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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
- 34
- 35
- 36
Everyone - You all had about the same reaction, so I’ll just respond this way. And I apologize in advance if anyone gets hurt. I’m thrilled you love the hate-speech espousing, smiling, cheerful, bigoted House-elves. You knew my cauldron cracked long ago; this just proves it. I think more people responded to this chapter than any other…wonder what it says about you… ah well, we’re in good company! Oh, and no, the connection is one-sided only. Hermione cannot feel Severus.

Additionally, please see the contest advertised in the A/N below.

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Chapter 35 - Nemo Repente Fuit Turpissimus

As it turned out, there wasn’t any food at the Homestead. The elves were accustomed to eating tasteless, parboiled root vegetables grown in a small plot in one of the greenhouses, but that did not sound appetizing in the very least. And there was nothing in the larder that Hermione would term edible, which invariably reminded her that her dear husband was languishing in prison and had only revolting prison slop to eat as well. So while the merry band of house-elves scrubbed, polished, and opened up the stifling house, all the while singing ‘Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo,’ Hermione went out to grab supplies and check on Severus.

Severus was hunched over his lap desk, his back steadily protesting the abuse as he furiously wrote intimate details of his life. Hermione's absence had incensed him, and prodded him into reliving some of the uglier moments of his very ugly life.

He didn’t trust Portkeys he hadn’t made. He never expected reinforcements to arrive on time or at all. He believed the worst would happen. He always carried a backup wand and knife. He hated people sneaking up on him, and had had only had one ‘Surprise’ birthday party. Once was enough. He suspected the Dark Lord had other informants within the Order. He had no faith in the Ministry’s wheels of justice. He anticipated Fidelius Charms would be betrayed. He never uncorked a wine he wasn’t prepared to finish nor hexed someone he wasn’t prepared to kill.
And yet, as he poured his soul, small and ugly that it was, into sheaths of parchment, he mastered the niggling voice of paranoia. He would write it all. All the filth and sordid details, the unfiltered truth, everything. If history was going to make a morality tale out of his pathetic life, they had best get it right. He heard her footsteps in the corridors; she was accompanied this time by the Mulciber boy who lumbered alongside her quick stride. Severus put down the quill that had detailed the torture of the Longbottoms and awaited her arrival.

He was not in a good mood.

“Four meals, Hermione!” he raged as he spread his arms out wide for the guard, demonstrating he was unarmed. “That’s four meals I’ve now missed, witch. I hope for your sake you’ve brought me something decent.” His sensitive nose had already detected the aroma of pizza, and his taste buds were screaming for another bit of ale.

“Relax, Severus,” she called out, bumping the cell door closed with her hips, her arms laden with pizza boxes and beer. “One would think you’ve never spent a day in prison, the way you’re going on.”

“What happened? Why did you abruptly stop visiting, and what possessed you to move into the Homestead in the middle of the bloody night?”

“You knew about that?” she gaped, sloughing her flats off and hopping onto the bed.

“Obviously,” Severus droned, greedily cracking open a bitter. “As Master of the Homestead I felt your presence.” He was not going to elaborate if she asked. Knowing Hermione, if she knew the Homestead was feeding him intelligence on her coming and goings, she'd find a way to subvert it. And that was not at all in keeping with his plans.

“But how? You know what? Never mind, I don’t care. That’s quite a place you’ve got there, though. Donald and Daisy, eh?”

“Ah. Mum. She lived more in her fantasy world than real life, and she was always was nutters for Disney,” he replied wistfully. “Some Great Uncle So-and-So used to sneak her out to see the movies and bought her accompanying comics and whatnot. I think that’s how she fell in love with the Muggle world. Too bad she fell in love with a Muggle. He was a right shit."

