The Gilded Cage
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
62
Views:
119,247
Reviews:
944
Recommended:
3
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
62
Views:
119,247
Reviews:
944
Recommended:
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.
Nullus Est Instar Domus
Voracious- Yep, got it. You were first in line, just like the first review for conjugal visits.
Hermione Snape- Thank you m’dear.
jocat- I must admit though, bad boy or no, Life of Brian isn’t my favorite.
T Stevenson- And always look on the bright side of death. Before you draw that terminal breath!
rainonmidnight- Weee! Smut! I’m glad it satisfies.
TQW- Speaking of slow on the uptake, I’m still sorting through your email. My brain hurts.
Snapes_Goddess- woo-hoo, one I don’t think I’ve read. BTW Kat Monster left a msg for you in the reviews for this fic.
Kat Monster- I haven’t seen it, I want to though. Message relayed. My work here is done.
Carlieisastreetmonster- Poetic? …smut? Ok! That works too.
BlackAsuka- Adorable little buggers, aren’t they.
amd2175- No, I didn’t. So Mephisto might be coming back? Oooh. Hmmm… Apparently I’m partial to deep/dark/pale/men/weird clothing/sexy voices
drlincu- Certifiable, but mostly harmless. Mostly.
sinbad- Not bad, thank you.
Rini- It’s also slightly psychopathic to cuddle the children before murdering them… But I love them shades of grey baby.
anncee- Sweetheart, I update 3x/week. You’re killing me.
neelix- Now if only they can manage to do it in person, a little frottage is never amiss.
*
Chapter 36 - Nullus Est Instar Domus
Ostensibly she knew that ‘Homestead’ was a puffed up word meaning farm.
It had taken a bit before she had become accustomed to the amusing idea of Severus’ forefathers being farmers. The word ‘farm’ conjured images of golden haystacks of wheat, lazy spotted cows grazing in the yard, certainly chickens at the very least. And though the mental image of anyone resembling Severus Snape milking a cow or wearing overalls was enough to give her a fit of giggles, there wasn’t a single bovine in sight.
Apparently, wizards didn’t ‘do’ that sort of thing. Must have been too Mugglishly common.
But an impromptu tour by Mickey did yield long rows of greenhouses and elves milling about with hoes and rakes slung over their shoulders. Hermione stifled the urge to sing ‘Hi-Ho!’
Inside, Hermione was appalled to discover that nearly every viable space for planting was reserved for the Prince family’s prized potions ingredients, which included towering seven foot Mimbulus mimbletonias, and more snapping Venomous Tentaculas than she’d ever laid eyes on. Proportionately, the elves had only a small plot of arable land to grow their turnips. Hermione pursed her lips when she saw their well tended earth. In truth she wasn’t much surprised. Pure-bloods were notoriously stingy when it came to the needs of their loyal servants, but it still disgusted her.
“Come, Mistress deceitful Jezebel,” Mickey cheerfully beckoned with an outstretched clawed hand. “Come see the farm.”
Tentatively, Hermione reached for Mickey’s hand, and she was whisked in a single chilling breath into a cold chamber before she could register what was happening. She blinked and scrubbed her eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of light. Hermione realized she was standing in a vast damp underground cave.
“Oh, dear,” Hermione remarked wide-eyed.
Dark wet fur crept up the cavern walls, nestled into stalactites and stalagmites, while in the center of the chamber gigantic pulsing mushrooms grew on stacked shelves. She could make out several elves misting and raking the walls.
“Mistress must keep to the path,” Mickey cautioned as he flicked on a dim head lamp, “We does not want the valuable lichen tainted by your foul wretched impurity.”
Hermione snorted loudly and wound along the slick path, following Mickey’s bobbing lamp. Even as she marveled at the thick carpeting of lichen attached to every visible space she couldn’t help but think she’d never bring a single Weasley down there to see it. There was no way she’d allow any of them to see how close their wild imaginations had come to describing Snape’s home. There wasn’t any point in reinforcing bad stereotypes and obtuse clichés, no matter how comically correct.
