Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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 8 – Cui Bono? Hermione paused in the doorway. The stench was back; already her mind was clicking over the possibilities of a timed release freshening charm and possibly how much money it could bring in. She wouldn’t set foot over the threshold until Hermione was satisfied that the funk was cleared away. The room didn’t have to smell of lilacs or warm vanilla, actually Hermione despised the overly floral scents and figured Snape was of the same opinion, but it did have to smell fresh. Or neutral at least. Once satisfied she walked in, followed by her new husband and their guards, who were impolitely snickering about wedding night rituals. The guards were quickly shut out. “Hmm…” she frowned. “It’s not much.” An understatement. The cell wasn’t anything at all. Ignoring her husband who lounged contentedly on the rotting cot, vaguely making a patting gesture as if she’d jump right in next to him, Hermione turned her attention to the room. She could care less how the traitor was domiciled during his sentence, but since she’d have to grace his presence twice a week, changes were in order. The small room had only a few unremarkable features. A cot, sporting a thin nasty smelling mattress and equally disgusting and stained bedding (Both she and Severus had independently at separate times wondered just who exactly had died on it). A toilet, that Hermione shuddered to think about. A sink, attached into the stone wall. And the sexy leather armchair Hermione had left there the last time. The only light source came from a solitary window a good ten feet above their heads. That was where she started first; it made the most logical sense to start with the window. If the cell was cold in winter, stifling hot in summer, the climate charms were not holding. It was supposed to allow fresh air in, and maintain a constant comfortable temperature. Nothing she would do to freshen the air would make a damn bit of difference if she couldn’t get some airflow into the place. It took Hermione the better part of twenty minutes to repair and reinforce the crumbling old charms; they were probably original to the building. The floor was next. The bare stone was slightly muddy from water dripping down the walls and the occasionally backed up latrine. A simple scourgify wasn’t going to cut it. Hermione wasn’t even going to bother looking too closely at the toilet either; she just aimed her wand at it and blasted away. Her attention immediately went to the accompanying sink as she wondered how much she could actually do for the rust in the water; certainly it came from the piping system throughout the prison. The salt sea air was most likely the culprit, but it still turned her stomach. She scoured out every bit of the sink and as far into the taps as she could reach before charming it not to back up. That was as good as she could manage without ripping out the wall. Inspiration then hit and she considered enlarging the shallow basin into a proper vanity. She toyed with stretching the tin lined copper sink wider without making the metal paper thin, but couldn’t get it quite right. It just needed reinforcing and perhaps a surround. Though maybe it was… “Hermione,” her name softly whispered in her ear drew her mind back from the place it went when she lost herself in a task. Severus was standing right behind her, close enough that she could feel his warmth on her skin. And for a moment she could pretend he wasn’t some unrepentant effing Deatheater. He placed his hand hesitantly on her shoulder and felt the muscles immediately stiffen. “I… I… don’t know what overcame me,” she nervously wrung her hands together. Why was she so damn nervous? “I almost forgot these, silly me.” She was babbling now. Just great. Hermione pulled four parcels out of her pockets, setting them on his mattress, enlarged them and looked expectantly at him. What was she hoping for, his approval? Hermione shook her head and tried to separate the murdering Deatheater in the cell from the respected wizard she once knew. Severus picked through one of the boxes she brought him. They hadn’t exactly agreed when she would bring him what, or really specifically what he needed, but Hermione was a keen girl. She figured it out. Actually Hermione thought about what she’d need if she were to go on a camping trip and went from there. It was quite easy; she had enough camping experience to last a lifetime, and could safely admit she had no desire to ever walk in the woods again. He ran his fingers across the handle of a silver shaving razor; it was supremely elegant and charmed not to nick the skin or dull. It was much too fine and elegant for him. Not here. Not after what he’d done. Severus didn’t know why he suddenly felt so vulnerable, but he didn’t want to unwrap anything more. Not bothering to look at her Severus called out hoarsely, “You should go now.” “Damn it, I forgot to pack a mirror.” Severus winced. “Leave Hermione,” he said louder. “Next time I’ll remember to bring more fresh bedding, until then I’ll just clean …” “Get out you stupid stupid girl!” Her eyes went wide and wild. She had let her guard down. Turned her back on a man who’d probably not hesitate to Avada her. Hermione pounded her fist violently on the cell door, screaming once again, “Let me out of here!” As the door swung open on her command she allowed herself a parting glance, just quick enough to see her husband slumped defeatedly on the cot cradling his head in his hands. She was resolute, he didn’t deserve her pity, and she wouldn’t allow herself to feel anything but hate towards him. When the cool North Sea breeze hit her face minutes later Hermione was surprised at how dark the sky had become in such a short amount of time, a quick look at her wristwatch confirmed the time. “Damn!” she swore, “How’d I let him connive me into staying two hours?”
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The Gilded Cage