He ignored the incensed glare Hermione shot him when he disparaged his Muggle father. It was as if she took the insult personally every time he said anything against a Muggle, which was really absurd. There was no reason at all to get her little nose out of joint over a little Muggle-bashing when nobody was getting hurt. And she did not have the right to speak on behalf of every Muggle or take responsibility for their actions. Aside from which, wizards could be just as rotten, underhanded, and dangerous as Muggles, but still he surmised, Hermione took it all so damn personally. And the idea that she should get offended on behalf of his own horse's ass father, who'd likely not spare any kindness towards her was, well, really quite funny. Were he still alive and had the opportunity to meet his daughter-in-law, Tobias would likely have felt up her tits and invited her to have a go, as a welcome to the family.

“So I gathered from your book.” At his startled look, Hermione added, “What? You didn’t honestly believe I wouldn’t look at it, did you? Of course I read your work.”

“And?” he fished.

“It’s acceptable. Exceeds Expectations,” she teased.

Severus scowled darkly and hid his face behind an inky veil of hair. “I knew it was rubbish.”

“Oh please, it’s absolutely fantastic and you know it. Although I was tempted to return it to you with nasty comments slashed through it like you used to write all over my essays. I wouldn’t, though.”

“If only because you’re too tender-hearted to state the truth,” he spat as if the sentiment itself was foul on his lips. “It’s crap.”

“No, you dunderhead,” Hermione smiled, enjoying his reaction to her term of endearment. “Because it really is brilliant. And sweet. Funny, too, for that matter.”

Severus threw his head back against the headboard and sighed deeply. “It doesn’t matter; it’ll never be finished. I have no ending.”

“Pardon?”

He gestured to several thick rolls of parchment. “There’s no ending to it.”

“Severus, you’re going to have to give me more than that if you expect me to follow you.”

“What the hell am I supposed to write, Hermione? Should I switch to present tense and remark that I’m currently resting my pale ass on a springy mattress, hoping that my witch will bring me another issue of Prospective Potions Periodical? Should I mention that I have no future goals? No ambitions? No future, period? Or should I end with, ‘I’m not dead yet!’”

“Well, I rather like that. Reminds me of a line from a Monty Python movie.”

“You’re bloody useless, you know that!” he raged, tugging his hair back with long raking fingers. His mouth set in a cruel glower.

“Oh, hush. Although I do rather like ending with ‘I’m not dead yet.’ It somewhat skirts the finality of your situation. Sorta hints to the reader that there’s hope yet.”

“In a hopeless situation,” he interjected.

“Oh, so now you want out of prison. What happened to Mister I-keep-myself-here? I thought you had a lot more self-loathing to do.”

“No. I doubt I’ll ever leave here, or even try,” Severus bitterly conceded. “I wouldn’t want to burden you with my presence further. We’d be miserable together. You married me because you didn't want a real husband, remember?” He lifted his eyes and pierced her with a tender gaze filled with wretched longing. There was such an abject sadness about him; he rendered her immobile from the intensity of his hurt.

Hermione’s chest filled with air, and yet she couldn’t breathe, it was an acute pain that sliced through her chest. Guilt and sadness warred beneath her breastbone. Even if he made the decision to have himself exonerated, he wouldn’t. For her. Hermione was utterly overwhelmed by the crushing feeling. He would give up on any possible future. Any possible happiness. For her.

That wasn’t what she wanted. That wasn't what she’d asked for. If she had to sacrifice her happiness for someone else, that was one thing. As silly as it sounded, she was a Gryffindor. She was conditioned to sacrifice self for the greater good, as the highest calling of bravery. For Severus to place her needs above his own was something quite different.

“Oh,” she whispered and quickly took a swig of beer, not knowing how else to break the devastating moment. “Well, um, what have you written so far?”

Severus closed his eyes, shutting Hermione out for a moment as his fingers methodically shredded the beer label from the bottle in perfectly even strips.

“I’ve been writing about my mates,” he rasped. “I’ve been trying to strike a balance between the horrid reality of the crimes we committed, the pain we inflicted upon innocent people, and my mates. My brothers. We were hooligans and ruffians, absolute bastards and completely without mercy at times, but we were still people. They… they were still people. I’m no longer certain of my own humanity.”

“And?” Hermione prompted thoroughly intrigued.

