The Gilded Cage

neelix- You wouldn’t love or respect him as much if he didn’t have that damned moral high ground. But yes, that is a bit of a conflict isn’t it. How ‘bout 180 degrees from where most people assumed this fic was going. It made me smirk when the early reviews came in…and cackle a little.
wudelfin- Swift kick is pretty harsh. *hands over crop* Here! Try this.
kimjo2- He has had quite a bit of temptation thrown at him, no? I hope it’s enough.
Voracious- Agreed, it’s definitely progress. I doubt he would have given anything more than, ‘I’ll consider it.’ That won’t tie-over Hermione forever.
Lost in Stars- Ha! Did you just tell me a ‘One time at band camp…’ story? I’m thrilled you like it.
pytonyk- It was chosen completely at random with no additional consideration. And Hungarian was mentioned. Manchurian, though spoken by many more people is an Eastern language, and I wanted to keep it within Europe since that seemed more logical.
Heidi191976- Yea! I’m glad.
HarryGinny4eva- I believe you’re right. She is more emotionally needy even though she has more resources. SS has everything he wants where he is.
Hermione Snape - Probably not save the world again. Just forgive himself.
Phoenix- Thank you. Ok! Here! Here! Here!
amd2175- Such is life. It’s fulla demands, I swear! Marathon reading, hm? I’m glad it’s that good.

Chapter 43 - Lex Talionis


Hermione sat awaiting Ginny, her lunch guest. The advanced copy of Severus’ Ex Intempestivo Pax was spread out on the table at one of the trendy bistros that lined the regentrified Knockturn Alley. Hermione could have sworn the bistro once was listed as an illicit potions lab, but there were no nasty lingering smells of acrid potions. Actually, Hermione was suspicious enough to believe they were employing her Natural Scentsations product to enhance the mouthwatering fresh baked bread and garlic smells coming from the kitchen.


As the tips of her fingers lightly strummed the tome Hermione grounded her teeth. The book was a disaster. Well, in a manner of speaking it was. Hermione had only just gotten her hands on the edits Luna had made to his work, and only had to skim through a couple of chapters before realizing with cold dread that Severus would be furious. His work had been edited nearly beyond all recognition.


Oh, his voice came through; it was still very much his story, but enhanced. Severus the man read like an enigmatic dark and brooding character. Hermione would be the first to admit he was. But that wasn't quite the problem either. No, she couldn't exactly place what was wrong about it, only that it was. It was as if his person had been transformed into a persona. Romanticized. Even though there weren't any smut filled pages of heaving bodices, Hermione could easily picture him on the dust jacket sporting a sensual scowl, an oiled chest, and a kilt. Perhaps not a kilt, but a pirate ship wasn't out of the question.


Damn Luna. She had refashioned him into a more sympathetic character with whom average witches and wizards could identify. And it had all the makings of a bestseller. