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The engagement had been short and... less agonizing than Snape had anticipated.
It was enough to shake a wizard's faith in human nature.
(Snape had a deep and fervent belief that the natural state of humanity was foul, moronic, misogynistic, and given half a chance sadistic. *That* was the faith that was being shaken. )
Draco had proved a remarkably charming finance. (Well - once the minor matter of dower and bride price and Snape's future alimony was settled. Plus Draco's increased allowance. The standards of a married man being much above the tat acceptable to a college student. Obviously. )
Snape had convinced Draco that it *was* - in proven fact - his child.
Draco had convinced Narcissia that casting an unforgivable on her first grandchild would be... ill advised. In as much as she might want a second grandchild. Eventually. (One way or another, an enraged Snape might make that .. less achievable.)
Narcissia had convinced Albus that Albus would be held responsible for his teacher's condition. After all - both teacher and student had been under Dumbledore's authority at the time of the... disaster. If either of them chose to approach the Wizmot? Perhaps siting unsafe classroom conditions? .
Albus had convinced the Ministry that Draco's willingness to marry a `war hero' proved that the Malfoy family was not all Dark. ( Or perhaps it was just that the Ministry considered marriage to THAT PARTICULAR war hero - ie Snape - to be punishment enough. )
Whatever the cause, the effect was the refund of all fines, plus a general pardon for those crimes the Ministry suspected but had not yet quite proved.
The wedding itself had been... better than expected.
Snape had insisted on a private ceremony. Entirely private. To be held in the Malfoy's private chapel. With Albus to serve as minister, best man, witness, and `father of the bride'.
Narcissia had sulked, but conceded.
Her desire to see her sons face on the front of (wizard Society Magazine ) whimpered into an unmerciful demise with the realization that Snape's face would , by necessity, appear as well.
Snape's face wasn't a work of art on his best day. Well - not unless one was fond of Picassos's more adventuresome works. These days? Half his features were blotted out by a pimple the size of a pumpkin.
And witches complained about swollen *ankles*?
HA!
The other half was set in a permanent... smile.
Shocking as that might seem.
Married life had been.... astoundingly pleasant.
Most especially after Snape had assured his young husband that he - Snape - would *not* be the sort of spouse given to jealous rage. Leave that to the homey Hufflepuffs. Let Draco date who he would - or as many as he could - and if photos of Draco and a dozen Muggle lingerie models appeared in the Quibbler?
Snape reached for his sharpers scissors. Then for his scrapbook album. He rather enjoyed reading the Society page these days.
If the orgy was truly newsworthy , Draco might even drop the memory into a Pensive so they could share.
Severus Snape flashed his wand.
Two house elves appeared. One with fresh tea water, and the other to fluff his pillows.
Snape sighed.
The married life did indeed agree with him.
Malfoy Manor was spacious, modernly furnished, sunny, and *warm*. None of which adjectives could be applied to his Hogwart's quarters.
Narcissia Malfoy ( After she had come to see the advantages of the situation - such as the return of her husband and her jewelry collection. Snape saw no need to comment on which return has elicited the louder squeals. ) had proved gracious, intelligent, and undemanding company. Again, words seldom applied to Snape's faculty colleagues.
He had no idea why so many morons seemed to despise their mother-in-laws. *His* was a treasure.
The Malfoy fortune had expedited the conversion of the old dragon hatchery into a modern potions facility. One twice the size - and three times as well equipped - as the lab Snape had to scrape and skint to install at Hogwarts. Not that Snape was able to work in these last months, but after the child was born? He knew that eventually the life of leisure would cloy, and he would want to rejoin the intellectual world.
Even that was better now.
The Malfoy name guaranteed that Modern Alchemist and Potions Quarterly (and yes - even that prick Querulous Quark, who had snubbed Snape at the last Arcane Arts Conference ) were eager to take his fire calls. Three previously rejected articles were now on the path to publication, and Schlemyel at Scholastic Scrolls had suggested they might be interested in a book.
Plus... there was Draco.
Pale, beautiful, and... horney.
Rampantly so - pun admitted.
Draco had been gratifyingly receptive to Snape's marital advances. Of course, that might just be because - even among the straightest of men - it is acknowledgedly hard to pass up a free blow job. Snape had never deluded himself that all ( read - any ) of the `gentlemen' he had previously found himself kneeling before had been especially enamored of him. But he had also never deluded himself that such tender passions were a requirement to either parties enjoyment. Helpful, perhaps, but hardly required. If it had been, a part of Snape suspected he would still be attracting unicorns.
Draco hadn't been moved to hearts and flowers - but he also hadn't moved away when Snape slid a hand down the back of his trousers.
Draco was *very* pretty.
Snape was *very* talented.
Sex is *very* fun.
Snape's wicked tongue -inspired by someone as pretty as Draco - could make sex very fun indeed.
As Draco came to understand.
So to speak.
