The Gilded Cage

Voracious- I think they’ll get over it, I suspect she pays them enough.
DawnEB- True, he could justifiably have kittens.
Hermione Snape- Grrrrr…. Arf arf!
kwaniesiam- Why yes, it was an Ikea reference. Kudos!
MsBentleySnape- It wouldn’t surprise me if they used Arithmancy in their marketing strategy. Walk in looking for affordable bookcases, walk out with half a home worth of furniture…
amd2175- Excellent question, I’d love to take credit for that, but it’s just an appropriate colloquialism. Not that the Achtung Baby album wouldn’t be an appropriate soundtrack. You’ve stumbled upon another U2 kindred spirit. I even love Pop!
Elo- Yes Elo, but you always cackle madly.
Carlieisastreetmonster- I’m glad you didn’t pass it by either.
neelix- Best gustimate at this point is 55 chapters.
Lady_of_Clunn- You may not want to ask that question, lest you not like the answer.
kageneko_malfoy- Well, welcome. Thank you, I hope you continue to enjoy it.

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Chapter 34 - Omnia Mea Mecum Porto


She met Mr. Ffoulkes back at the appointed time ferrying twelve little boxes containing her, well… everything. In short order the wards to Granger Industries were down and a small invading army of hired hands packed, crated, and reduced her labs. Utterly knackered, they were ready to start loading the first wave of crates around midnight.


Ffoulkes commanded in a rich voice tipped with fatigue, “Daisy, you are summoned.”


Hermione shrieked and jumped as a squat brown house-elf in a dumpy blue tea towel popped in. “Scared the crap out of me,” she murmured quietly.


Daisy’s wide round eyes quickly filled with tears, her ears flattened, and Hermione readily imagined the elf ironing her hands or some other grisly self-castigation. “It’s alright, it’s fine, it’s not your fault, Daisy!” Hermione said hastily, her arms waving, desperately pleading with the creature, “Please don’t punish yourself over me.”


Daisy giggled and blushed, twisting and tugging on the skirts of her tea towel. “The soiled Mudblood cares for Daisy!” she clapped excitedly.


“Fantastic,” Hermione breathed. “Just what I need, another prejudiced house-elf.”


“Daisy,” Ffoulkes interjected, “This is Madam Hermione Granger. She is married to Mr. Snape, Master of the Prince Homestead. Do you recognize her as your true Mistress?”


Daisy nodded, still wringing her hands on her skirts. For a moment Hermione was struck by awe for the power and incomprehensible nature of magical creatures. She remembered quite clearly the day when, while holding their collective breaths, the Order waited for Kreature to recognize Harry as the heir to Grimmauld Place. Their innate ability to know and recognize their ‘Master’ (she still shuddered at that word) was a source of wonder. And a bit of brilliance.


Hermione had a bit of new found respect for Severus. House-elves were incorruptible and nearly infallible in their support and blind dedication to their masters. To utilize one as a Secret-Keeper was ingenious. She supposed more wizards probably didn’t entrust their elves with such things not because they were unreliable, but because most wizards were simply too arrogant to consider the subhuman creatures worthy.


“Fine then, will you please escort Madam Granger to the Homestead and allow the workmen access to the grounds to move her in.”


Daisy curtsied and shot a terrified look towards Hermione, as a pale bluish tinged light wound its way towards her and wrapped around her body causing an unnatural shiver to run down Hermione’s spine. Daisy’s squeaky voice reverberated between her ears, ‘The Prince Homestead is located On the Green at Hugh Town, Isle of Scilly.’


Dazed, Hermione only managed a bemused, “Wha-?” before being shot like a tightly coiled spring across space. Mercifully, she avoided stumbling when she instantly reappeared hundreds of miles away on a windy wide open lawn.


“Huh… I guess this is the green,” Hermione remarked, surveying what her eyes could perceive of the sweeping landscape. Nothing was visible except for a few lights in the distance, but the sound of ocean swells dragging and battering against the craggy coastline was clearly audible.


