The Gilded Cage

Voracious- Yep, didn’t you know? Everyone plays golf. Especially lawyers. Yes, he was gaming the system on the statute. I had to be very careful about how I wrote those chapters.
iamtherealmaverick- There’s a reason for that, he’s been avoiding her since before the Yule chapter. Don’t worry, there will be a confrontation.
meankitty69- Hermione does rely on him for so much. I don’t think it’s healthy for them to live this split life.
HarryGinny4eva- Powerful motivator indeed, but something will have to push him hard.
neelix- Agreed. He has to leave.
anncee - You’d like that, wouldn’t you. Got a small thing for smut? Me too.
EleanorRigby- I’m not sure how quietly he’ll go into the night. I suppose it depends on how big of a Douchebag he is. Though he could grow to obtain Douche-nozzle status.
Clairvoyant- Second SS/HG. You can find ‘Plan B’ under my profile. I do use a translator, and they’re prewritten to be correct: http://www.yuni.com/library/latin.html
Elo, Hermione Snape, Killer K, Heidi191976, Kimjo2- I’m glad you all enjoyed, and the indention… Hermione has a bed large enough for the Master and four of his mistresses, that has potential for lots of indentations.
Rassgulla1- Thank you. This was meant as a slow build up, I wanted to emphasis the relationship.
Phoenix- It was planned, so that even in consummation there is angst. Because I’m evil.


*

Chapter 42 - Nihil Curo De Ista Tua Stulta Superstitione


The Homestead hadn’t had showers when she began to replumb the bathrooms. Showers were tacky Muggle inventions, but honestly, Hermione thought it was their loss as she stepped under the generous rain shower flow. She had once heard the great Egyptian Pharaohs had indulged in them, their numerous servants pouring jugs of water over them by hand. Not that she’d ever use her house elves thus – the thought made her shiver uncontrollably under the warm spray. Still, they had the right idea. Hermione had built her shower to fit her ideal, with multiple shower heads working in tandem for pure hedonistic bliss.


She allowed the coursing water to hit the back of her neck, its pulsing beat working the stiff kinks out of her shoulder. Hermione resolved that the first thing she was going to do when she got her hands on her freed husband was to have him take her there on the tile. She’d even installed a bench in the center of the shower cabinet that had all sorts of devious suggestions attached to it. If they made it to the showers. She’d have to reassess that plan. But the plan, and the bench, definitely needed proper consideration.


She reached for her bottle of Good Hair Day. It made her curls corkscrew up into perfect little doll curls, but she knew Severus preferred them when they were just about blown out and hanging heavily. Well, with a simple charm that was easy enough to manipulate. Hermione lathered up the miraculous blend, the suds pouring down her neck and a few stray bubbles falling into her face as she massaged the lather into her locks. Her hand fumbled, feeling blindly along the tile for the hand sprayer, and she tilted her head back, rinsing all the suds out. The urge to move the hand sprayer further south was tempting. Very tempting, but oddly she wanted her first orgasm of the evening to come from her husband. So she was a good girl. But that would only last so long.


Properly rinsed, she grabbed the tub of pomegranate sugar polishing scrub. Pomegranates were a symbol of fertility to ancient civilizations, their multitude of suggestive seeds and bursting fruit a metaphor for carnal delights. It went a long way to explain why sweet, innocent Persephone was shuttered away in Hades for consuming some of the seeds. Hermione liked it because it left her skin silky. The sugar sloughed off dead skin and it left a thin layer of moisturizing sweet almond oil behind.


She stayed under the wash for a few more minutes, lingering in the steamy environment, her thoughts straying to her husband. She imagined he was likely lounging casually on their bed, hopefully with a few shirt buttons undone. A periodical would be propped up in front of him, and one of his highly dubious, but thoroughly sexy smirks gracing his features as he examined the merits of whatever had caught his interest. He was a man who had no clue how delectable he was. It was unconscionable. She gave the hand held shower head a second glance before wistfully turning off the taps.


