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The Gilded Cage	By : ApollinaV Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 118789 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I’m not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.

Chapter List
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Chapter 10 – Ad Hominem They sat there, looking nothing less than perfect. It was even a bigger bundle than he’d ever netted on any Christmas or Birthday haul. Four large white paper boxes sitting on the cushion of a stylish leather armchair, the red tissue paper peeking out artfully. In another time and place a glamorous photograph for a department store could have been taken. It was as if someone had meticulously conceptualized exactly what he needed, and executed the plan flawlessly. Severus expected nothing less from his most impressive student. Hermione never did anything in half measures, she was too detail oriented and obsessive for anything short of perfection. He wasn’t certain what was contained in the rest of the boxes; he had only gotten so far as unwrapping the first few items before being overcome by something, a feeling, he couldn’t quite explain, but made him feel very uncomfortable. So the boxes sat. And he sat. Trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. Didn’t he want this? To make the best of a bad situation? Manipulate the witch just a bit? Get a few kicks and lighten up the misery in his life? Why did the witch have to get him the best of everything? If the first items were anything to judge by Hermione had spent a small fortune on items that would have made Lucius green with envy. Why? Surely she realized he was in Azkaban prison. The girl wasn’t dense enough to think that he had anyone to impress here. The dementors, though still well employed by the Ministry were no longer in residence since the Prison Reform Act, so he had no reason to bribe a guard. So the boxes sat. And he sat. After what might or might not have been several hours of a staring contest, Severus blinked first. There was no use for it. The boxes couldn’t possibly contain anything that would actually bite him, and he’d look like a damned fool if she came waltzing in the door only to see he hadn’t move a muscle other than to get the boxes as far away from his bed as possible. He had to open them, if for no other reason than to prove he wasn’t a coward. And that was another thing, just when was Hermione going to decide to show up? The chit hadn’t as much as given him notice. This was the girl that lived and died by her schedule. What if she decided to pop in while he was doing something important? He’d be damned if he’d rearrange his schedule for her. Mornings were sit-ups, pushups, crunches, squats, and whatever range of motion exercises he could manage given the small space. Running obviously was completely out, but he managed to get some cardio in by huffing and puffing through as many jumping jacks as he could. Afternoons were dedicated to silent meditation, reciting brewing instructions, and the occasional attempt at teaching himself more wandless magic. The wandless magic bit was only to keep himself busy, there was really nothing he seriously wanted to use magic for. What exactly would he do, ‘Accio toilet paper?’ In the evening he did his most serious thinking by composing potions in his head and dwelling on things that made him want to crawl into his disgusting mattress. No, Severus was quite busy and really didn’t have much time at all for the witch in his life. If she knew what was best for her she’d avoid just casually dropping by, mucking with his schedule and all that. He liked his life just fine. In fact it was perfect. Just dandy. “Oh fuck it all.” Severus grabbed the partially unpacked box and dumped the contents out on his cot. He certainly wasn’t afraid of a few grooming products. The girl had taste. Or at least an idea of what he liked, which of course was always tasteful. The most exquisite french-milled herbal soaps. A proper set of shaving lathers to accompany the wicked shaving razor. Nail clippers. Clean smelling deodorant. Assorted scrub brushes for every body part imaginable, and thank the gods above a package of fresh towels to replace the disgusting rag she’d transfigured into his much loved leather armchair. Surely her place in the heavens was assured. Practical items all in all. Manly even. The most fascinating of all were the bottles of shampoo and conditioner. Granger’s own brand, Good-Hair Day. He had no idea why anyone would want to call a hair product Good Hair Day, it would seem to suggest there was something such as a Bad Hair Day, but he chalked it up to her bizarre eccentricities. Severus read the labels twice. To say he was impressed was an understatement. No wonder the girl was successful. It was a universal truism; people always wanted what they didn’t have. Girls with heads full of enviable curls always wanted straight stringy hair. Stringy haired poor bastards like himself craved a bit of wave and body. Hair products catered to that need and raked in the galleons promising to transform any head into the ‘ideal.’ Not Granger’s. Her charmed-cleanser/potion simply promised to give the user the best outcome based upon what nature dictated. And because it worked with nature instead of against it the product was non-abrasive. Clever clever girl. He idly wondered what exactly she’d look like on a ‘good hair day,’ though most likely it would take a weed-whacker to get any desired effect. One box down and Severus was feeling less apprehensive about the situation on the whole. Actually he was a bit angry with himself for his moments of weakness. Weakness, that was all that it was. He was growing soft and sentimental in his imprisonment. Why should he deny himself whatever luxuries he could grab a hold of while caged up like an animal? He wasn’t quite certain to make of the clock and calendar duo. Did he really want to number his days? Take stock and account for the hours that slipped past him in silent mockery? It was all typical Hermione, never once could he remember an instance of her being late to a class. Severus supposed that if she wasn’t able to plan her waking hours down to the minute the poor girl would come utterly undone. Control freaks were all the same. The clock was quickly put aside. He was on nobody’s time but his own. The next three boxes were quickly sorted through and Severus now had a huge fluffy pile of red tissue paper. If she hadn’t included a role never-ending toilet paper he’d be a happy boy just with the packaging. As Severus was now in possession of several items and not a damn place to stow any of them; back in the magically expanding boxes they went. But first he changed into one of his new sets of robes. There was nothing comparable to the utterly sublime feeling of a new set of robes especially after two years of practical undress. The wool wasn’t as soft as he would have preferred, and the cut wasn’t precisely to his own tailor’s specification, but then he had lost a great deal of weight. At least she got the color right. Severus nearly felt human again. In fact when he closed his eyes and occulded his mind the world seemed strangely right for the moment, but then the moment quickly passed. The truth was that even though he had fresh linens and bedding of a disgustingly high Egyptian cotton thread count he wouldn’t dare throw them atop his fetid mattress, or let his new robes come in contact with it either. So the old grey prison clothes came back on and the luxuries packed away. Severus only allowed himself the joy of picking at will from the generous amount of books and periodicals she’d thrown in. * Ad hominum: To the person.
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The Gilded Cage