The Gilded Cage

Voracious- This should answer all those burning questions quite nicely.
Hermione Snape- Yes, and I’m sorry, this one only mentions him. But like James Bond, he will return.
ColdWater- You know, I had to start keeping track of that to make sure there weren’t any repeats.
kimjo2- Actually, you were in time and it made it to the judges.
TQW- It wasn’t a psycho email, well, that Avila chick… just launched a thousand thoughts at once. I’m partial to ‘in need of Grace’ let’s take that direction.
Slytherin-princess- Adorable little monsters, aren’t they?
anncee- Anti-ci-pation. It’s all that lovely angst. Sorry, I have a thing for it, and love making it lip-biting worthy.
CB13- I’d love to, but that’s not in the cards right now. So, we’re going to the local Krewe of Centaur parade Sat morning. Speaking of, I need to pick up a King Cake…


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Chapter 37 - Nulla Vit Melior Quam Bona


The Douchebag’s lawsuits were an ever present black cloud hanging over her days, giving her fits of headaches, and making an effing mess of absolutely everything, but her initial panic was gone. After all, Hermione believed in karma. He’d get his, and Ffoulkes was doing an admirable job to ensure it. She still wasn’t pleased about having to abruptly uproot everything and flee in the middle of the night like war-driven refugees. Certainly her employees had their own opinions about relocating to Cornwall. She lost three excellent production workers because they refused to commute.


Losing three workers wasn’t anything close to the ass-pain she felt losing two months of production time to construction efforts. Two months of down time was unacceptable. Hermione had grumbled, albeit good-naturedly, about shutting down the production line for the holidays, and the week of restructuring. This two month hiatus from production was marked by an irritable Hermione, the likes of which had only been seen when she was tromping around in a leaky tent with a grotty piece of Voldemort's soul slung around her neck. Severus wisely avoided her wrath by keeping his head down and his eyes to his parchment as he took to writing his book when she was in one of her moods. He was able to finish most of his literary griping about teaching the slack-jawed fuckwits who regularly tried to blow up the school while she was on a tear. He was even able to get started on his miserable year as Headmaster just by channeling her tirades through the wards.


She finally approached him regarding the lichen farm, with well calculated graphs and flow charts detailing market research and proposals, including a suggestion of slapping 'Death Eater' approved sticker on the labels. Severus was not amused. Hermione was dead serious. Market research showed they would be able to move thirty percent more product if it had a Death Eater endorsement. Just because the Ministry was hell-bent on sanitizing the wizarding world from Dark forces didn't mean the interest had evaporated. As for the product itself, the Ephebe lanata was used nearly exclusively in Dark potionry. The rare magical form of the Sarcoscypha coccinea, or scarlet elf cup, was pretty to look, at and deadly. And well, the Cladonia rangiferina, or reindeer lichen, had no bloody use at all - except, that is, if you were a reindeer. In which case it was fantastically delicious, and that was of no help, but she had towering mountains of the stuff. A Death Eater promotion would really go a long way towards selling it, at least until people figured out it was expensive reindeer feed. But Severus would not budge. Hermione even got a warning eyebrow that told her to stop trifling. It was followed by a gutter growl that effectively ended the conversation.


Otherwise, he was supportive of moving the product. His cursory inspection of his newly purchased property hadn't brought him below ground, and the real estate witch hadn't mentioned it. So he hadn't known it was there. All in all, it was an unexpected windfall in his favor. Which Severus took to mean that the rug was about to get pulled from underneath him because he never had windfalls in his favor. The Gods were only just lining up their shots and getting ready to sink him. It made him want to horde salt and ring his bed with it, just in case.


So, with Severus' blessing, Hermione went forward with clearing out the stock. After finding appropriate distributors for her mountains of icky harvested lichen and dried mushrooms, she found herself with four enormous vaulted caves. The icky lichen and mushrooms hit international markets and sold well enough. The useless reindeer lichen even qualified for a grant and was reintroduced back into the local environment under the Biodiversity Action Plan. And profits went directly into Severus’ Gringotts account. This was a calculated move, so that if the Douchebag ever did manage to completely clear her out, she had a safety net.


However, Hermione considered the spacious vaulted caverns to be the real profit. And she was eager to move Granger Industries into the new space. Even with an army of hired construction elves and her own house-elves who were quite literally biting their knuckles in anticipation of helping, construction took time. Hermione insisted on getting everything set up to her own specifications; she’d be damned if she’d move again.


After two months of non-stop work that made Severus complain that he was going to start bleeding from the ears, they were finished. She thought the new headquarters of Granger Industries were sleek and quite sexy, but then Hermione admitted to being a big geek for the weirdest things. Walls were erected within the cavern structure itself, and other than the fact that there wasn’t a window in sight, there wasn’t a hint that the whole operation was underground… except perhaps for the lingering smell.