Her tour of the underground cave complex led her into several similar chambers of lichen, one of which had its own vibrating hum coming from what appeared to be shivering hairs. Hermione wasn’t certain; she didn’t know if she wanted to squint hard enough to find out. Another chamber was dedicated to the drying and packing process, and several chambers were filled to bursting with packed cans, boxes, and tins of the finished product all waiting to be moved to market.
Hermione quirked her brow and asked the obviously proud Mickey, “How often does your distributor pick up all of this?”
“Mistress?” Mickey flattened his ears, apprehensive of incurring her wrath for not knowing how to answer her question.
She paused and bit her lip trying to find an appropriate way of phrasing the question. “What happens now, Mickey? Where do all these boxes go?”
“Go?” he trembled.
“Yes, go. You’ve been crating and labeling them for sale. How do you get them to market? Has nobody managed all this mess since the last Prince died?”
Mickey’s knees knocked together loudly as he shivered in fear. “Mickey does not know, Mistress of waste and wretchedness! Mickey is not knowing! Bad Mickey! Bad! Bad Mickey!”
As Mickey tried to impale his face on the closest available stalagmite, Hermione desperately tried to calm the trembling elf and pull him back.
“That's enough of that,” she crooned, tenderly stroking his weeping form. With a surreptitious flick of her wand he was cleaned and mended.
Glancing upwards at the towering boxes Hermione wondered what she would do with this fine kettle of fish. She hadn’t any idea of the market value of thousands of boxes of mushrooms and lichen, but pending Severus’ approval she’d liquidate, and find distributors who could take their product global. Naturally, Severus would bank the profit… which would be useful if the Douchebag did manage to clean her out.
But the resulting cavernous space was precisely what she was looking for. Large, protected, and undeniably secure. It was also dark, dank, and more than slightly mildewy smelling, but it was still serviceable. After thorough renovations, it might be impossible to tell that it wasn’t some disturbing underground cave.
“Let’s get to the surface; this place is giving me the creeps.”
Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the sprawling house. In some ways it reminded her of the Burrow on a grand scale, as additional wings and floors had been randomly and haphazardly constructed with little attention paid to the overall structure or atmosphere. Although Hermione had to admit the Princes had class. It was as if when they had the extra dosh, someone said, ‘Hey, let’s build another salon,’ and they did.
The portraiture still left much to be desired. She could feel their hawkish eyes following her as she explored. Their hissing whispers trailed her wake, but if she approached any of them, they said nothing. Apparently it was deemed unnecessary and unworthy to speak to her, and they allowed their tightly set lips and disdainful hauteur to communicate instead. Hermione was unimpressed and rather imagined that for all their petty airs, their appearances suggested a lineage thick with sheep thieves and potato pickers.
At least it wasn’t too terribly tacky, unlike some Pure-blood mansions she'd seen.
The dark earthen tones weren’t entirely warm and welcoming, but at least it wasn’t rococo gilded frothy pinks and powder blues, a la Malfoy Manor. Hermione didn’t know if she could have dealt with something like the pretentious Louis XIV festooned Maison.
The only positive that she could say about her sole excursion to the Malfoy home was that she left her mark on it by violently heaving all over their tacky pastel rug. Granted, it was during a particularly nasty bout of the Cruciatus Curse, but in some ways Hermione was still rather proud of herself.
The saddest moment of her day was when she discovered that the room she’d originally been given by the elves was nothing more than a scullery maid’s accommodations. Many things were about to change in the Prince household. Moving to the Master’s chambers was only the first. It was, after all, no longer the Prince Homestead. It was all hers.
*
A/N:
Chapter title: Nullus Est Instar Domus - There is no place like home
Comparably this is a short chapter, but it is what it is.
I'm still taking entries for the 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@gmail.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).