After lightly toweling off, Hermione reached for a pink silken bag and the accompanying feather duster with a look of greedy anticipation. She had purchased the body powder from the adult novelty shop where she’d purchased her unsatisfying glittery purple substitute for Severus. The canister promised the talc was light and kissable with a sweet strawberry and champagne flavor. Well, that seemed to fit the bill nicely. She primed the duster and began sweeping the fine powder along her body, lingering in sensitive areas where she wanted him to pay attention. The dust clung to her oil-softened skin, and Hermione imagined Severus might just kiss every inch. She swiped her tongue across the inside of her wrist and smiled at the sweetness. Her husband might devour her. There were worse things in life.


Once she was happy with her preparation, Hermione padded lightly into her bedroom and opened her lingerie drawer. To call it a lingerie drawer was really an insult to lingerie drawers the world over. Sensible cotton bikinis and bras made for support, not enticement, did not qualify as lingerie. Sadly, Hermione did not own a trousseau. She had dated two Weasley brothers. Ron and Charlie. There had been other wizards she had briefly met with and dated, but none were ‘stay the night’ material. And well, as much as she loved her Weasley men, they only needed a peek at suggestive cleavage to get them going. Wearing lacy knickers or a sexy negligee was a waste.


Staring at her practical undergarments, she rather wished she had something nice to wear for Severus. Something that looked as sexy as she felt. Ah well, some of the best advice she’d been given through the years was ‘If you feel confident, comfortable and sexy, it doesn’t matter what you wear; it’ll shine through.’ She picked out her best set of bra and knickers and rather hoped that was true. She didn’t even own a fancy garter belt and silky nylons. And though he’d already stripped them off her once before, control top pantyhose with reinforced toes were decidedly unsexy.


Hermione dressed and applied a little bit of makeup. She critically surveyed herself and the tasteful burgundy robes she’d selected. They were strategically chosen for their flattering cut and ability to be lifted over her head in one easy move. Humming a little tune, she grabbed her satchel and headed out into the night.


Before she made it to Azkaban, she stopped along her route in Hogsmeade for some of Severus’ favorite Italian take-away.


Hermione waited impatiently in line, tapping her foot, barely bothering to hide her disgust. Somehow she expected more, better, and faster out of the wizarding world, but customer service sucked just as much there as it did in the Muggle. And standing in line for take-away was a monumental inconvenience. Well, it was when she had Severus waiting for her. And it didn’t help that in front of her, a pair of lovers were swallowing each other's faces. It didn’t disturb her as it might have disgusted others who disapproved of their unseemliness. The public display only made her head turn in wistful longing.


The line trudged slowly forward, inch by inch. All she had to do was ask for a number 2 and a number 7 and drinks, then she could quickly leave and get on with life. Hermione hated wasting time. Time was measured carefully, to be spent wisely. She had always felt the most precious time was the scant moments spent in bed when she was awake and refreshed, before the alarm rang. Now, precious time had a very different definition. She could have drawn a line through her day delineating real life from the fantasy of life they mimicked in Severus’ cell.


She preferred the fantasy. It made real life so tedious. Her job had always been overwhelming, but it was her passion, and her drive. One project after another to throw herself into, and now… It was so heavy. She felt so burdened by the load.


Not that she’d dare tell Severus, but Hermione secretly dreamed of selling Granger Industries off. Or closing the factory and selling the rights. Something, anything to be rid of it. If she hadn’t been saddled by responsibility, she might have finished her education. Taken her N.E.W.T.s, and reconciled with her parents. She could have gotten a nice respectable job with the Ministry or doing something she could be proud of. She was not particularly proud of being the manufacturer of the wizarding world’s number one shampoo. Some wizards or witches might have been; Hermione was not.


Best of all, when the damned Marriage Law was passed, Hermione would have been free to abandon the country and take up refugee status like the other terrified witches who had left. She could have started a new life elsewhere. God, that thought appealed to her. As her thoughts spun round her in wonderful fantasies of having a fresh start she found herself at the head of the line. Minutes later, she Apparated along to her destination with Severus' dinner.


