InsaneJournal

Fic post: Retro Fest Fic, Part Two
Title: Marriage a la Mode, 2/????
Pairing: Snape/Lupin, implied Harry/Draco
Canonicity: this is compatible only through GoF, since Sirius Black is alive.
Summary: the Dark Lord has decided that Severus should marry and has chosen the bride. Little does he know that she is not what she appears….
Warning: mpreg, gender switch

Part One can be found here.


It seemed not.

Severus had of course told Albus everything, and the mad old coot had clucked sympathetically and offered him boiled sweets. The Order would intervene, oh yes, most definitely. Severus would not have to marry a girl half his age who likely had been drugged to the point of stupor. The Gruyeres would be given sanctuary so they would not have to whore their child. And so on, and so on, and so on.

It had all sounded very good, even if Sirius Black had muttered something about there being enough ugly children already so why not neuter Snivellus right away and save everyone the trouble? Lupin had glared him into silence and apologized for him, and then the Order had spent several hours formulating plans that had as much chance of success as Dung Fletcher's latest get-rich-quick scheme.

Time had passed all too quickly, and now it was his wedding day. The Long Gallery at Riddle Manor was decked in exact imitation of the frontispiece to Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to a Gorgeous Wedding!, down to the fluttering cupids scattering orange blossom and the fluttering sugar paste fairies whizzing about the punch bowl. Lucius and Narcissa, both in their finest robes, would be acting as his sponsors since his nearest relative was a Squib cousin with a flatulence problem.

Even some of his students had managed to slip out of the school to attend. Parkinson, normally a sensible girl, wore a dress of heliotrope tulle so stiff it could almost stand by itself, and Draco was in dress robes that made him look older, less spoilt, and almost dashing. Parkinson barely left his side, and Severus had the disquieting sense that she was hoping to be in the same condition as the bride so as to force Draco into marriage. And of course if Parkinson fell pregnant, half the older girls in Slytherin would follow suit -

"Well, Severus." Lucius Malfoy, strutting slightly, appeared at his elbow. He had of course offered to be Severus's supporter since he was already acting in lieu of family, and of course Severus had accepted, on the condition that Lucius would care for the new Madam Snape and her child should anything happen to Severus. The Malfoys were sycophants, but at least they had enough money to provide for a pregnant widow if the worst happened. "This is your big day."

"One might call it that." Severus let himself be steered toward the family chapel. Like most of Riddle Manor, it was the worst sort of Victorian pseudo-medieval, complete with Burne-Jones windows and corseted Gothic maidens gazing down from the rood screen. "I trust you are enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, very much so," said Lucius. He made a show of genuflecting as they neared the altar. Severus did not follow suit. The Snapes were firmly Low Church. "I assume our Lord has dosed you with the appropriate medicaments? Your old tendencies will not interfere?"

"Of course." Severus had managed to palm some of the pharmaceutical cocktail Voldemort had prescribed, but not all. He would be rational tonight, barely, but unless Mademoiselle Gruyere's parents had done likewise the poor girl didn't have a chance. What would happen once she realized that her new husband preferred a muscular man to a nubile girl was unknown. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of advice for raising sons."

Lucius snorted. "It's daughters we need. All the roosters in the world are worthless without hens." He curled his lip at Parkinson. "Quality hens."

The pews were starting to fill up with guests. Voldemort, in surprisingly tasteful robes, took his place at the altar beside a nervous, twitching priest. Severus squared his shoulders and joined them. Let it never be said that he lacked courage.

A wheezing blat filled the air as someone, probably Goyle's wife, began playing something vaguely march-like. Monsieur Gruyere, looking anything but pleased, started down the aisle, a white-veiled figure on his arm. Severus forced back a cough as he tried to take a deep breath and inhaled incense from a censer swung by a staggering elf. Leave it to Voldemort to turn a simple rite into smells and bells, there was no reason to -

She genuflected in a pool of white silk, handed her bouquet of orange blossom and ivy to Parkinson, then joined him at the altar. Her expression was serene, not vacant, and she smiled in a way that was almost familiar as she returned to face him. Her father, sweating, had retreated to an almost empty pew after "giving this woman to this man," and Severus had little doubt that he would be apparating straight to Toulouse as soon as was decent.

"If any man can show just cause why these two may not lawfully be joined together before God and these assembled mages, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace."

Severus tensed at the ritual challenge. This was his - their last chance. Surely something would happen to interrupt this farce of a wedding, perhaps Fawkes setting the building on fire or Albus turning the orange blossoms into bees or Potter crashing through the Burne-Jones window of Mary Magdalene and her ointment jar and dropping the rood screen on Voldemort's head -

"Severus?"

Her accent was softer than he remembered. "Mademoiselle." He sucked in a breath as the chapel remained untouched by flying Potters or rampaging birds.

"The priest asked us to join hands." Again, that faint, familiar smile. "It is our wedding day, mon coeur. Can you not call me by my name?"

He set his jaw at the gentle rebuke. He owed her that much courtesy. "Of course, Made - Soleil."

He would never forgive Albus.

Her fingers were cool, and slim, and surprisingly strong. Severus froze at the gentle touch, shuddering as the first of the spells set on his flesh activated. Her eyes widened in shock, and he knew that she, too, burned.

They were doomed.

He never quite remembered the vows, a mixture of Book of Common Prayer and spells older than the Gospels. Sound blurred at the invocation of Jesus and Isis, the One God and the Mother Goddess, at the prayers for happiness and the demands for fertility. Someone who sounded remarkably like Severus himself pledged her his body, soul, and wand, and a soft French-accented voice promised to obey and love and submit. Even the cold, almost metallic tones of the Dark Lord blessing her womb and his seed that they might produce mighty offspring sounded kind, not imperious.

Before he knew it Lucius had shoved a ring into his hand and he had slipped it onto her finger, and he had cast back her veil to gaze into brilliant gold-brown eyes that met his with nothing but love. The priest shook holy water on them as they kissed, long enough and deep enough that one or two of the bolder witnesses tittered, and then they were turning and heading down the aisle, Soleil glowing with the joy known only to a beloved bride, Severus grinning like a besotted fool.

They were married.