Severus shrugged elegantly and reached for another slice. “Pieter was really funny. Antonin’s kid brother, died in a raid. Fucking Aurors butchered him. Anyway… Pieter used to have this stutter, and after a few rounds of Crucio from the Dark Lord, his stutter was really pronounced. But it was really funny. Especially when he couldn’t pronounce ‘Crucio’ himself. He used to say ‘Cr… cr… cr… cr… Crucio!’ Bollox the whole damn spell up. Couldn’t cast an Unforgivable to save his life.”

“That’s terrible!” Hermione gasped.

“Hey! It was funny at the time. I guess you just had to be there,” he mumbled. “At any rate, that’s how I ended up writing most of my early Death Eater days. I was trying to make them real. Show people that we were more than just idiots hiding behind our masks and our wands. Hell, most of us didn’t even want to do that.”

“I think that sounds perfect.”

“Yeah?” he asked, sounding very uncertain and vulnerable for a man who’d worn an impenetrable mantle most of his life.

Hermione gave him a bright smile. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

After a few happy minutes of munching, Hermione finally caved and nervously told him about the Douchebag’s lawsuits, moving into the Prince Homestead, and her gaggle of foul-mouthed singing elves. Severus was not amused, but understood the logic of moving Granger Industries into the Homestead. He just requested that Ffoulkes review their confidentiality clauses, especially after the Douchbag had subverted his.

He sighed wearily and lifted his beer in a silent toast. “You know in the good old days, I could have delt with that asshole myself, but I suppose the Ministry has Kissed every decent thug out there. Pity. There’s something to be said about handling your problems in-house. I might have had a bit of fun with this one.”

He was tempted to add he'd have him killed for her if she wanted, but doubted Hermione would approve. Then again, it seemed any scoundrel he would have trusted to do the job was dead. It was rather pathetic being the last bastard around. The end of an era of sorts. And though there were days when he wanted to peel back his own skin and scream, well... it wasn't all bad. No one Death Eater was all bad. Psychotic, perhaps, but not without a few stray redeeming qualities. Even scary Bella had her good points. Well, not in the bedroom, where she'd try to scratch a man's cock off with those pointed nails, but then any bloke stupid enough to be lured into bed with her deserved it. Severus had succumbed to her temptation once, and once was quite enough. But even Mad Bella was fantastic with children. Not that anyone would guess. During raids she'd hold them on her hips and coo gently in their ears to calm them while their parents were tortured by others. She always put herself between innocents, and if the Dark Lord ordered that all were to be killed, children included, she took the task on herself to ensure it was as quick and painless as possible. After those raids she was damn near inconsolable and took her pleasure violently on any lad who fell to her charms.

He supposed that was why he could never muster up any joy during the anniversary of the Final Battle. One of his guards, Cooley, always made it a point on that day to come by and try to rattle him with what were supposed to be stinging insults. Severus had never met a more stupid Ravenclaw. He suspected the rest of the world celebrated the day in typical fashion by filling pubs. Severus imagined ignorant wizards who no doubt never lifted a wand in battle took to the streets to get royally piss drunk and raise toasts to Harry Fucking Potter. Severus could not allow the triumph of winning overshadow the significant losses. On both sides. Standing in the middle of two opposing forces, Severus had to contend with watching his friends die at each other's hands. And he still felt like a traitor to both.

“What would you have done?” Hermione asked. It did not escape Severus’ attention that her eyes were wide and riveted on him, she leaned forward hanging off his every word, and a blush crept up her cheeks.

Severus arched an eyebrow towards his hungry looking wife. Perhaps she would have approved of a little blood letting. Fascinating. “I would have hunted him down, and in very plain-spoken terms let him know that if he threatened my wife or her livelihood, they would never find his corpse, but as a kind gesture, I’d make certain that his widow would have enough of him to perform a proper burial. Please understand, Hermione I would only resort to physical violence if absolutely necessary. After all, it’s only sporting that he’s given fair warning.”