*****


Severus flicked the soft pheasant quill thoughtfully against his chin before scribing the first few lines of his missive to Ffoulkes. With Hopper properly run off, he had no need to horde gold in case Hermione’s business failed. And her handling of his lichen and mushroom fortune had actually made him quite a wealthy man. Really, for the first time in his life, Severus could afford to woo a witch properly, and was in a position to do so. Now, with so many possibilities open and available to him, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Or what to ask of Ffoulkes.


Andrew Ffoulkes was a happily married wizard. He had settled down with his Hogwarts sweetheart, and fifty years later they were still disgustingly together. Severus had taught their only child Dorothy beginning in his first year as a professor, and remembered she was not a natural at potions, but managed well enough. Which was to say, in seven years she never made unidentifiable sludge, blew anyone up, melted any cauldron, or created a poisonous gas cloud that would suffocate them all in seconds. Given that, she exceeded his expectations. Severus fully expected that each and every one of his little bastards would try to kill him and all their mates.


But Ffoulkes would know what to buy a witch, to make her happy. Severus still had a few more of his mother’s heirloom trinkets in his vault, not that there were many to begin with, but still, that well would dry up soon enough. And he really wanted her to have something from him, just because. She’d worn the Valentines pearl drop earrings a few times, and on most days the silver bracelet he’d given her for Yule peeked out from her sleeve, but Severus wanted to get her something ‘just because.’ Maybe surprise her with a Happy Wednesday! Which probably meant that somewhere along the way, he’d sawn off his testicles and handed them over to the witch. She owned him. Completely. Wanting to give a gift to say 'I love you, I'm in love with you, thank you for being my wife,' not only made him into a pussy, but a fucking coward as well.


Then Severus stilled. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. Well, a 'just because' gift wasn't in the cards. He realized Hermione's birthday was approaching and he had no ideas of what to do for her. He needed Ffoulkes. Desperately. Before he could finish the first embarrassing line to Ffoulkes, Severus heard Hermione’s dainty footfalls in the corridor.


She paused and laughed, it was not a pretty or girly laugh, but womanly and rich. Severus resisted the urge to flatten his ear against the jailer's slot, and instead slowly packed up his lap desk and quills. He heard a snort and guffaw that carried loudly. Mulciber. Whatever he said in return, Hermione found it hilarious because she was laughing again. It had to be silly and comical, because he highly doubted the boy could do witty repartees and clever comebacks. That’s what he did. He was known for his dry humor and intelligent quips, and Hermione always laughed at those.


Severus shook his head and relaxed his clenched hands, where his fingernails were dug into the flesh of his palm. He was being jealous and petty. She was free to laugh. Of course she was. It was even possible for the lout Mulciber to make her laugh. Though Severus guessed he only told ‘Dick and Fart’ jokes, but Hermione was welcome to appreciate that style of uninspired comedy, if she wanted to. If she liked that sort of thing. Perhaps she did. He supposed he really didn’t know. He supposed he really ought to get his labored breathing back to normal before she opened his cell. He had the strangest urge to fling open the door and tell that boy to take a few steps back from his wife.


Right, breathe.


They had a Full Fidelity charm, solid and airtight. Well, mostly airtight because the wizard who put the moves on his witch would find his airway violently constricted. And there was no mercy whatsoever built in for a wizard who uncharitably touched her in an intimate way. The charm still didn’t keep males from chatting her up, or looking down her blouse, or at her lush bum, shapely calves, and pouty lips, which were especially kissable when she nibbled on them. And the males of the wizarding species were sex-obsessed animals, just as bad or worse than Muggle males. Hermione came into contact with males daily. Granger Industries even employed wizards. Severus would break any of their necks if they even so much as contemplated making a pass at her, but that thought wasn’t helping his breathing in the least. And Hermione was approaching his door.