The lovely and talented Christev beta'd this chapter and ensured no salmonella-tainted product went from the floors to market.
Thank you for reading, please consider leaving a review. AV
Hermione Snape- Thank you m’dear.
jocat- I must admit though, bad boy or no, Life of Brian isn’t my favorite.
T Stevenson- And always look on the bright side of death. Before you draw that terminal breath!
rainonmidnight- Weee! Smut! I’m glad it satisfies.
TQW- Speaking of slow on the uptake, I’m still sorting through your email. My brain hurts.
Snapes_Goddess- woo-hoo, one I don’t think I’ve read. BTW Kat Monster left a msg for you in the reviews for this fic.
Kat Monster- I haven’t seen it, I want to though. Message relayed. My work here is done.
Carlieisastreetmonster- Poetic? …smut? Ok! That works too.
BlackAsuka- Adorable little buggers, aren’t they.
amd2175- No, I didn’t. So Mephisto might be coming back? Oooh. Hmmm… Apparently I’m partial to deep/dark/pale/men/weird clothing/sexy voices
drlincu- Certifiable, but mostly harmless. Mostly.
sinbad- Not bad, thank you.
Rini- It’s also slightly psychopathic to cuddle the children before murdering them… But I love them shades of grey baby.
anncee- Sweetheart, I update 3x/week. You’re killing me.
neelix- Now if only they can manage to do it in person, a little frottage is never amiss.
*
Chapter 36 - Nullus Est Instar Domus
Ostensibly she knew that ‘Homestead’ was a puffed up word meaning farm.
It had taken a bit before she had become accustomed to the amusing idea of Severus’ forefathers being farmers. The word ‘farm’ conjured images of golden haystacks of wheat, lazy spotted cows grazing in the yard, certainly chickens at the very least. And though the mental image of anyone resembling Severus Snape milking a cow or wearing overalls was enough to give her a fit of giggles, there wasn’t a single bovine in sight.
Apparently, wizards didn’t ‘do’ that sort of thing. Must have been too Mugglishly common.
But an impromptu tour by Mickey did yield long rows of greenhouses and elves milling about with hoes and rakes slung over their shoulders. Hermione stifled the urge to sing ‘Hi-Ho!’
Inside, Hermione was appalled to discover that nearly every viable space for planting was reserved for the Prince family’s prized potions ingredients, which included towering seven foot Mimbulus mimbletonias, and more snapping Venomous Tentaculas than she’d ever laid eyes on. Proportionately, the elves had only a small plot of arable land to grow their turnips. Hermione pursed her lips when she saw their well tended earth. In truth she wasn’t much surprised. Pure-bloods were notoriously stingy when it came to the needs of their loyal servants, but it still disgusted her.
“Come, Mistress deceitful Jezebel,” Mickey cheerfully beckoned with an outstretched clawed hand. “Come see the farm.”
Tentatively, Hermione reached for Mickey’s hand, and she was whisked in a single chilling breath into a cold chamber before she could register what was happening. She blinked and scrubbed her eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of light. Hermione realized she was standing in a vast damp underground cave.
“Oh, dear,” Hermione remarked wide-eyed.
Dark wet fur crept up the cavern walls, nestled into stalactites and stalagmites, while in the center of the chamber gigantic pulsing mushrooms grew on stacked shelves. She could make out several elves misting and raking the walls.
“Mistress must keep to the path,” Mickey cautioned as he flicked on a dim head lamp, “We does not want the valuable lichen tainted by your foul wretched impurity.”
Hermione snorted loudly and wound along the slick path, following Mickey’s bobbing lamp. Even as she marveled at the thick carpeting of lichen attached to every visible space she couldn’t help but think she’d never bring a single Weasley down there to see it. There was no way she’d allow any of them to see how close their wild imaginations had come to describing Snape’s home. There wasn’t any point in reinforcing bad stereotypes and obtuse clichés, no matter how comically correct.