Hermione took a deep steadying breath and salt sea air filled her lungs. “Shit,” she muttered. Scilly. She might as well have been stuck at the ass-end of the world. Although to many people, Cornwall was the ass-end of the world. To Hermione it meant exhausting long distance Apparitions to get to meetings, or to visit Severus.


“Of course Scilly,” Hermione supplied to herself, “where else would one put a self-important wizarding estate?”


Historically speaking, for wizards and Muggles alike, the islands were renowned to be one of the locations of Lyonesse - the supposed mythological kingdom of Guinevere from the Arthurian legends. Realistically, it was as good excuse as any to create a bit of tourism to keep the impoverished area out of the red. Which was a good thing, because as far as Hermione knew the only other thing the area had going for it was booze smuggling and terribly interesting mineral rocks.


Hermione turned around in the pitch darkness, trying to make out the even darker mass of her new home and again saw nothing, but the nothing rippled. She stared blankly into the darkness, allowing herself to resolutely believe that something was there so that her mind would accept the subliminal suggestion and not the trickery of the enchantments. The landscape rippled faster, coalescing into something, and Hermione remembered standing in front of a cart in a mall that sold optical illusions. She had stared intently at the wobbly pixels until finally, her eyes relaxing and going slightly crossed, she had seen a sail boat. Relaxing and allowing her eyes to slightly cross, Hermione saw a Homestead.


Roughly 600 nautical miles away from the ass-end of Britain, Severus Snape attempted to pace his cell. Pacing a cell not large enough for a decent stretch was difficult enough, but now with Hermione’s comfortable bed and leather armchair filling up the cramped space, it was downright impossible. Not that he’d give up either. She was late. She was way past late. And Severus was furious.


No, that wasn’t quite right either. Severus well beyond incensed. He imagined curling his fingers around her neck, that pretty column of flesh that begged to be kissed. And after shaking the fear of unholy hell into her, he was going to bite that neck, where it joined her shoulder. Bend her over the end of the sleigh bed where her plump arse would look so inviting and… no.


Severus was pissed. Filled with impotent rage.


He stopped mid-stride.


In what felt like an entirely different lifetime ago, Severus distinctly remembered being told that as Master of the Prince Homestead he’d be able to sense the activities and goings-on of his household, much as the Headmasters of Hogwarts were able to feel the presence of the castle. At the time he hadn’t thought much about it, but as his fingers curled into a fist Severus felt her presence.


It was unlike any other familiar sensation he’d ever had, even during his brief tenure as Headmaster when he initially felt as though thousands of ants were crawling all over him and his castle simultaneously. He knew if he ignored it long enough the awareness would fade into the back of his consciousness as a dry buzz in the back of his head.


Severus just hoped if he focused his concentration upon her, the awareness wouldn’t die away. It would be a wonderful way of tracking his sometimes-errant wife. If he knew her moods ahead of her visits he could work that information to his advantage. He never had the ability to sense anyone's moods while at Hogwarts given the sheer number of people and size of the castle, but Hermione as a lone individual rang out across the divide. The wards were designed to allow the Master of the Homestead complete reign over the entire manor. Like most wizarding families, his had missed the entire Enlightenment completely, so there were still all sorts of dandy things he could do as the Master. Well, not while he was domiciled outside of the Manor proper, but were he living there Severus could give the order to have her locked away, and the house would respond appropriately. Rights for witches, house-elves, and peoples of less noble blood status were hardly a concern.


His own Muggle father had been a tyrant, but it was a lifestyle his mother had been raised to accept. She never complained when he beat her or shut her away. His Mum had disapproved when he'd taken his drunken anger out her child, but never interfered on his behalf. Eileen could not bring herself to contradict the edicts of her husband, the Master of the Slum. And he had no need for a wand to control her.


