To Hell in a Handfasting
by Juliane

Chapter 1

The usual disclaimers apply - all characters are JK Rowling’s, except Viviane Chance.

How could this happen? Viviane thought, dropping her head into her hands. How?

She was sitting at her dressing table, hordes of excited students and Professors chattering around her, while Hetty Hooch kept making inappropriate comments and getting quietly pinched by Germaine Sprout.

The last thing she remembered about her getaway weekend with Severus was Apparating to Greta Green for some of the famous whiskey brewed at Hardwicke’s Wizard Pub, drinking quite a lot of it and waking up…waking up…with a rather nice emerald ring on her finger and a severe hangover. It was puzzling, but the puzzlement turned to horror when she’d discovered the marriage certificate lying on the dresser. Yes, there they were, pictured under their signatures, she and Severus, holding each other up and grinning like sodden idiots. A rather dubious-looking wizard in judge’s robes was waving over their shoulders.

They’d tried to get out of it. Severus had been as taken aback as she by the proof of their folly, although he hadn’t been cheap enough to demand the ring back," Viviane thought, twisting the massive stone around her finger.

"Oooh, Professor Chance," screeched Lavender Brown, grabbing at her hand. "Who would have thought Professor Snape would have such taste in jewelry. It’s so-"

"large," sighed Parvati, wistfully.

Viviane was very, very sorry she’d only Petrified them on that first day of class.

On their return, they immediately went to Dumbledore, in hopes he could help with a very quick and even quieter divorce. Severus, that blasted fool, simply shoved the certificate at Albus instead of explaining their errand. Any hope of escape was over, once the Headmaster realized what had happened. Viviane found herself hugged, patted, petted, feted, showered, and now she was about to be very publicly handfasted, before her brain and her evil, dangerous streak could possibly reassert themselves to extract her from this heinous mess.

~*~*~

Severus stalked about his room, randomly breaking things, as the rest of the fools who crowded his dungeon drank off several shots of Old Ogden’s.

"Buck up, old pal," yelled a tipsy Sirius. "I hate your guts, but you’re a braver man than me, to have married that crazy wench. Soon, in less than an hour, we’re going to make it official, Hogwarts style! Cheers to you!" He shoved a full glass of whiskey into Snape’s hand. Snape drank half of it off in a gulp and withdrew to the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, he covered his face with his hands. How could I have let myself be trapped like this? Surely, this was her idea. Did she plan this? Is she going to insist on moving in to my dungeon? He raised his head and reached out to give the damp stone wall a loving stroke of his fingers, as if to reassure it against the possibilitly of such a foul violation. Or will she make Dumbledore move me into her rooms? Just who brought up the idea in the first place? He tried to remember everything that had been said and done that night, but all memories were blurry after that sixth round of Hardwicke whiskey.

It wasn’t me who suggested it? Was it? The last thing I want to do is marry, and to marry her…if I did, in some kind of lunatic, whiskey-fueled frenzy, she must think that all this time I secretly…I did buy that ring. I think.

He groaned and dropped his hands back down to his lap. "Oh, blast the woman," Snape yelled, picking up his glass in order to hurl it against the wall, but then thought better of it and drank off the rest of the liquor. Getting up from the toilet, he shook out his ceremonial robes, blood red and of finest silk, trimmed with gold that shone discreetly in the light. "I look like one of those Catholic Muggle vicars," he snarled at his reflection. "All I need is a staff and a big pointy hat."

The noise in his rooms got louder, as the Headmaster had apparently arrived to escort him to the grove where the ceremony would take place. Snape stood in the bathroom and listened to the jolly hubbub, hating all of them with his very best virulence, the kind he usually kept for large dogs and heroic, famous boys. The night before, those idiots had thrown him something called a ‘bachelor party,’ meaning they’d gotten completely blotted at Rosmerta’s, returned to Remus’ rooms for more alcohol, presented him with an overlarge cake out of which Hetty Hooch jumped naked, and ended by throwing him in the lake. Snape sighed and wished he’d had the presence of mind to fill his pockets with large rocks.

~*~*~

Viviane was still sitting in front of her mirror, staring morosely at her breasts, pushed high by her gold satin-and-lace corset, while Hetty was taming Viviane’s mane of hair into an intricate pile of braids. Somewhere, echoing dimly outside her confused thoughts, were phrases from the other women in the room.

…"so romantic…she saved his life, you know…."