Her tour of the underground cave complex led her into several similar chambers of lichen, one of which had its own vibrating hum coming from what appeared to be shivering hairs. Hermione wasn’t certain; she didn’t know if she wanted to squint hard enough to find out. Another chamber was dedicated to the drying and packing process, and several chambers were filled to bursting with packed cans, boxes, and tins of the finished product all waiting to be moved to market.
Hermione quirked her brow and asked the obviously proud Mickey, “How often does your distributor pick up all of this?”
“Mistress?” Mickey flattened his ears, apprehensive of incurring her wrath for not knowing how to answer her question.
She paused and bit her lip trying to find an appropriate way of phrasing the question. “What happens now, Mickey? Where do all these boxes go?”
“Go?” he trembled.
“Yes, go. You’ve been crating and labeling them for sale. How do you get them to market? Has nobody managed all this mess since the last Prince died?”
Mickey’s knees knocked together loudly as he shivered in fear. “Mickey does not know, Mistress of waste and wretchedness! Mickey is not knowing! Bad Mickey! Bad! Bad Mickey!”
As Mickey tried to impale his face on the closest available stalagmite, Hermione desperately tried to calm the trembling elf and pull him back.
“That's enough of that,” she crooned, tenderly stroking his weeping form. With a surreptitious flick of her wand he was cleaned and mended.
Glancing upwards at the towering boxes Hermione wondered what she would do with this fine kettle of fish. She hadn’t any idea of the market value of thousands of boxes of mushrooms and lichen, but pending Severus’ approval she’d liquidate, and find distributors who could take their product global. Naturally, Severus would bank the profit… which would be useful if the Douchebag did manage to clean her out.
But the resulting cavernous space was precisely what she was looking for. Large, protected, and undeniably secure. It was also dark, dank, and more than slightly mildewy smelling, but it was still serviceable. After thorough renovations, it might be impossible to tell that it wasn’t some disturbing underground cave.
“Let’s get to the surface; this place is giving me the creeps.”
Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the sprawling house. In some ways it reminded her of the Burrow on a grand scale, as additional wings and floors had been randomly and haphazardly constructed with little attention paid to the overall structure or atmosphere. Although Hermione had to admit the Princes had class. It was as if when they had the extra dosh, someone said, ‘Hey, let’s build another salon,’ and they did.
The portraiture still left much to be desired. She could feel their hawkish eyes following her as she explored. Their hissing whispers trailed her wake, but if she approached any of them, they said nothing. Apparently it was deemed unnecessary and unworthy to speak to her, and they allowed their tightly set lips and disdainful hauteur to communicate instead. Hermione was unimpressed and rather imagined that for all their petty airs, their appearances suggested a lineage thick with sheep thieves and potato pickers.
At least it wasn’t too terribly tacky, unlike some Pure-blood mansions she'd seen.
The dark earthen tones weren’t entirely warm and welcoming, but at least it wasn’t rococo gilded frothy pinks and powder blues, a la Malfoy Manor. Hermione didn’t know if she could have dealt with something like the pretentious Louis XIV festooned Maison.
The only positive that she could say about her sole excursion to the Malfoy home was that she left her mark on it by violently heaving all over their tacky pastel rug. Granted, it was during a particularly nasty bout of the Cruciatus Curse, but in some ways Hermione was still rather proud of herself.
The saddest moment of her day was when she discovered that the room she’d originally been given by the elves was nothing more than a scullery maid’s accommodations. Many things were about to change in the Prince household. Moving to the Master’s chambers was only the first. It was, after all, no longer the Prince Homestead. It was all hers.
*
A/N:
Chapter title: Nullus Est Instar Domus - There is no place like home
Comparably this is a short chapter, but it is what it is.
I'm still taking entries for the 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@gmail.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).
The lovely and talented Christev beta'd this chapter and ensured no salmonella-tainted product went from the floors to market.
Thank you for reading, please consider leaving a review. AV