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The Gilded Cage	By : ApollinaV Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 118790 -:- 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 5 - Caveat Emptor The last meeting with her former Potions Professor had not exactly gone to plan. Not only had Hermione left humiliated and utterly aware of her failure to plan for all contingencies, but she had been thrown entirely off guard by the wizard himself. It was a most unusual sensation; typically Hermione made men uncomfortable and ill at ease under her scrutiny… which only provided hours of amusement for her. Regardless, Hermione was unwilling to concede defeat. At the prearranged time and date she appeared again at Azkaban prison, only this time with legal counsel and in a drab antechamber made for such meetings. The room was scarcely big enough to house the four of them and only consisted of an off kilter table, uncomfortable metal chairs, and impossibly bad lighting that had an annoying flicker that subtly announcing failing charms. To say she was momentarily taken aback by Professor Snape’s legal representative was an understatement. A. Ffoulkes only represented the most upstanding and decent wizards. To give legal council to a Deatheater, moreover the convicted murderer of his late client Professor Dumbledore, caused the blood in her veins to suddenly go cold. Hermione eyed her own council, Mr. Eugene Tattings, who was a well-meaning Gryffindor muggleborn like herself that only had her best interests at heart, but was in no way a legal shark. She felt suddenly ill at ease as if her representative was swimming in deeper waters than he could possibly tread. Every one of Hermione’s nerve endings pulsed in warning. Whether Tattings felt similar apprehension, she couldn’t say, he appeared to be unfazed by the entire proceeding. Hermione wasn’t entirely certain if that was a good thing or not. For his part Severus Snape looked perfectly at ease, the muggle phrase ‘cool as a cucumber’ aptly fit. This more than anything else caused bright flashing red lights to join the warning sirens going off in her head, but Hermione could play this game too. She made certain that morning as she carefully dressed and prepared for the appointment that she at least appeared poised and in control. Hermione selected her most fashionable royal blue robes, cut in the wizarding equivalent of a ‘power suit’ and chosen for the house-neutral color given the situation. It would not do to provoke his ire by wearing maroon, or hint at capitulation by showing up in green. She had to project the confidence Hermione no longer felt. For the first half hour the two solicitors drowned on and on about the first party and hereto mention the second party… Et cetera… Et cetera… upon which matrimony was proposed…. Et cetera… Et cetera… It was as if the two solicitors privately colluded to make the proceedings as absolutely dull and pretentious as possible, never mind the fact that she could barely follow the legal-ease which nobody bothered to break down into plain spoken English. Hermione noted with a certain amount of disgust that her husband-to-be appeared to be following attentively to every word, and therefore she appeared to follow similarly. After a long winded recitation of the Ministry’s standard provisions, her councilor Mr. Tattings looked at Hermione quite pointedly and asked, “Do you agree?” Inwardly Hermione froze. She had never tuned a single lecture out before, not even History of Magic, and yet at this most important event of her life, she couldn’t follow the jargon at all. They might as well have been speaking Mermish the entire time. “Pardon,” she said lightly, “Can you paraphrase that for me?” “Miss Granger do you agree to cohabitate or in this matter given your husband’s incarceration – occupy his ancestral home?” “What? Live with him?” Hermione pointed askance at Professor Snape who on the whole appeared really too smug for the proceedings. “Yes, well as you know Miss Granger,” Mr. Ffoulkes began, “The Ministry encourages all witches to be brought to their husband’s residence for domicile. It is tradition you know.” Yes, it was a tradition. An ugly tradition. The young helpless virgin bride escorted to her husband’s house to be shuttered away for the rest of her life. Well, not for Miss Hermione J. Granger, thank you very much. “Really I think not. I for one, have a home. And as I’ve done my homework, I’ve visited Professor Snape’s so-called ancestral home at ‘Spinner’s End’ and found it sorely lacking. There is no way I can abide by such a request.” “I agree,” Severus Snape spoke up for the first time during the proceedings, “It’s an abysmal dump, I expect the authorities have condemned the site. We are however speaking of the Prince Homestead.” “Prince Homestead?” Mr. Ffoulkes looked over his copious notes, “Yes, it appears Mister Snape purchased the Prince ancestral home when it became fell on the auctioneer’s block several years ago, along with the residual house elves. They’ve been left to their own devices for quite awhile and likely there’s been unrestrained breeding so we don’t have a current figure on how many elves inhabit the residence now, but per the provisions you are not allowed to dismiss them either.” Ffoulkes shot her a significant look at that. Hermione raised her eyebrows, “What? Didn’t inherit it?” By the dark glare she earned Hermione knew she just stomped on a tender nerve. “No.” “Alright, I’ll bite. Why?” Hermione looked around the table at several pairs of eyes who couldn’t give her a clear