"…a runaway match…who would have thought…"

"…she must love him so, although I don’t know why…"

"…I bet it took him months to plan…"

Everyone got quiet when the door opened, and someone made a move to throw a sheet over Viviane. Standing up and draining her glass of champagne, she glared at the offender. "I’m not a parrot-" she snapped, but stopped in amazement at the sight of Madame Trelawney, dressed in yards of what looked like curtain sheers and pearls enough to bankrupt several hundred oyster beds.

"Hello, my dear Viviane, and congratulations," she said, rather more mistily than usual. "On your joyous occasion, I must admit it makes me sorrowful…my own lost love, and I told him the Nundu hunt would be fatal - but enough of this, my dear." She drew herself up into a triumphant pose, and proclaimed, "I have brought the dress!"

"The dress?" Minvera queried. "It’s in my rooms - how did you-"

"Oh no, Minerva," Trelawney said. "I’m sure whatever you came up with is suitable enough, but this is special…meaningful….fraught with destiny…."

Lavandar and Parvati held onto each other and sighed.

Viviane backed away as Trelawney waved her wand and went into a trance.

"No. No, don’t. Please, no-"

"You are only a few years younger than she was when she died, poor Muggle princess" the Seer chanted. "You were both of puissant ancestry…and your deaths will be so similar and at the same age, although yours will be much more painful and disturbing than a mere auto crash…"

A huge swathe of ivory silk appeared in the room, borne by drugged, gilded pixies, singing in tinny harmony as they scattered silver confetti behind them:

Even though you’ll be dead quite soon

Even though we’ll mourn you with tears

Wear this dress and put aside fears

And enjoy your love under a crescent moon.

They bore the dress towards the shrinking Viviane, and dropped it over her struggling head. It molded itself to her body, encasing her in a mass of ruffles, crinolines and enormous leg ‘o mutton sleeves.

"It’s soooo beautiful," breathed Lavandar and Parvati.

"Well-" hedged Hermione.

Hooch and Sprout fell over a wine table and lay on the floor, giggling.

"Er," said Minerva.

Sinistra passed out from the total overthrow of all of her aesthetic sensibilities. Madame Pince caught her, and Madam Pomfrey whipped out her smelling salts.

"Get it off me, now," hissed Viviane, holding her arms away from her body and not daring to move.

"Certainly," said Minerva, recovering her briskness and ridding Viviane of the dress with a wave of her wand. They both ignored Trelawney’s murmur of "Our dear late Princess…my beloved betrothed, the late Horatio Mudwren," as she subsided into a plump armchair. Malhereuse flapped over to roost on the back and began to survey the pearls with great interest. Parvati and Lavender had tried to affix a large, white bow to his neck, but desisted after losing chunks of their arms.

Minerva cleared her throat. "Viviane, as your friend and mentor, I consider it a privilege to provide the dress you’ll wear to your handfasting." The older woman reached out to touch Viviane’s cheek in a tender gesture. "You deserve happiness, and if Severus can provide that, I’m thrilled that you found each other."

Viviane studied the carpet in acute embarassment, and only looked up at the collective gasp as Minerva’s offering appeared. Viviane’s eyes widened in astonishment. "Oh…I cannot accept-"

"Yes you can, my dear," said Minerva, as she and the others helped to drop the dark green velvet carefully over Viviane’s head. It was perfectly tailored to her figure, sweeping into a full train from the narrow lines of the bodice, which laced up the front, allowing hints of her gold corset to peek through. The hem and the neckline were embroidered with an exquisite pattern of vines, as were the ends of the long sleeves, ending in a point on the back of her hands.

Everyone stood silently, gazing at the lovely vision that looked nothing like the crazed mess of a woman they were used to.

"Wear it in health and happiness," whispered Minerva, as she embraced her friend. "Er, okay," mumbled Viviane.

"One more thing," she added, gazing over Viviane's shoulder. Cho, Ginny, Pansy and Millicent burst into the room, arms full of blood-red roses and heads full of swoony excitement.

Ginny, her face as red as her hair that signified the obvious blazing beauty of her future self, but for now made her look like a distressed peony, panted, "Professor McGonagall, we tried to get the hair from a unicorn's tail to bind the wreath, we really did, but every time we got a unicorn to lay its head in our laps, it would run off as soon as we explained our errand and mentioned Professor Chance's name..."

"Oh. Oh, no matter." McGonagall waved her wand, and the flowers, shedding their thorns, wove themselves into a wreath which descended onto Viviane's head. Hetty settled it in place with a few deft touches, and everyone fell back to admire Viviane a second time.