She was raised in the proper pure-blood fashion of the day and had her spirit broken at an early age. It was training that prepared witches for the roles they were to take as subservient wife and mother. Hermione had taunted him once about his relationship with Kathleen. She'd meant to be insulting by suggesting that he'd been embarrassed to shack up with a half-blood in front of his Death Eater brethren. If only she knew. Severus never spared a glance towards any of the pure-blooded princesses that strutted through the Slytherin common room trolling for potential husbands. He knew their purpose, and so did they. A witch without a soul hardly appealed. Hermione was not soulless.


Thank the Gods Hermione wasn't soulless. He swore he'd never break her. He might one day kill her, but he'd never break her.


Monitor her via the Master's privilege? Oh yes, that was something he could manage. He would pour his concentration into strengthening this bond to feel her. He knew from his mercifully short-lived days as Headmaster he could hone in on an individual and read what was going on. No, this was one gift he wouldn't allow to go fallow. This was a superb opportunity to follow her comings and goings, to be closer, and live vicariously with his little wife.


This was much more intimate, overwhelming. Severus felt only Hermione, sensed her apprehension. He could taste her curiosity and anticipation. Something was happening that caused her great fear and terrific giddiness. She was stressed. Severus frowned, she was stressed, but obviously happy. He smiled as he felt her walk into a few rooms and knew she approved. As Severus grasped at the sensations the tingling wards fed him he could feel her physical and magical exhaustion.


The wards came alive.


Then, his bleedin’ Homestead opened for all and sundry.


"Fuck!"


He wasn’t going to get any peace.


Throughout the night and the wee early hours of the dawn Severus tossed and turned, grinding his teeth and growling to himself and his four walls. Torn between being completely livid and insatiably curious with his witch. What is she doing? Who the hell are the trespassers trodding all over his house? And what the fuck are they doing?


Hermione had finally decided to make herself at home after all these months, and to celebrate she invited everyone she knew for a sleep-over. Or at least it felt as if the entire property had been thrown open wide, the public and all neighbors invited in as dozens of wizards Apparated in and out as if his ancestral home were the bloody Leaky Cauldron.


Somewhere near eight thirty the next morning, all activity promptly ceased and the wards reengaged. Severus took a staggering step and leaned against his armchair for support. He had a migraine to end all migraines. Light bothered his eyes. The vacant hollow sound of Azkaban rang loudly in his ears, but as Severus hobbled into bed he was dumbstruck by her closeness. He could feel her drop down, and knew she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. He had never felt so connected to anyone in his life and was near tears as he gripped his own pillow and welcomed sleep.


*****


Hermione's eyes gently fluttered open to greet the morning, though even her sleepy brain helpfully supplied that it was well into the afternoon. She was still exhausted and wanted nothing more than to nestle deep into the soft goose down pillows she was generously supplied, but she just knew she was expected to act like a responsible adult. Responsible adults didn’t laze in bed for hours even though they stayed up all night. While in the middle of the North Sea, Severus felt her get up. He cracked an eyelid and chose to laze in bed.


Crooks gave a loud contented Meow, as he was obviously happy about something and wanted to share the good news with his mistress. Hermione was thrilled he was padding around the place, but hoped his good spirits weren’t due to any doxy colonies living in the curtains. One experience with those blighters was more than enough.


Satisfactorily up, on her feet, and awake, even if in her smelly clothing from the night before, Hermione stretched again and looked around for a door that might take her to a loo. Inwardly she crossed her fingers that a loo would appear instead of ‘ye olde chamberpot.’ Her hasty assessment of the house from the night before was that the place was probably built sometime during Elizabeth’s reign, or at least it was kept up to appear that way. It was a best guess, given the copious amounts of walnut paneling, narrow rooms with impossibly high ceilings, and Tudor touches.


