The Gilded Cage

ANNA- I bet he’s worth galleons too.
Zigflorian- Why thank you.
TQW- Honestly I don’t know what they ended up pumping into me, if it was imitrex or something else. I know they had to give me fenergan (spelling?) for the nausea, but I couldn’t have cared less at that point. It worked and I didn’t beg for death anymore.
Voracious- I lurve Middle Eastern food too and there’s nothing better than fresh pita, cuz grocery store Greek pita is not the same. (My hubby used to live in the old city in Jerusalem so occasionally I get lectures on the differences between Lebanese/Greek/Israeli/Yemenite…) I think they’ll get there, or at least there’s hope there yet.
catysmom- You must hit the refresh button on SS/HG all the time. Without a doubt, moments after I’ve posted; you read. Respect.
Carlieisastreetmonster- I wouldn’t have said it if it were an insult. Oh I hope you’re addicted. Yeah…I’m not feeling the pickled walnuts either, but whatever Severus wants…
meankitty69- I am blessed in that I used to get debilitating migraines when I went through puberty, but since reaching adulthood *snicker* I don’t get them very often. Usually I can catch the headache before it explodes. I’d love to know what my trigger is though.
Gertie- Heavens you do have a lot of burning questions. And you know I just can’t answer them, it would spoil everything. So there. Thank you for leaving a review.


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Chapter 17 - Age. Fac Ut Gaudeam

“Misses Granger!” Hermione’s floo lit up with green incandescent flames, “Misses Granger, are you home?”


Hermione grumbled as she pulled herself out of bed, knocking Crooks off his pillow along the way. “This had better be good,” Hermione mumbled, as she rubbed her sleep crusted eyelids. She was bound and determined to sleep as late as she wanted, given that it was a Saturday. Whoever was yelling out of her floo had better have a damn good reason for messing with her plan.


“Billy?”


If asked to give a list of the people she expected to see in her grate at an ungodly hour of the morning, Billy Mulciber wouldn’t make the top hundred. He’d hover someplace around the bottom, near a very much alive Albus Dumbledore and Bono. Although Bono did have the most annoying habit of showing up positively everywhere for no real reason at all.


“Ma’am, we need you at the prison right quick.”


“Oh gods, is Severus okay?” Internally Hermione was chanting ‘please let him be alright.’ He was a drain on her time and resources, but he made a decent husband, given that she only had to deal with him when she felt like it. That, and if he did die, she only had a one year grieving period before being forced to take a new husband. A witch had to have her priorities straight.


“He’s fine Ma’am, just a bit stuck.”


“Stuck?”


“Yes, well, he apparently unpacked quite a few large items from one of your boxes, and there was a large bed and desk and some other furniture involved and now he’s trapped in the back corner.”


“Well, get him out.”


“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Ma’am.”


“What?” she shrieked. “Why not?”


“I can’t touch the prisoner unless he’s a threat to himself or others. It’s part of the new prison reform legislation. We’re now supposed to inform his emergency contact or guardian.”


“But that’s absurd. Surely you could construe it as a threat to his life if he doesn’t get out.”


“I’m sorry, but I could lose my job. This job means a lot to me Ma’am; I could lose everything if I lost it.”


Hermione wasn’t going to ask why he sounded a bit desperate to keep his job. Billy wasn’t a bad sort. And he didn’t strike her as an idiot, either. For a brief moment, Hermione wondered why he ended up at such a place to begin with; it seemed a bit beneath him.


“Alright, alright. Give me a minute and I’ll come over.”


Bailing out her stupid stupid husband was not what she had in mind for the day. Hermione hadn’t even had her coffee yet. She sighed; coffee would be heavenly. She flicked on the pot and pulled out an extra large thermos. Might as well share with the others.


She hadn’t taken a single step down his hallway before hearing Severus’ smooth voice loudly cursing her name, the day she was born, and - oddly enough - her hair. What was it with people and their obsession with her hair? It was ghastly, but really, why dwell?


“Oh do shut up!” Hermione commanded from right outside his door. The wards dropped, but true enough, she couldn’t open the door given the cluster of furniture. Through the jailer’s peep slot she could see an arm caught between a massive armoire and a gentleman’s bureau, but she couldn’t see the rest of him.


Slipping her wand through the slot Hermione quickly reduced the oversized Victorian furniture down to doll house sizes.


“And it’s about damned time too, witch!” Severus growled as he rubbed his shoulder.


“You know what - I think I’ll just size these back up and leave you to deal with them, if you’re going to be like that,” Hermione huffed, as she walked in.


“You’d like that, wouldn’t you. Is this your idea of some kind of joke?”


“Not at all. How’d this happen anyway?”


“I overturned the contents of your last box on the floor and they all resized themselves at once. As if you couldn’t guess that.”


“Oh dear.”