The elves still had their lichen and mushroom harvesting to tend, albeit a bit scaled back. Hermione just didn’t have the heart to take that away from them. Even if it was slavery, it was their raison d’être, and who was she to deny them what made them happy? Hermione knew firsthand how good, honest, hard work felt. Aside from that, there was apparently a market for icky lichen and mushrooms. But somewhere along the way Hermione recognized she had lost her damn mind.


At first it had seemed just so convenient to have the construction crews work on the manor house while they were working on the caverns. It really had seemed like a good idea at the time. There was a saying about killing two birds with one stone, not that she approved of the practice… the whole bird-killing bit, but it sounded like a good idea… on paper it looked like a good idea. Just a few quick repairs. The roof needed patching. Several bathrooms needed to be re-plumbed, the kitchen was a disaster, and before she knew it the whole house was in a kip. Hermione couldn’t walk anywhere without nearly tripping over something. But after two disgustingly long months, construction was over and the house was put back together as if nothing had ever been wrong in the first place. Which was really good for poor Severus, because he seemed so miserable while the construction elves were working, and she rather feared that all the grinding and gnashing of his teeth he was doing just wasn't healthy for the enamel.


Not that everything had ‘magically’ worked itself out and life was somehow perfect - far from it. But the major hurdles had been satisfactorily handled. Hermione’s biggest bone of contention by far though was the lack of Muggle technology that she had previously incorporated into her company.


It was an ugly fact of life that electricity and wards didn’t mix. Wizarding wards had a nasty habit of overheating batteries and exploding circuit boards. Hermione still blamed the electro-magnetics, but short of undoing the physical laws of nature and magnetic polarity, there wasn’t really anything that she could do to fix it.


Whereas the heartbeat of her company used to be Wi-Fi and email, she now had to put up with owls. Lots of owls. During every hour of the bleeding day. To the point where she wondered how she ever could have thought the diseased rodents on wings were cute. Of the many things she loved about the magical world, Hermione positively hated the post.


In the Muggle world, letters were politely dropped through the mail slot. One could pick up the mail in nothing more than a dressing gown and never risk the unmistakable wide disapproving eyes of a snooty barn owl. Post waited at your leisure to finish a cup of coffee and the editorial section. Owls hooted. Left droppings everywhere. And made a racket on a windowsill, not giving a damn if they were interrupting an intimate personal moment or a critical brewing process.


Then they had the audacity to demand treats.


Furthermore, post never dive-bombed with exact precision into scrambled eggs. The RAF could modify their radar and guidance systems using owls for the unerring accuracy of their package delivery. It would be the end of collateral damage. Only terrorists sitting down to freshly buttered toast would be affected.


Hermione took to giving Crooks treats for any tail feathers he managed to swipe. Oh, certainly, it was cruel and vindictive, but she was beginning to feel like she was living in an owlery. And until she could manage to make long-distance charmed paper airplanes, she was stuck with them.


The owls weren’t the only change at the Homestead. For one, the Princes were no longer there. Well, that wasn’t quite right either. It served to say that after several weeks of portrait-and-elf conspiracy whispering, Hermione decided that the Princes should definitely have the opportunity to reconnect with both nature and the greenhouses that they so deeply adored. The Princes were relocated to Greenhouse 1 and, to the best of her knowledge, an affectionate Flitterbloom had kindly embraced them.


It may have seemed rather callous, but Hermione felt quite justified. If she believed only half of the things Severus had written about them, the family was an utter nightmare. She would never likely forget stumbling upon the book '101 Best Recipes for Muggle Cooking' and being absolutely delighted to find a bit of her culture in the bastion of pure-blooded bigotry. Until she opened the horrid thing. It was perhaps the only time in her life when she'd honestly condoned book burning.


Severus was still knocking out scrolls and going through manic writing spurts, but he was approaching the end of his book. He'd titled it Ex Intempestivo Pax, meaning 'From Understanding, Peace.' And he had finally settled on an ending. He decided he really didn’t want to write about being in prison, as that might generate sympathy towards his person… something he did not want at all. Instead, Severus determined to end the autobiography with the firsthand account of how exactly he made it out of the Shrieking Shack alive.


Apparently, to the wider wizarding world it was quite a mystery, which Severus found quite incredulous. And he pointed out to Hermione on several occasions, how completely remiss a Potions Master would he be if he followed after an insane tyrannical despot whose familiar was a man-eating snake, and didn’t have a fucking anti-venom? His biggest challenge was to stave off the blood flow before he passed out. Hermione couldn’t argue against that one. It made perfect sense of course, but then the wizarding public at large were morons. The phrase, ‘50% of all people are below average’ often came to mind. Her eyes had rather hastily scanned past his first person account of triage to focus on the depressing self-deprecating diatribe that followed. It was upsetting to listen to him question the wisdom in making the effort to stay alive at all. There was such a wistful longing for death it churned her stomach, but damned if it wouldn’t sell.