answer. She narrowed them at her dear soon-to-be-betrothed, “Well then, give me one good reason why I should give up my flat.” Hermione’s flat wasn’t much… well, it was less than a flat. To be honest, it was little more than a closet. She kept her things there; books, some papers, clothes, a bed, not much, but then Hermione didn’t need much. To say she lived at work was an understatement. “For one, the law is entirely on my side in this matter,” Snape said lazily, “as my wife you are obliged to live under my roof as I see fit. Under Ministry provisions I could require you to live in that lovely hovel in Manchester you just mentioned…” “Fine. I’ll live in your ancestral home,” she said resigned, “but I retain the right to make changes and modernize as needed.” Wizarding estates, particularly uninhabited ones needed to be pulled kicking and screaming from whatever age they came from. Hermione could consider herself blessed if the manor only needed updating from the Victorian age, but then it was an ancestral home; there was not telling what state it was in. What she possibly couldn’t fathom was that was exactly what Severus wanted. The old Prince Homestead was in a terrible state of disarray. His ugly bigoted grandparents couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger to bring it back to its one-time splendor, not when their worthless half-blooded grandchild might inherit the place… not that they included him in their will. Severus only had the opportunity to make a cursory inspection of the house he had never before set foot in when he bought it at auction. The simple walk through only reinforced exactly how cut off the unwanted grandchild had been from proper aristocratic wizarding society. Regardless, the stately old manor was nearly in ruins. Mr. A. Ffoulkes looked quite pleased and gently added for her benefit, “A modest budget for its upkeep has been allotted for you.” “A budget?” After more ruffling of parchments Ffoulkes withdrew a Gringotts ledger, “Five thousand galleons for the first five years to cover any structural improvements or necessary repairs, and two thousand galleons from thereon.” “Let me see that,” Hermione held out her hand for the ledger, but Ffoulkes would not relinquish it earning him a firm scowl from both her and Tattings. She rounded on Snape, “Just what is this crap?” He raised an elegant eyebrow as if to innocently inquire ‘who me?’ “Are you yanking me around Snape? Cuz I’ll be arsed if I’ll play your games.” There had to be an angle. Severus Snape never did anything without good reason, and for the life of her Hermione couldn’t figure it out, which obviously meant he was somehow getting one over her. Ffoulkes loudly cleared his throat and shuffled more paper while Tattings simply looked wildly around the table trying to figure out where it all went wrong. Tattings leaned into her to quietly whisper in her ear, “Miss Granger, I don’t understand your objections, certainly if you would like me to petition for a greater allowance we might manage that, but five thousand galleons is quite generous.” “I know it is!” she hissed back unconcerned that her voice carried, “The question is why. And how does he have that many galleons to burn, honestly the man is rotting in prison, there’s no way he could be earning enough galleons to support a building allowance for the rest of his life, so what’s the trick?” Severus’ eyes danced in amusement. Even when his intensions were straightforward and bluntly obvious, Severus’ Slytherin reputation always threw off unsuspecting Gryffindors. He savored the moment with glee; it was the kind of moment he could easily relish for at least two, maybe three weeks. “Is it so difficult a concept for you to wrap your bushy little head around Miss Granger that maybe I want my estate well cared for?” He’d never provide her with any kind of personal stipend, after all his very hard earned gallons had no business paying for whatever trivial luxuries or trinkets she stupidly fawned after, but his birthright was something entirely different. “In exchange for what?” “Pardon?” “What are you hiding from me, and where are these galleons coming from anyway? I know what you make, or rather what you made. You can’t possibly afford this unless you’re running some kind of scam.” “And what exactly do you know of my finances?” Baiting Hermione was so easy, it was hardly worth the challenge, but then it was so amusing to observe her get worked up into a fury. Severus watched her cheeks color as she radiated wrath. “You made only twelve thousand galleons a school term!” Shocked silent for a moment Severus didn’t let her triumph last long. “How did you come by that information?” Hermione rolled her eyes, “I was offered your old job,” she returned with complete satisfaction, “but I turned it down.” She couldn’t bring herself to disparage her much beloved Alma Mater, but it really was downright insulting the amount of galleons they offered to what essentially was a 24 hour / 7 days a week job of playing teacher, parent, and nursemaid to an entire castle full of sniffing, snotty, and generally apathetic schoolchildren. Never mind the hormonally charged teenagers. “Miss Granger, I am able to live comfortably, or rather I am able to let you live comfortably off residuals from my patents, and that is all you need to know. I suggest you drop this line of enquiry for the moment if we are going to get through the next thirty points.” She sat back dumbfounded. Thirty? Was there time to propose to Lockhart? He was unfortunately considered by Ministry standards ‘approved to