“Oh dear is right. What the hell were you thinking, bringing a full bedroom suite of furniture here? I barely have space for what I’ve got now.”


“I see that. I really am sorry, but I didn’t pack this. I just told Jake to get you a small bed to replace your cot, and a bookshelf. I didn’t think he’d take it to the extreme.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Hermione knew she told him to be generous, and he had a habit of taking an idea and running with it.


“Really? Just how many of my care packages have you packed?”


“Er… you had to ask that didn’t you. Um… none. I made a list and delegated it to my assistant, Jake Edwards.”


“The Hufflepuff? That milk-livered clown!” Severus raged, he looked furious enough to kill, especially sporting stubble and wearing his shirt sleeves rolled up, showing off his muscular arms. “He never could take proper direction. What were you thinking?”


“Well, it worked just fine until now.” Hermione tapped her foot lost in thought for a moment. “How ‘bout a peace offering? Coffee?”


Coffee.


She said Coffee.


“Coffee would be agreeable,” he responded hoarsely, while taking a thick swallow, “As long as you can make a decent cup. Nothing frou-frou.”


Hermione nodded, “I grind my own blend of Columbian beans in an Italian roast. Is that decent enough for you?”


Oh, dear gods. Severus stared at her thermos. “It’ll do.”


“Excellent,” she replied rolling her eyes, “So glad to hear you can be so easily appeased.”


“Don’t start with me, witch. Now hand the coffee over.”


Hermione repacked the rest of the tiny furniture except the bed and bookcase while Severus reverently inhaled the steaming brew, clearly enjoying its perfume as if it were a fine wine or Amortentia


If she was going to remake his room, Hermione figured it was best to do it right. She pulled all the furniture into the center of the room, said a spell to even the walls, and added a layer of white color to them. Magically speaking, it wasn’t quite the same as painting the room, but in the end the effect was still the same.


“Do you mind?” he enquired. “If you leave me with institutional white walls, I think I’ll be climbing them within days.”


“And I won’t step foot in here again if you want them black.”


Severus chuckled. “Typical. I suppose that’s what all you Gryffindors think of me. Morbid and morose.”


“Ha! That’s exactly what I think of you. So tell me then Mister Snape, which color would you choose then?”


He frowned, thinking less about his color choices and more about the way Hermione perceived him. “Perhaps a neutral color, something beige?”


Hermione concentrated on beige and added it to the walls.


“Less taupe, more tawny,” Severus instructed.


Hermione amended the color.


“Brighter, but not so brownish,” he insisted.


Again Hermione amended the color.


“Richer,” he demanded. Once she’d adjusted the color Severus was satisfied. “Perfect.”


“You could have just told me you wanted gold from the get-go, Snape.”


“Oh what, and spoil the surprise?” He’d had enough of her for the moment, especially when the hot beverage practically screamed for his attention. “It seems the appropriate color for a gilded cage,” he mumbled.


He was so preoccupied with sipping from his first cup Severus barely registered when Hermione stripped off his bedclothes, evanesco’d his cot, and resized the elegantly carved sleigh bed into the space. The bookshelf was expanded to fit against the adjacent wall. It was a snug fit, but they were bound to bang elbows anyway.


The bed was remade with a change of fresh linens; Hermione left the red picnic blanket folded at the foot of the bed rather than argue with him. (That, and it was secretly satisfying to have a bit of Gryffindor colors in the room of the world’s most consummate Slytherin.) He seemed to growl like a possessive dog after a bone when she touched ‘his stuff.’ A neat orderly row of white boxes filled the bottom shelf of his book case, and on the whole, the room seemed a bit cozy.


It was at that moment that Severus’ breakfast arrived. Hermione was then fully aware as to why Severus did not bother to classify the breakfasts served at the prison as edible. She supposed it was meant at one time or another to be porridge, but in her estimation it resembled papier-mâché glue. It was served with half a rotten orange.


Severus looked up at her expectantly.


“Please tell me you didn’t do this to me this morning just to get me to fetch you breakfast.”


“No, but that is a rather interesting idea. So Hermione, would you like to join me for breakfast?”


Now there was a loaded question.


She was under no contractual obligation to stay with the wizard, nor was she there on business. Hermione really didn’t have a valid excuse for staying. If she brought him food, would it be because she felt sorry for him, or because she wanted his company?


Did she?


The pair locked eyes, and he seemed to understand her dilemma perfectly. Severus silently challenged her, mocking her to stay with him.


“Fine, I’ll get us some breakfast.”


“Excellent. Oh and Hermione… we’ll need more coffee.”


“Yes dear,” she replied wryly.



*


A/N:

Merry Christmas, Chanukah Sameach, and Happy Holidays Everyone


And YEA, I have commas now! A hearty thank you to Christev20 who beta'd this chapter; I so appreciate it.


Chapter title: Age. Fac Ut Gaudeam - Go ahead. Make my day.