“And if he persisted, what then?” Hermione unconsciously licked her lips, and felt a thrilling rush listening to Severus describe brutal mayhem delivered in a silken purr.

He leaned forward, closer, stopping near enough to Hermione to watch her shallow pants and witness her dilated brown eyes flash, and smirked. He’d seen more than his fair share of witches creaming their knickers for bad boys, but he wasn’t certain he wanted her to think of him performing acts of violence in such detail.

Severus inhaled the warm heat of pheromones wafting off of her, his talented nose picking up light traces of her arousal. Employing his most sensual drawl, Severus murmured, “Hermione, I would have made good on my threat. Nobody hurts what’s mine.”

His eyes narrowed and focused on her fingertips. They had flown up to her collar bone where she absentmindedly stroked the skin between her breasts and the hollow of her throat.

“Oh yes, Hermione,” he spoke, his chest rumbling low, “You are mine.”

She swallowed loudly, feeling completely penetrated and undone by his intense gaze. She knew she was burning up for him, her nipples ached beneath the cups of her bra, and a liquid warmth seeped into the crotch of her knickers. But if she stayed any longer, indulged herself in his overpowering presence, his perceptive nose would know it too. Little did she know, it was far too late for that.

“I have…” she rasped, and swallowed again, “I have to go… This was… nice, Severus. As always, thank you for your company, but I really must be going.”

He smirked triumphantly as she scurried out his door and ran as if chased down the hollow flagstone hallway. Her echoing heels brought him more satisfaction than if she had stayed.

Severus was languishing in his nightshirt, dwelling on his indomitable little witch who had carved out a place for herself from the stony walls of his existence and prison cell, when he felt the wards of his Homestead quickly lowered. His breath of relief that she had safely completed the long Apparition home caught in his throat as he perceived her overwhelming arousal. It utterly blindsided him for a moment, the sheer intensity of Hermione’s desire he could feel sharply, as he focused all of his awareness and energy on the witch.

Hermione was burning up, as if her years of self-denial had conspired to unleash themselves on her body and psyche at once. If she hadn’t fled, she wasn’t certain what she’d do to the poor wizard. Pin him to the bed sheets? Thrust herself upon him? As she wandered the dark maze of interconnecting rooms in search of her bed - any bed - those suggestions and a host of other aberrant thoughts sounded good.

Mercifully she found the small pillow-top mattress the elves had made up as a bed for her and by the armful drew the thick down filled pillows around her body. She wanted to feel entirely enveloped. Cradled. Surrounded. Hermione craved contact against her skin, even if it wasn’t the lover her body screamed to embrace.

Drawing a hand down his flushed face, Severus heard her anguish, felt her insistent want, and propped his own body up on his elbows and knees, mentally covering her body with his own. Groaning softly at the feel of cotton sheets instead of her yielding hips. On its own accord his cock swelled and filled agonizingly with blood, as it ached to answer her needy call.

Hermione wriggled in bed, drawing down jeans and knickers in haste as she simultaneously tried to pull up her blouse and kick off her trainers. Her body’d been set afire. His words stroked her imagination. Severus. She couldn’t get naked quick enough, Hermione needed to hold on to the moment back in his cell when she responded absolutely to his overwhelming maleness. ‘A man’ her female body screamed. Severus.

Once more the brief mental image from long ago flashed into her mind of Severus on the floor of his cell, naked to the waist, perspiration glistening as he speedily glided through repetitions of push-ups. Her voyeuristic observation of him then - the hard planes of his stomach, his lean shoulders, the trail of hair from his navel - hadn’t registered as remotely sensual to Hermione’s brain at the time. But her body remembered it. Again and again.

“Shit,” she whined, flinging jeans across the room and obviously knocking something over. Not that she’d get up and responsibly clean up, not now that fingers had finally found purchase of her ache.

The first hasty grab of her painfully engorged clit shot through her body and senses as nerve endings vibrated, her back lifting, arching, begging to come to completion. She plucked and flicked at the little bud, moaning and squirming to hit it just right, her eyes closed as they rolled towards the top of her head. Imagining… The vision of Severus, his head between her splayed thighs, came readily, a smug cheshire grin as he lapped at her folds seemed so right… so perfect.