Luna was eagerly awaiting the last few installments. As an editor and publisher she was tickled pink to have the opportunity to work on his memoirs. Hermione wasn’t sure what Luna meant when she said she usually worked as a turd polisher, but that was just Luna. She planned to release the book with great fanfare and an accompanying full-color commemorative poster. Hermione feared that was a bit of a gamble, considering mobs of angry villagers bearing pitchforks and torches might surround the prison and demand the monster. Or weepy emotional house-witches might fawn over his tragic hero story.


She wasn’t quite certain which was worse.


Severus could certainly deal with anger much better than he could deal with pity; he was accustomed to it. And though she didn’t want his person accosted in any way, Hermione wasn’t sure she’d be able to deal with swooning groupie witches either. Ideally, the book would be released, a few thoughtful intellectual types would peruse it, and perhaps Severus would get a visitor or two who might help boost his self esteem. Regardless, she still believed that the writing process was therapeutic. Already it was paying dividends.


At the times when she caught him after he’d just finished a long emotional chunk of his novel, Severus was completely relaxed. His shoulders lost their painfully rigid posture, he smiled more and showed her his beautiful hidden dimples, and Severus just seemed... lighter. Happier. Hermione hoped that this Severus would stick around long after the novel was published.


She liked him. Very much. Too much.


He invaded her thoughts and dreams. At night she couldn’t stop fantasizing about him and touching herself. Hermione figured that she’d masturbated more in previous two months than all her sexually frustrating years at Hogwarts. She didn’t know if it was her imagination or not, but Severus seemed to be goading her, egging her on. Not that she’d give in to her desire. They still had a perfect marriage, on a schedule. Orderly. She wasn’t going to queer it all up by kissing him.


Even if he had a perfect mouth and fantastically sexy shoulders.


And made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.


Or her nipples tighten in response to his velvety voice.


No. She’d not make a fool of herself and ruin a perfectly good marriage.


Severus must have been oblivious to her growing attraction because he did unspeakably dirty things like innocently touch her collarbone, which was as much a physical trigger for her as the knotted root was for the Whomping Willow. Every blasted time his fingers brushed there, right there, on her collarbone, Hermione became unbelievably slick… and incredibly horny.


And yet, every evening she visited him after giving in to the temptation of crying Severus' name out while finding her own release, Severus seemed to have a wry secret smile waiting just for her. It was impossible that he could know, but he knew. Or maybe she was imagining it all. Her brain was so impossibly fogged over with need for a man that she saw invitations where none existed.


But all in all, life was settling down. Two months living in a construction zone. Eight straight fucking weeks of building sexual tension that left her so fucking frustrated she couldn’t articulate herself beyond fucking swearing. Sixty days of, well, everything. It was taking its toll, and Hermione realized she needed a breather. Brewing Liquid Sunshine was out of the question, but she needed some way to cope with all the fucking stress.


Perhaps it was the fact that the household had no less than four Thumpers in residence, or that the elves took on slightly maniacal toothy grins when speaking of their ‘secret magic,’ but Hermione came to the conclusion that they all needed a bit more exposure and a healthy dose of levity, too. Thus, 'Movie Night at the Homestead' was born.


The experimentation with memory projectors had been an expensive failure. Even after Gibson and Severus had corrected the binding potion they had hit a brick wall with the enchanted film, and Hermione knew when to cut her losses. The best thing to come out of the expensive mess was a plethora of improved wizarding movie projectors. It took more than a bit of doing - and much cussing - to figure out which enchantments to drop, but as thirty-six awestruck elves and baby elfkins gathered round the glowing screen, Hermione knew it was worth it.


Curled up in the dark on a lumpy couch, an elfkin tucked under each arm, Hermione reverently whispered her favorite-of-all-time line to her favorite-of-all-time childhood story.


“Boy, why are you crying?”


It was odd and slightly disconcerting to watch the movie as an adult, and to pick out classic character archetypes and plot devices. In life, she had always been shoved into the Wendy Moira Angela Darling role. The nearly grown-up, prudent, proper British girl forever running after her errant charges. Even though she longed to be an exotic, independent Tiger Lily.


Harry, of course, was a consummate Peter, even though she’d never seen him crow… or strut. But he was a reckless orphan boy afraid of his own destiny who held tightly to the innocence of his youth with both fists.