At least it was relatively well maintained, or at least not falling down. It seemed as if the elves had kept the place clean, which was a very good thing indeed. If left unattended for long periods of time, house-elves tended to gravitate to the last order given, so if someone had specifically said to wash the windows, the windows may have been completely immaculate, but the rest of the place utterly saturated in dust and grime. The dark and sometimes painted wood paneling that followed the entire house hadn’t been wiped down in a long time and had a rather dull finish, but the odd rugs that randomly dotted the floors and sat atop tables were spotless.


There was no telling how old the foundations were. But, as she resolutely told herself in an attempt to keep a cheerful countenance, Hogwarts was built over a thousand years ago and even it had indoor plumbing… and a basilisk haunting the plumbing, but that was neither here nor there.


After turning a few latches (no knobs) she found what supposedly passed for the privy, and what was supposed to be the sink. “Oh Severus, you bastard!” she ground out to herself, “Five thousand galleons isn’t nearly enough.” The tap was cold, it shuddered and groaned, and the water had its very own color. Water wasn’t supposed to do that.


She dug in her bottomless satchel and managed to put together enough toiletries and emergency supplies to feel comparatively human, or at a minimum decently dressed to meet the day, and congratulated herself on always traveling with emergency supplies. But then after years of mothering teenage boys who couldn’t match socks, or even think to pack them for an extended jaunt through the woods, she’d grown accustomed to carrying her own provisions.


The first hurdle was to assess her situation, and then hopefully find a bit of nosh. For that she needed a house-elf.


“Daisy,” Hermione timidly called out, feeling very self conscious about burdening a servant.


Daisy appeared before her and curtsied, "Mistress scum of the earth Mudblood has requested Daisy?”


Hermione’s mouth quirked several times, before settling on an amused grin. She’d seen and heard the other elves grumbling about blood of the dirt sullying the proud house of Prince the night before as the labs were uncrated, but never had she actually heard anyone call her a Mudblood in such a sweetly endearing manner. Daisy’s eyes were shining with warmth and the eagerness to be helpful, found in most house-elves.


“I’d like you to introduce me to the other elves and help me get accustomed to the Homestead. Could you do that for me, please?”


“Please?” Daisy shrilly questioned, cocking her head as if she’d never heard the word before. “Oh yes, Daisy would be so happy to show the whore of man around!” Daisy twirled around and clapped her hands, her mouth split wide in a gruesome smile of jagged teeth.


“Great,” Hermione gritted out. She followed Daisy through a series of connecting doors, as the house itself did not have any hallways, and found herself rather abruptly in a great hall. By the darkened wood flooring she guessed it was the oldest part of the home, and the cathedral timbered ceilings took her breath away. The dried rushes on the floor left much to be desired, but the effect was nevertheless inspiring.


Daisy appeared to concentrate for a moment and the hall filled with the soft popping sound of elf apparition. “Oh dear Lord,” Hermione whispered under her breath, absolutely unnerved by the sheer amount of staff she now employed. As one entity the household bowed low, some of the more mischievous elves baring their wicked teeth as utterances of Mudblood could be heard. Hermione hardly paid attention.


The word had ceased to antagonize her years ago. It was more than just ‘sticks and stones’ (although whoever came up with that little rhyme was obviously unaware that a good hexing using choice curse words could indeed hurt… and maim…), and she had finally arrived at a place in her life where she felt self-confident enough not to give a damn about what people thought of her. Especially narrow-minded people.


Bigoted house-elves were something entirely different.


“Listen up, and listen well. The next house-elf to use the word Mudblood will be issued clothing. I will not tolerate such disparaging remarks made about myself, Muggles, or any guests I may bring here. Is that understood?”


There was a rushing of high pitched murmurs that swept the congregated elves, but Hermione declared victory and felt immense satisfaction as they all nodded in agreement.


Daisy cleared her throat, “Mistress, spawn of trolls and sluts who lie with beasts,” she said proudly gesturing towards the gathering, “Daisy presents the Prince Household.”