"Are we ready, yet?" she snapped.

Minerva took her arm. "Yes we are, my dear. Come. It is time to be united to the man you were destined to love." A fresh wave of nausea made Viviane reach for her freshly filled champagne glass, but McGonagall performed a deft interception and steered her out of her rooms and onto Hogwarts’ lawn.

"Dumbledore has given us permission to Apparate, this once. You must be very dear to him, Viviane, because I've never heard of this happening before."

You never heard the whole story about the incident in his Pensieve, either, Viviane thought, but the next moment was yanked through space and landed on a lawn redolent with embarassing memories.

She turned to Minerva. "Here? There ceremony is here, at Malfoy's?"

"He offered. He said that he'd enjoy seeing Severus give himself the worst possible punish - I mean, realize his happiness."

Lavandar, Parvati and Pansy sighed, followed a little later and much more emphatically by Hermione.

Viviane gazed up at the Malfoy manse and shrugged. Can't get any worse, I imagine.

Everyone stood around for a few moments, taking time to admire each other's toilettes. Minerva was dressed in a tartan silk, dark green and blue and enlivened by black rickrack trim. The plaid gave an illusion of blocky curves to her spare figure, making Poppy, swathed in a very low-cut silver lame gown, swoon a little. Hermione was so respelendently beautiful in her sleek chestnut hair and perfect figure, encased by a cloud of peach taffeta ruffles, that the other girls, clad in various hues of pink silk (except for Cho Chang, in slinky black satin), growled at her. Ginny secretly wept at the horrible contrast between her hair and gown, and thought that Harry would never, ever love her.

Hetty and Germaine were practicing the steps of the Black Bottom in vintage flapper outfits, bought during a trip to a Muggle consignment store. Hetty was vivid in a red dress of excessive fringe, and Germaine smoldered in a blue bias-cut silk, topped by a boa. It hissed at Miss Pince, who had arrived in a seersucker trouser suit. Miss Pince rapped it smartly on the head, and it shut up. Arabella Figg was present, dignified in a gown of black bombazine with ruffles of yellow ochre at neck and wrists.

"Now," Minerva said, biting off her words more crisply than necessary, "we all must form our procession, and we'll meet Severus and his attendents at the back of the mansion, then process together to the momentarily sacred grove. We did some serious disinfecting last week," she added in an undertone to Hetty.

The women fell into place around Viviane, Minerva and Arabella supporting her as Mother and Crone, Hermione trailing behind as a rather surly Maiden, sneezing from the cascade of petals and herbs that the other students were tossing about.

*~*~*

Severus stalked off, forcing the rest of the men to catch up to him. "Where are we going?" he snarled at Dumbledore, who was glittering in a blue and gold robe, embroidered with the figures of Merlin and Nimue. They were busy doing very naughty things to each other.

"Hold on, dear boy, and I'll show you," Dumbledore said, grasping Severus' arm. The Potions Master felt the sharp tug of Apparation, and found himself on the side lawn of Malfoy's mansion. Lucius was there, a dignified smirk on his face.

"Severus, I offer you the use of my gardens as a token of our age-old friendship. It will indeed be amusing to witness you irrevocably chain yourself to a dangerous harpy - I mean it will be an honor to see you united to your true love."

Remus came forward and took Severus' other arm, in time to prevent it from connecting with Malfoy's nose. "It is time."

The processions approached each other, rich materials, incomprehensible banners, and happy grins glinting in the sun. Dumbledore looked faintly radioactive.

As they got near enough to stop squinting, a gasp rippled throug the wizards at the sight of Viviane.

"She is resplendent as the morning sun," whispered Flitwick.

"I always knew Viviane was beautiful, underneath the murders and the scowl," stated Remus.

"Her beauty rivals that of a Hungarian Horntail in heat," sighed Hagrid.

"I'd do her," declared Sirius. Remus glared at him.

~*~*~

"Severus looks like a murderous Muggle cleric," commented Viviane.

"Yes, well, red isn't really his color," temporized Minerva.

"Just imagine him without the robe," suggested Hetty, adding "or maybe in a floor-length dressing gown" in response to the grossed -out silence that settled on the group.

Minerva shoved Viviane at Severus with such force that they were forced to grab at each other to keep from falling over.

"I hope you're satisfied," growled Severus, as the procession streamed past.

"Go to hell," replied Viviane.

to be continued...