He closed his mind and envisioned a starry night. The field of pitch black sky dotted with faint twinkling diamonds. He mentally shifted forward, picking out a patch of sky and focused on a point between clusters of stars. He shifted forward several more times, zooming in on the black patch of nothing until his field was nothing. Just an eternal expanse of ever expanding universe. He knew there were more stars beyond what his eye could perceive, but he could conceptualize this nothingness as it presented itself, and it was a blank space that even the Dark Lord could never penetrate.


His disciplined mind properly Occluded, Severus breathed deeply and rolled his shoulders. Using his well practiced skill, he began relaxing his body from the tip top of his head, following down his spine until he reached his toes. By the time she was standing before him, her head quirked at an angle, Severus was both perfectly aware of his world and utterly at peace with it.


“Good evening,” she said nervously, before leaning forward to kiss his cheek.


It was an uncommonly kind gesture that he wasn’t accustomed to, and Severus worried his brow. “Only a kiss on the cheek, Vixen?”


“Oh, um, as much as I wanted to, I thought it might be bad form to launch myself at you and pin you to the mattress.”


Severus’ nose twitched like he was going to sneeze before a wicked smile slowly spread across his face. “And is that what you wanted to do? Pin me to the mattress? Have your way with me and accost my person?” His eyes glittered in their depths as he displayed his amusement.


“Uh-huh,” she replied, suddenly feeling very much like he was toying with her, but uncertain how to play along. Why did he always do that, she wondered. She could go toe-to-toe with any wizard, and look them straight in the eye if she had the proper heels, but Severus Snape threw her entirely off her game. Especially when her sensible knickers were already soaked for him.


Severus spread his arms out wide, the rolled back cuffs of his starched white shirt exposing the faint graying lines of his half hidden Dark Mark. “So what’s stopping you?”


She might have paused to answer, but Hermione had indeed launched herself at him and spent her breath opening up his lips to swirl her tongue in his mouth. Her knees landed ungracefully on either side of him as she straddled his lap, and Severus wrapped his arms about her back, securing her against him before he leaned back against their bed.


Hermione moaned, in the soft frustrated way she did when she was ready for more, and not receiving nearly enough. Severus devoured her voice with his questing tongue, scouring her soft mouth and tasting her. He could give her more, and satisfy her need. He was an impotent man, his masculinity removed from him by heavy warding and by the lamentable choices of his youth that brought him to this time and place, but he could satisfy the witch, of that he was certain.


Relaxing in the familiarity of their embrace, their kisses slowed and deepened as Hermione sighed against his mouth. “Thanks, I needed that,” she remarked lazily slumping against him.


Arousal thickened his voice, turning it into a rich baritone. Severus murmured, “What do you need Hermione, tell me.” He closed his eyes painfully tight in preparation for her articulated desire for the one thing he couldn’t give her, not that she’d complained that he couldn’t fuck her, but still, it had to be a great disappointment.


“Just you, Severus,” she breathed. “Just you.”


“How?” he asked even though it burned him to the core. His witch needed him. She deserved to have him. As his penis filled and lengthened, his aching balls weighing heavily against his thigh, he only wanted to dutifully worship her and sheath himself into her willing body.


Hermione gave a strangled cry, and he knew she was thinking of another way of expressing her need without hurting him. Without saying the words that she needed him deep within her. He would never be enough; teeth and tongues, lips and hands could delight the senses and inflame lust, but without the union of bodies, the act felt incomplete.


Hermione sighed softly, her head coming to rest on his chest, her body slackened against him, but quiet and perfectly at peace as his breathing lulled her into a gentle rest. In her mind when they came together it was like a thrilling crash. With all the shuddering speeds and racing bodies that hit in explosive collisions. Severus was her passion, his voice and intuition able to turn her on, and reduce her to nothing but pure want. He could entice her with a careless word or a brush of his hand on her collarbone. Those simple touches were all she needed to lose whatever semblance of thought she possessed and make her seek the burning collision.