breed,’ but at least she could keep him relatively amused with reruns of muggle cartoons and never have to deal with him. Besides, she could do ‘joined-up writing’ with the best of them. After a slight recess for water and use of the facilities, for which Hermione was eternally grateful as splashing even rust colored water seemed to calm her just a tad, they resumed the proceedings. Hermione had to admit most of the points were reasonable. She couldn’t find any reason to object that he be permitted to use her to send owls, and that she deliver both the Daily Prophet, Guardian, and Times when she visited his cell. (It was quite a surprise to note that he kept up on muggle current events as well, but Hermione also assumed he was a wee bit starved for reading materials.) Keeping him well stocked with parchment, quills, assorted goodies from Honeydukes and home cooked meals were the sorts of demands she expected to hear in the first place. Severus requested that she ‘keep up’ his cell meaning that she perform more air deodorizing charms, cleaning and sanitizing his mattress and surroundings, et cetera. Honestly it was all the sort of things she’d want to do. If she was going to have to visit him with any form of regularity there was no way she’d walk into a pig sty. But then came the question of how often she would visit the aforementioned sty. If Hermione had her way it’d be never, but clearly that wasn’t an option. And given his demands he wasn’t likely to take her offer of once a month. She was actually shocked when Snape requested twice a week… for an hour. “Absolutely not! I have a life, a real one; I can’t abide by that schedule.” Hermione didn’t care how cold and calloused it sounded. He was a fucking Deatheater and traitor to the Order. Aside from the fact they had nothing in common. What could they possibly talk about for an hour? As far as Hermione was concerned she needed only to show up, perform whatever cleaning charms were strictly necessary, drop off the requested goods and be gone. Snape looked incredulous, “You can’t possibly spare two hours a week for your husband while he withers away in prison. Dear lady you wound me.” Severus was having a field day with this. Gods this was so much fun, she went from witch to all out gorgon in seconds, now he wished he’d requested her at least once a day. Initially that was his thought, but sharing too much of his life and living space with the bitch bordered on masochism. “You deserve to wither away Snape. You got off too easily if you ask me.” “Then by all means go petition some other prisoner if I’m that repulsive.” “I can’t!” Hermione threw up her hands. If only it were that easy. “You can’t?” Severus frowned, what could the chit possibly mean by this? “You’re the only one with a life sentence here.” “I’m what!” Severus raged, whipping his head to Ffoulkes, “Explain this, now! Nott? Yaxley? Greengrass? Malfoy? What of them? Surely they deserve, perhaps more than I to rot away in this hell hole!” Hermione proudly supplied the answer, “Kissed, the whole lot of ‘em. You’re the last Deatheater, Snape.” Oh she had tried, but there was no way the Ministry would let her get away with marrying a soulless husk of a man. They couldn’t legally sign the marriage certificate. It was damned infuriating. She watched with much mirth as his eyes went wide and wild as he digested the information. “Why then…” his silken voice broke and he choked, “why wasn’t I?” Mr. Ffoulkes gently laid a hand on his arm, “You did not participate in the final battle.” Severus nodded his understanding but still looked as if he’d been hit violently upside his head by an errant quaffle. In truth he hadn’t waived his wand once during the battle. His job had been to stay by the Dark Lord’s side. If Potter cocked it all up, as he was prone to do, Severus was supposed to step in. What nobody planned for of course was the mercurial whims of an insane lizard-wizard and his penchant for turning on his own troops. Severus spent the grand majority of the battle desperately trying not to bleed out. But Severus wasn’t dwelling on ancient history now. His thoughts were with fates of his Deatheater brothers. Severus had heard the guards refer to him as ‘the Deatheater,’ but then he spent two decades as ‘Snape the Deatheater.’ He just never realized ‘the Deatheater’ was meant in the singular. Was he really the last of his brethren? A multitude of conflicting emotions seemed to fill his chest cavity. They’d really done it, everything he and the Order had sacrificed for, and yet being the last Deatheater was somehow so singularly lonely. He gave himself just a brief moment to clear his mind of his conflicting emotions, occulding them away to dwell another time. For the moment he needed to be sharp. Turning his best predatory smile to the table Severus cleared his throat and spoke, “Well Miss Granger, it appears as if I’m your last option, which means you will find time to visit me twice a week. Would you like to sign the contract now or do you want to continue reading the terms?” “Bastard!” He rolled his eyes, not even bothering to point out that the epitaph didn’t sting nearly as much as his unfortunate upbringing, and all things considered his life would have been much easier had he been a bastard. “I suggest you keep your emotions under tighter control, unless of course you’d prefer to give up all your little secrets now? Not that I need any more bargaining chips.” Chapter to be continued... * A/N: Chapter title: Caveat Emptor - Buyer Beware
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The Gilded Cage