There had been a brief but memorable `honeymoon' period, before Snape's growing pregnancy had put a stop to such intimacies.
Snape sighed. Again.
Memories of the happy first two months of his marriage had been all keeping Severus on the earth though the last. The grape had become a lemon had become a summer squash had become a *thing* with the mass of a Christmas goose.
A *living* goose that seemed to take a sadistic delight in kicking straight for Snape's jaw.
He was sure at least three molars had been loosened. (The dentist said no - but how could that idiot be sure. Snape could barely get his mouth open these days to give the man a look )
He was living on weak tea and vitamin potions.
His back was killing him.
He could no longer hear out of his left ear. ( Pressure on the ear canal. The mediwitch assured him this was temporary.)
His left eye was swollen shut.
Even with levitation spells, standing up was an iffy operation.
Snape was contemplating Kadavra's. OK. Nothing new there. But now? He was contemplating pointing his wand at himself.
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Snape woke - as he did all too often - to the *crack* of a tiny foot against his jaw.
He cracked his good eye.
The wizard clock on the nightstand pointed to `too damned early'.
Snape agreed.
His... offspring... had been restless yesterday. Enough so that the mediwitch had relented and allowed Snape a mild analgesic potion. Such things were not recommended in the last stages of pregnancy, but neither was banging ones head ( and child) against the nearest wall. Which Snape had threatened to do. A broken skull could not possibly have hurt more then the migraine caused by two feet playing drum solo's on ones cranium.
Nimue! Crucio didn't hurt more than that.
Snape was in a position to know.
He adjusted the pillow for better support and closed his eyes.
The blob moved again.
He reached for his wand.
The tiny foot shifted.
Snape's nose itched.
And itched.
Forget the wand. He reached for a handkerchief instead.
His nose *really* itched. So much that his eyes watered.
Rolling to one elbow, Snape took as deep a breath as he could and...
*S*N*E*E*Z*E*D*
Ten liters of water gushed out onto the bed.
Wet, sticky, pink, water.
Snape fell back on the mattress.
"DRACO!"
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It was noon.
The midwife had arrived. As had the support mediwitch. As had the house elves with fresh dry sheets. Only the last was giving Snape any comfort.
The sneezes had grown stronger. To the point where Snape was thankful for the mass covering his right eye. It would hold the eyeball in place. He expected the left eye to pop out at any minute from pure explosive force. The sneezes were more frequent. From one every quarter hour or so, they now came in waves. No sooner had one stopped, then the next was on it's way.
This seemed to please the midwife.
Nothing - absolutely NOTHING - was pleasing Severus Snape.
He wanted to breathe.
He wanted to see.
(Preferably to see the room empty and the clutter of cretins passing themselves off as healers GONE FROM HIS SIGHT! )
He wanted that creature that called itself his offspring OUT of his body RIGHT NOW!
If no sooner.
And - by the bye - he wanted Draco Malfoy's balls on a platter.
Just in case.
"Now, now, Severus." The mediwitch pressed a warm towel to the back of his neck. "You don't mean that."
Oops, Snape released, he must have accidentally said that last out loud. Part of him ( the biggest part ) wanted to growl `Hand me a rusty butter knife and see how much I mean it', but before he could manage the first syllable another wave of sneezing cut off his air.
"Dilating nicely." The midwife smiled.
"Not bad for a male pregnancy," the mediwitch agreed. "I had expected it to take longer."
Not and have both of them live, Snape snarled mentally.
The midwife patted his hand. "You're doing very well for a man."
Or that's what he thought she said. Another wave of facial cramps hit. All Snape heard was his own moan.
And women complain? Severus snarled to himself.
Snape decided he was never brewing another comfort potion again.
Try carrying a creature the size of a plucked turkey literally under your nose instead. See how that took you.
They thought *they* were in pain?
Passing a child out of a passage designed for exactly that had to be ease itself compared to....
"NO Severus - not yet." The midwife pinched the base of his nose.
Snape whimpered.
"Blood pressure rising." The mediwitch looked over Snape's shoulder, her focus on the midwife.
"OK." The midwife answered. "He's open." She knelt bedside Snape. "When the next spasm comes - try hard to sneeze."
As if he hadn't been doing just that for the last twelve hours.
He stated to shout just that, but a huge wave of pain clenched his chest. NO, his toes. Lights danced before his eyes. Spasm after spasm gripped him, rocking him back against the pillows as he fought futilely for air. The room blurred. His hearing failed.
Frantic, he put his strength into one last desperate heave and...
*waaaahhhh*
A particularly shrill cutting scream filled the room.
Snape looked down at his lap.
Ten pounds of red flesh wallowed in a pool of snot.
Black hair. Black eyes. Baby lips curled up in a baby scowl.
Snape breath caught.
Worse than before.
He lowered one finger.
Tiny purple fingers wrapped around it.
Snape's vision blurred again. This time from tears.
He smiled up at his husband.
"She's... beautiful."
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©KKR 2004