But it was new to them, this intimacy they shared, and she wanted to explore it hesitantly, and allow the newness to unfurl slowly so she could savor it. Savor him. Because Hermione rather thought Severus was a wizard who could be savored slowly. She expected he'd laugh at her silly girlish sentiment if she confessed a desire that he 'make-love' to her. Hermione couldn't utter the words. Aside from the fact that his fingertips whispering across her arms made her so turned on, Hermione couldn't vocalize 'Make love to me.' Inside her mind she could still hear the same austere professor that had sneered at her as though she were more repulsive than gummed-up bubotuber puss. That persona was well hidden now as Severus had dropped his facade to her long ago, but she shuddered to think of how callous he'd be if she expressed such a sentiment. She knew it was possible. He had no ability to fill her, but Hermione wasn't so naive to believe that shared intimacy began and ended with intercourse. They'd just have to get a little creative.


Hermione ran her fingers up the back of his neck, dragging lightly on his scalp and grinning as Severus shook. She angled his face, cradling his strong jaw between her palms, and forced him to meet her open and sincere eyes.


"Touch me. Please," she huskily articulated, hoping she was choosing the right words. "Make me feel you, Severus."


*****


Hours later Severus smiled softly at his resting Vixen. She had stripped him to the bone. There had not been any theatrics. No grand production of moaning or thrashing, the likes of which he'd become accustomed from bar slags. But even minus all the exaggerated verbal and visual cues from sexual pantomime, he knew he had reached her. Hermione had felt him. And he had felt her as she laid him completely bare. Sated, Severus kissed her brow and snuggled in to sleep, except Hermione was still awake and the tune she was humming was a definite distraction.


“Hermione, what are you humming?”


“Humming?”


He lifted his head slightly to look down at the witch nuzzled into his side. She looked just perfect there, even though she was making her arm go dead. “Yes, you’ve been humming ever since you walked in.”


“Oh? Oh!” She blushed slightly and tried to hide her embarrassment by turning into his ribs. “Yesterday we did another movie night, and the elves really liked the song, ‘Be Our Guest,’ and have taken to singing it in the Homestead. I think I’ve gotten it stuck in my head, too.”


“Be Our Guest?”


“Yes, it’s a sweet little tune, it goes like,” her words died as he held up his hand to stop her.


“I think I’ve heard it enough already.”


“That bad?” He didn’t need to reply for her to get her answer. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly.
He was nearly asleep when Hermione woke him again, though mercifully the humming had stopped.


“Severus?”


“Hmmm?” Her fingertips lightly danced over the sparse hairs on his chest, tickling him before Severus clasped his hand over hers.


“Remember when you said you wouldn’t leave Azkaban?”


He grunted noncommittally. Was it too much to ask that she’d leave him alone if he appeared uninterested? Well, to be honest, he didn’t have to try too hard to appear uninterested. Satisfied, he felt boneless. Not a single joint or vertebra ached. He rather wished she’d keep her impertinent mouth shut until he was ready for it again. Apparently that was too much to hope.


“You said you wouldn’t leave because you didn’t want to burden me,” Hermione paused, drawing breath and confidence. Then drew another deep breath.


Severus was almost convinced the conversation was over and he could finally get his well-deserved nap when she spoke again in a shaky and uncertain voice.


“You’re not a burden. I… wouldn’t mind you leaving Azkaban and coming home with me.”


“Hermione,” he warned.


“No, hear me out Severus. I think this could work. And the Marriage Law will probably be overturned within the year so we wouldn’t be obliged to have children together. Not that I’d mind having kids with you. Someday. Maybe. But why not do it? You have all the evidence, I’m certain you’ll be acquitted. Let’s make this real.”


He lifted his head to stare agog at his hag-haired witch curled up against his side. Was she barking mad? Severus winced as his head heavily hit the pillow and pinched the bridge of his nose. She’d never give him any peace. It was a witch’s prerogative to have deep nonsensical conversations post coitus. Well, they hadn’t shagged, but he was still quite shagged out, and she still wanted to talk. Manipulative witch.