Captain Hook would have been much scarier if he’d been bald with sharp teeth and a snake, but with his cutlass and simpering servant Wormtail, oops, scratch that… Mr. Smee, he did alright.


But where did that leave everyone else? Or more specifically: what of Snape? Was he the alligator? No. The alligator was the reminder that everyone answered to someone. Even the biggest, baddest, darkest… Pirate had a predator.


Severus was not there.


She searched her memory banks for a character archetype to fit him, and winced. The spy left out in the cold. Not even a sexy James Bond-type spy either. Nothing ever boded well for baddies, or even pseudo-baddies. They always got their comeuppance and met a tragic end. In the movies it meant a dark back-alley knifing by someone with an impossibly thick Russian accent. Hermione uneasily realized that Snape, her Severus, had been an expendable player in her own life story as well.


Had her hand not been forced by the abysmal Marriage Law, he would have suffered his tragic end alone and in ignominy. She cuddled the elfkin Flower closer, biting her lip to keep it from quivering. He was still suffering. Needlessly so. Severus was no baddie. And she couldn’t delude herself that access to books and periodicals, warm blankets, and Thai food take-away made for a decent happy ending.


The elves collectively leaned forward, holding their breaths as a bound Tiger Lily approached her fate at the falls. They could not see the slow stream of tears trailing down Hermione's cheeks.


‘Would it really be so bad?’ she wondered again.


To have him out of Azkaban would mean sleeping with the wizard, bearing his children, and answering to him as the man of the house. Something she'd vehemently sworn she’d never do. She’d never have time for a family. Her husband would rankle and control her. Her children would grow to resent her. They’d all be miserable together, or at least until she could pack them off to boarding school and drive her husband off after years of constant nagging and bickering. And yet, she knew that wasn’t entirely true either. Wasn’t that the whole point of marrying Snape in the first place? Avoiding that hell?


As husbands went - not that she had any for comparison, really - Severus was a rare gem, though she mostly attributed this to his incarceration. Already she spent most all of her free time with him. Having him around the house would be a good thing, and so much better than Apparating half way across the flippin’ globe. Her thoughts strayed briefly to the deep burning shame that she not only fantasized about the Potions Master’s undeniably sexy eyes and masculine body, but had masturbated to those fantasies countless times. Feeling guilty, she knew part of her desire to see him set free of Azkaban was her own selfish want for him in her bed. His lips to greedily take hers, those slender fingers to dip into her slick folds… ‘No!’ her mind screamed, ‘get a grip, woman!’


Firmly clearing her mind of all erotic visions of the man, which was exceedingly difficult, but being surrounded by a sea of house elves greatly added to cooling her ardor, Hermione refocused on what it would mean for her life if she… they... managed to free Severus.


The vision of children toddling about wasn’t so bad. Especially now that she had the space for them; adjacent to the master bedroom was the sweetest nursery, and she’d already spied the most perfect little girl’s room, and… and… damn. Ron was right. She was nesting. Regardless, Hermione could see Severus as a good father and role model for her children, if he could abide the little rotters.


Their children. Months ago she’d never have been able to envision it, but now it was easy to see - and kind of cute. They could probably manage two kids and the business together, and it probably wouldn’t be half as much of a sacrifice as she’d once feared. Plus as loathe as she was to admit it, an army of adoring potty-mouthed elves was really very helpful. Even though those elves said some of the foulest insults, she knew by the sweet sing song voice in which they reverently called her such things that they had no real grasp of the meaning. Still, they'd have to clean up their language for when the children arrived, but Hermione was confident they could manage it.


Suddenly, spending her days at the Homestead on the Green with a house full of elves and kids and Severus sounded like the perfect happy ending.


After all, to live would be an awfully big adventure.


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A/N:
Chapter title: Nulla Vit Melior Quam Bona - There's no life better than a good life

Congratulations goes to FascinatingSnape who submitted the winning title, Ex Intempestivo Pax, translated as: 'From Understanding, Peace.' We had many many entries and it was very difficult to select a winner. There were so many excellent titles that at one point we had to go into the Octagon of Death to duke it out. Christev has a split lip, TQW is missing hair, aberlioness fights damn dirty, and I'm hobbling. But I have to thank my wonderful judges who performed so wonderfully in such a difficult task. And I'd like to thank everyone who submitted a book title. We were all blown away by your creativity, imagination, and thoughtfulness.

Three cheers to Christev for her beta skills. I still think I made out on the pizza for king cake deal.

I am informed that Alan Rickman also once played Captain Hook in 'Awfully Big Adventure,' but I've never seen it. I'm just not an obsessed fan.

Valentines Day is Saturday, so regardless if your single or attached, bubbly and truffles from me to you.
Thank you for reading, please consider leaving a review. AV