He was almost eighteen, and with Dumbledore dead, there really was no-one to tell him where to go. Grimmauld Place seemed most likely – he was certain it was clean enough for him to live in. Although, he was not ready to rule out the Dursley home yet. No, he was not going to live there again. However, he had promised to bring them back to their home once it was safe. And he would do so. It wouldn't stop him from peeing in the coffee maker before he left (boy did Vernon love his coffee) or spitting in Aunt Petunia's mouth wash (spit flavoured rinse, yum) but he would bring them back...

As soon as he figured out what to do to Dudley.

Vaguely he had noticed when the owls arrived, but that had not disturbed his thoughts in the least. After all, Hedwig was dead. By now, she was nothing more than a pile of bones in the forest, unless some scavenger had not gotten to her first. At the time, her death had been most disturbing. Now however, Harry could care less. At least Hedwig did not have to drag herself all this way for meals. He was sure there were waiters in the after-life. She was probably being waited on wing and talon after her faithful service to him all those years. It was a lot better than what he was receiving now.

The shouts of disbelief around the hall did not register either, although he did twitch at Hermione's shriek. When it was obvious the commotion would not die down, and irritated that his deep thoughts were being interrupted, the Man-Who-Kicked-Ass looked up.


"Fudge made a law!" Hermione shrieked again, and this time the twitch became a wince.

"Didn't he die?" Harry grumbled, playing with his porridge.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Since the days of Umbitch, Harry's greatest desire was for Fudge to drop dead. So much so that when Voldemort had captured the Ministry, he had whooped, before vowing to kill the Dark Lord dead for leaving the imbecile alive. Really, could Voldemort not have done him that one little favour?


"What?" Harry asked, breaking out of his fantasy in which Fudge was dead. He glared at his friend. He really had been enjoying dancing on the man's grave in his head.

"Aren't you listening," the bushy haired witch chastised. "He's made a marriage law. There's too few wizards and witches left apparently."

If anyone expected an outburst from him, they were sorely mistaken. Harry only blinked once, twice, before a thoughtful look settled on his face. "So I have to shag someone? Bloody brilliant. I was starting to get tired of Pamela anyway. Good job Fudge. I mightn't do the Irish Jig after all. I'll just waltz on your corpse."

Nodding his head at the invisible man, Harry went back to his food.

"You support this?" Hermione shrieked, even as Ron demanded "Who?"

Harry waved his right hand suggestively, even as he swallowed a next mouthful of porridge. Thick, warm, creamy, white porridge. He cringed. Perhaps eating this while talking about that was not entirely the right thing to do. "With Pamela of course. I'm sure you've met her Ron."

Ron blinked. "There's no Pamela in Hogwarts mate."

"Oh she's around," Harry said airily, stroking his hand fondly.

"How long have you known her?" Hermione asked curiously, forgetting about the law temporarily to find out about the witch her friend was with.

"All my life," Harry smirked, returning to his meal. The creamy porridge was not actually so bad. For a moment he wondered how his own personal cream tasted before deciding that it truly was not something he wanted to know.

Across the table, Seamus burst out laughing, drawing all eyes to him. "Pamela is great Harry," he confirmed, winking at him.

"Change of topic, please," Neville asked desperately. Harry tsked at him. Just because his Pam lacked technique did not mean that they all had to stop the riveting discussion.

"Right," Hermione replied. "The Ministry says..."

"That I have to shag someone," Harry interrupted. "Now what's the bad part?"

"They're choosing the pairings mate," Ron said when Hermione gawked at him. "No exemptions."

"I still don't see the problem."

"You're marrying Snape."

Now that, Harry decided, was actually a problem.

"They expect me to marry a corpse?" he exclaimed minutes later, anxiously pacing the common room.

"What?" Hermione pressed, watching his moving frame. "Corpse?"

"How the hell do they expect me to marry Snape? He's dead!"

Ron and Hermione shared a look.

"Snape isn't dead mate."

Harry glared at him. "Don't be stupid Ron. Nagini killed him remember? I was there you know."

"Snape's in the Hospital Wing," Hermione countered, "where he's been since the end of the battle."

Harry stopped, looking at her as if she had grown a second head. "He. Is. Dead. I remember his last words to me. L-l-ily."

"Actually it was l-l-leave," Ron reminded him. "We were there too remember? He swallowed Draught of the Living Death while we were leaving."

"So he's dead."

"No he isn't," Hermione stated, rolling an eye at his stupidity. "The potion put him into a magical coma, stopping his heart. The poison is dormant within him now, giving Madam Pomfrey time to work on the antidote. It should be ready in a month."

"Why do you even know this?" Harry snapped.