If she thought she’d connive him to do her bidding while he was still floating on bliss, she was mistaken. Severus couldn’t be so easily used. Not since his youth at least.


“Hermione, go to sleep. Get some rest.”


“You do remember saying that, don’t you?” she prodded.


Fuck. Muggle proselytizers knocking at his door were easier to shake off than his witch. “You misunderstood me. This discussion is over.”


Severus confidently shut his eyes feeling satisfied with himself that the conversation was effectively over. The phrase always worked for his father who never apologized for anything, and was always deadly serious. When his father said the discussion was closed, it was closed.


“What?” Hermione was sitting up now, peering over him. He could feel it, her halo of hair cascading around him, her breasts coming to lie on his chest as she stared into his firmly shut eyelids. “Severus Snape, you look at me this instant.”


Ruefully he cracked an eyelid. Her fingers punched into the soft flesh where his shoulder joined his chest, forcefully punctuating her words. “You said, and I quote, ‘I wouldn’t leave here. I wouldn’t want to force you to have a husband you wouldn’t want.’ I fail to see how I could misinterpret that.”


“Remove your hand from my person, witch. I do not hit you, and I expect the same kindness in return.” At present he didn’t feel like hitting her, rather he was really quite tempted to strangle her.


“Oh,” she shifted, looking properly chastened. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. But this doesn’t change our conversation. I still want to talk.”


“Talk?” he spat, though lying down nude dulled the effect.


“Well, I want you to know that it’s okay. Really. I’m not the reason to stay here. Actually, I’d like for you to leave.”


“So noted. You’ve made that point, Vixen. I got it the first time.”


“And?”


“And what?” Was she dense? Through his now wide-awake eyes, Severus could plainly see Hermione was looking at him as though he were thick.


“So what do you say to making a real go of it? We’ve already got the Homestead and Granger Industries. Why not take a chance on a real married life?”


“Again you are repeating yourself, Vixen. I think you made your point clearly once before.”


“But you didn’t answer me.”


Severus sat up and leaned heavily against the headboard. Now his back hurt. He blamed the hag masquerading as a witch.


“No,” he replied, crossing his bare arms across his chest.


“No, what?” she asked nonplussed. “No, you don’t want to talk about it. No, you don’t remember the conversation-”


“No, I am not leaving Azkaban,” he cut through.


“But you said -”


“I remember what I said. You misunderstood me. Yes, your wish to not have the burden of a real husband had been a factor in my wish to stay here. Now you’ve made it quite clear that you are not adverse to our marriage and would like to pursue a relationship outside these walls. Noted. Thank you.”


“But you won’t...” she said dumbly.


“Of course not, if it were my wish to leave I would have done so unencumbered before I met you. Why is this such a difficult concept for you to grasp?”


“It makes no sense.”


“And we’ve covered this before as well. I believe I sufficiently stated I had my personal reasons for staying.”


“Your religion,” Hermione repeated in a faraway voice. “Your so-called redemption.”


Severus' religion was a strange thing to her, a puzzle with pieces that didn't fit, and Severus never explained himself. Well, that she could accept, it was personal, and he was a very private man. But for a wizard who confined himself to prison, paying penance to nameless Gods she expected to hear at least some mention of his faith in his book. And as many times as Hermione had peeked in on him through the jailer's slot, never once had she interrupted him while praying. Hermione understood that during times of great distress men either ran from their faith or cleaved to it, but from Severus she read nothing. Just his willful stubbornness not to leave his self-made imprisonment.


“Yes, my so-called redemption. Funny, how it doesn’t seem to matter to you, wife.”


“It does matter!" she interjected. "I just don't see how it's necessary, I don’t understand why you feel the need for redemption.”


“No, you don’t value my choice. It is my choice, Hermione. There may not be many options left to me, but this is my choice.”


“And I respect that.”