“Oh Gods, I can’t take this!” he cried out, rocking his hips into the mattress where only a scant half hour before her soft body had lain. His thumb pushed against the swollen pulsating vein that stretched the underside of his shaft. He could feel her building, knew she was touching herself, and could only hope, only imagine she was thinking of him. That his Vixen was crying out for his touch. Severus’ palm stroked across his sensitive skin, his grip tightening as he saw himself driving into her. Hermione’s slack jaw opened wide and moaning his name, taking him deep. Receiving him.

“Oh shit…” she cried, and plunged a finger quickly into her damp heat, crooking her finger to work the sensitive spot inside, her thumb still eagerly working the bundle of nerves that made her twitch and shake. Her head thrashed, and her hips bucked of their own accord, but it wasn’t quite enough. Her sex responded as Hermione madly drove three fingers in. In her mind she pictured Severus grinding atop her, his scent, his dark eyes locked onto hers, his flesh pressing against her… her fingers weren’t enough… not nearly enough… As her voice broke and she shrilly called out into the empty room for him, Hermione stiffened and shuddered.

“Hermione,” he roughly panted, as thick milky jets of his essence hit the mattress.

Severus rolled over on his back, unconcerned about the wet spot, and stared at the ceiling through heavy eyelids. He could feel her sated rest, as Hermione hugged a pillow and buried her head into the covers. In the morning he’d work on rationalizing their relationship. In the morning he’d worry about what this might mean for them. But for the moment, sleep. Severus’ eyes closed firmly as sleep quickly overtook him.

Hermione wasn’t so lucky. She spent the night sated, but frustrated. Angry. Not for giving over to the urge to masturbate. No, there was nothing wrong with masturbating. It was perfectly healthy and normal. Especially since Severus would never find out that she touched herself, much less that she fantasized about him while she did it.

Her frustration stemmed from an entirely different direction. Three fingers weren’t enough. Not nearly. There was no substitute for a good hard fuck. There was nothing in the world like a warm velvety cock sliding home. Nothing like the first piercing thrust that always made her breath catch. Not even generously sized, humming, rotating, battery-operated cocks fit the bill.

Yes, she had brought herself to orgasm, the first in several years. But it many ways it was pathetic and sad, and hardly deserved to be called an orgasm. Without the warm rush of a wizard’s come wetting her core, it just wasn’t the same. It was completion without satisfaction.

Hermione was screwed, and not in a good way.

*

A/N:
Chapter title: Nemo Repente Fuit Turpissimus - No one ever became thoroughly bad in one step. (Juvenal)

Contest: Oh-no! Severus' book doesn't have a title. Won't you help him out? Send your one (1) suggestion for Severus' book title via email to apollinawrites(at)gmail(dot)com for submission. Entries sent as reviews will not be accepted. All entries must be received no later than Midnight Eastern time Wednesday 11 February 2009. You will receive credit for your title, and a 'walk-on' cameo. The winning entry will be selected by ApollinaV (author), Christev20 (beta), TenderQuaintWitch (theology-picker), and aberlioness (brit-picker).

Additionally, I'm informed that there may be some Monty Python virgins out there who've never seen the Bring Out Your Dead sketch from Holy Grail, and won't otherwise get the reference. Here's a link to the clip on Youtube: www(dot)youtube(dot)com(slash)watch?v=grbSQ6O6kbs

Beta's Note:
Christev20 would like to add thanks for the lovely reviews from Apollina's wonderful readers. I think I've got the best of it. For the price of a few commas, semi-colons and capital letters, I get flowers laid at my feet; I'm given ponies, kisses, Honeydukes truffles, even (ahem) pearl earrings. Best of all, I get to read ahead and see all the juicy bits coming up. Believe me, Apollina's got lots in store for her readers and for our favorite characters!
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The Gilded Cage