Hermione plastered on a smile. She was going to kill her husband. Nail his testicles to a post and beat him senseless. He knew. He had to have known, and didn’t bother to mention a thing. Lovely.


“This is me mate, Donald.” Donald bowed low and twitched his oversized ears.


“Donald and Daisy, how cute,” she muttered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Donald.”


“Thank you Mistress. I is looking forward to serving the shameful sin that trespasses across our belov’d grounds.”


“How nice.”


“And I is Mickey!” a brown freckled elf volunteered. “I tends to the sullied Mistress’ greenhouses.”


“Perfect.” A female green spotted elf walk forward and curtsied. “Let me guess… your name is Minnie?”


The elf’s eyes went wide and wild, as she drank in deep heaving breaths. “Yes!” she screeched happily, “I is Minnie! I also tends to the filthy Mud--- um, the uh…”


“Abomination before the Gods,” Hermione helpfully supplied. “Flesh of sinfulness? Foul waste of breath? How about mud, dirt, and or scum of impurity?”


Minnie eagerly nodded.


“Fine. And you tend the greenhouses, right?” Minnie examined Hermione with a look akin to wonderment, as if she were a clairvoyant or oracle of the highest order. “Dandy.”


Three elves shuffled forward in step, and since she was already feeling like she had stepped into the Twilight Zone, Hermione wryly asked, “Are you here to represent the Lollipop Guild?”


The boys looked at each other and shrugged, one good-naturedly offered, “They does not have normal brains. They has polluted blood and it makes them silly and dim,” before looking at Hermione and in a painfully slow enunciation, presumably for her benefit, eked out, “I is Huey.”


“Stop!” she held her hand up. “Stop right there. I can’t take much more of this, just give me a moment.”


A chuckle born out of exhaustion and near mad hysterics from the previous day began to well up. It first came out like an unladylike snort, followed by a loud chortle. She tried to cover up her mouth, but mad cackling poured forth.


“I…” she hooted. “Oh my god…”


Hermione laughed soundly and let herself continue laughing, not giving a damn that the intolerant house-elves were pointing and no doubt commenting on her mental instability. A stitch in her side hurt, but Hermione was trying to desperately to catch her breath to care.


“You’re Huey,” she gasped out. “So that makes you what? Louie?” At the astounded house-elf’s vigorously nodding head, Hermione continued, “So you must be Dewey… right?” she giggled.


“Oh, dear Lord,” Hermione choked. “Who the hell named you?”


“Mistress?” Daisy asked with a touch of concern for her well being, as Hermione had turned quite red.


“How’d you get your names?” she sniggered.


“Why, Mistress Eileen, whore of filth who shall never alight our doorstep again, did!”


“Oh,” Hermione calmed, swiping at her tearful eyes. It struck her as unbelievably funny that a house full of hate-speech espousing elves were named after much loved Muggle characters. Someone had a deep seated sense of irony. “And she was a Disney fan?”


A hushed murmur swept the hall. Hermione caught gasps of ‘She knows’ and rolled her eyes.


Daisy trembled before her, “Mistress, degenerate seed of traitors and charlatans, you know of the secret magic? The unspeakable magical world?”


“I don’t know if you’re talking about the Magical World of Disney or the Magic Kingdom, but I’m quite familiar with both, thank you very much,” Hermione said with a superior smirk.


In what would be written down in her journal as one of the most surreal experiences of her life, Hermione found herself knee high in a sea of overjoyed jumping, cheering house-elves.

*

A/N:

Chapter title: Omnia Mea Mecum Porto - All that is mine, I carry with me. (Cicero) It means, 'my wisdom is my greatest wealth,' but it suited for a 'moving' chapter.

Would you believe that my fantastic beta Christev20 actually studied the grammar and syntax of JKR's house-elves to make sure their speech for this fic was spot-on with the original? She did. I told you she rocks.

Thanks for reading. Please be a love and leave a review! -AV