“And yet you would impose your will on me?” he asked with an incredulous look. “Tell me, Vixen, do you intend to be my next Lord and Master? Are you more of a benign Dumbledore, or a wrathful Dark Lord?”


“Neither! I’m not imposing my will, I’m asking you. And a marriage is a partnership, our partnership. I’m not your Lord and Master. Why is this so difficult? I just asked you not to make me your reason to keep yourself here.”


'Marriage is a partnership?' Severus mockingly thought. Not for the first time he wondered where she got her little pearls of wisdom. They were trite and sometimes amusing, but this one rankled. Reheated cliché advice for the uninitiated. Their marriage wasn't anything like a partnership, and he doubted it would be even if he left Azkaban. They fought for dominance all the time; it was the true natural order of relationships, but then again Hermione lived in a beautiful world constructed primarily in her head. She was too naive sometimes, and he too jaded. But whereas her life had been charmed in many was, Severus had been owned. She could never fucking truly comprehend that, and so she still stupidly thought that marriage was a partnership. What a nice thought - unrealistic, asinine, and insulting to his intelligence, but nice. Severus fully expected her to win; after all, she was playing the game with all the advantages.


His nose twitched and Hermione realized she was beginning to repeat herself again like a broken record, not that he’d get that particular reference. “Please, just consider it, Severus. We could be good together. I think we could make this marriage work.”


He sighed deeply. Hermione embodied temptation. He’d never consider going back on his choice to lock himself away. But what she said sounded divine. A home. A new career. A fresh start with Hermione by his side. Pure temptation, unlike any he’d ever known before, and he could see it. He could picture it in his mind, just as she’d said. The thought taunted him.


He imagined frying eggs and making coffee in the morning while his witch warmed his bed. Relaxing together before tackling the day. He imagined being able to actually see the production line, meet Madam Gibson with whom he corresponded to compose his joint and cartilage potion. He could get so much more involved than just reviewing paperwork. And he wanted to. He wanted to help her run Granger Industries.


Hermione was his strength and his weakness. But every time he thought of saying ‘Sod this for a game of soldiers’ and leave Azkaban… join her in their proper marriage bed, he was reminded of his purpose. The purpose he felt himself straying from ever since she’d invited herself into his cell. The Vixen’s temptation that pulled on him also made him want to dig his heels in harder. Hermione had no idea how much she affected him when she said she wanted him at the Homestead. It would be too easy to say yes. Too easy to abandon his cell. But he’d be abandoning his penance, his mission to atone for his wrongdoing, all the harm he’d done…


“Hermione, I would… I…” his throat closed up around his words and Severus nearly choked. “Please don’t ask me to give up my penance. If I choose to, I’ll let you know, but right now I can’t.”


“When might that be?” He’d have taken her to task for her impertinent questions except that her eyes appeared to be welling with some foreign fluid.


“I don’t know. When I’m finished. I don’t know when that will be either, and it may never happen. When I’ve atoned enough for the deeds I’ve done. When the Gods have forgiven me. I don’t know when penance ends. How is anyone supposed to know when the Gods will show their mercy? I am a servant to their whims.”


“But you’ll consider it? You’ll consider leaving and starting a real marriage with me?”


Her voice was laced with such want Severus found himself caving to her. She wanted him, of that he was certain, there no hint of deception in her eyes. For the first time in his life he had a witch who wanted him, a witch who wanted a future with him.


“Yes, Vixen, I’ll consider it.”


Hermione didn’t want to push her wizard. She didn’t want to turn him from her or to become his Dumbledore. She’d just have to deal with his choice. She’d have to give him the time he needed. The space he asked for. But he needn't look to his Gods for mercy if he waited too long, for Hermione knew her anger would be great if he made her another Azkaban widow. There was only so much self-loathing she’d put up with.


*

A/N
Chapter title: Nihil Curo De Ista Tua Stulta Superstitione - I'm not interested in your dopey religious cult
NRM reference for TQW
Love to Christev20 for betaing. You do so much more than check my commas.
Thanks loves, please consider leaving a review! AV