"I know everything," she replied pertly.

"Oh really," he smirked. "Then you do know that Ron still shags Lavender right? That's why he doesn't know who Pamela is."

As Ron's eyes widened in shock and Hermione rounded on him, Harry walked toward the exit.

Neville, who was busy polishing his wand in a corner of the room looked up. "Where are you going Harry?"

"To kill a corpse," he replied cryptically as the entrance door opened. "It's either that or practice to ride a broom. Let's hope the first works out shall we?"

As the door closed behind him, Neville dropped his wand, and knew that he would never see a broomstick in the same light again.

Two days passed and Harry found himself in a sour mood. He had not been able to kill the corpse. Poppy had happened upon him before he could even decide how he could do it without landing himself in Azkaban (no, he was not turning evil. However, with the sake of his bumhole hanging in the balance, Harry was a bit desperate). Now that homicide was officially out of the question, he (after mourning the loss of his bed) had struggled to find a way out of the marriage. It was one thing to mandate he shag somebody, however, why Snape? If this thing was about repopulating the country, why were two men engaged.


Harry was stunned learn that male pregnancy was possible. Apparently the spawn lived in the large intestine and was shitted out when due.

Well no, that was not technically true. There was no such thing (or else Snape really would be dead).

There was no explanation for why he was marrying Snape. They were the only homosexual pairing after all. Harry personally felt that Umbitch had some role in the decision and reminded himself to get the centaurs to pay her another visit.

Eventually he had come up with one argument and one argument only. Snape was unconscious (dead) and thus he could not be expected to marry him (it was a form of necrophilia, he was sure of it!). Alas, that was proven false as, on the third day, a Ministry Owl arrived, with a marriage certificate. Apparently no signatures were necessary. He was married to a corpse and his name was now Harry Snape.

Well, Harry thought, as he tossed the parchment away. At least his bumhole was safe for as long as Snape did not awake. And if Snape did awake (although he strongly believed that the dead could not rise), then that was a problem that he would have to deal with.

As it turned out, a month passed and Snape did not awake. However, it did not mean that Harry's nether regions were safe.

"What is it this time?" Harry grumbled as he heard Hermione Granger shriek.

Was she still Granger, he pondered briefly. He couldn't remember if she had married yet or not, or who exactly was her spouse if that was the case. It could not be Ron. Rumour had it that he had yet to find his right nut. Harry knew it was a lost cause. He had seen Hermione talking to Hagrid not too long after their 'argument' and he was quite certain that the meatball in Fang's bowl had not been ground beef.

"There's an amendment to the marriage law!" she gasped.

"More people for me to screw?" he asked hopefully. Polygamy was not exactly a bad thing after all.

"Well no," she responded. "But it does affect you."

"Just tell me," he demanded.

"Well, the Ministry tracked whether the marriages were consummated or not. Those yet not consummated will be dissolved tomorrow and new marriages arranged for the individuals in the hopes that they are more compatible with their new spouses."

Harry perked up at that. In less than a day he would no longer be Harry Snape? He could live with that.

"Is the new list there?" he asked curiously.

"Err yes," she said hesitantly, although, looking at her, he could see she was quite pale.

"Well, who is it?" he demanded. It would definitely be a witch this time. He wondered if she were younger or older. It really did not matter, although, given his crush on Cho, he was certain that older women were the right type for him.

"It's, it's..."

"Spit it out!"

"McGonagall," she gasped. "You're marrying McGonagall."

And right there and then, Harry decided to faint.

"Where are you going?" Hermione demanded after he picked himself off the floor.

"This only applies to un-consummated marriages?" he asked, even as he started walking away.

"Well yes," she answered, jogging to keep up with him. "What are you doing?" she asked when he started shrugging out of his clothes bit by bit, tossing them carelessly around him.

The wizard stopped, and pinned her with a look. "I am not marrying her!" He rather have fun with Pamela for the remainder of his days. There was no way he was going to shag that old cat! Not that he believed he could actually rise to the occasion anyway. Merlin – seeing McGonagall naked...just the thought made his nuts shrivel up.

"No way in hell," he grumbled, as he tugged off his tie.

"There's no way around it!"

"Oh yes there is," he said tersely, drawing a gasp from her as he started unbuckling his belt. "I like them old, but I don't like them ancient. I rather ride a broomstick!"

His trousers sagged as he walked on, and irritably, he kicked them off.

"Harry!" Hermione called after him, not willing to follow and see more of him than she ever wanted to. "This is not the time to play Quidditch!"

"I'm not going to play Quidditch," he yelled back irritably, hands in the waistband of his pants. "I'm going to fuck the life back into Snape!"

The End.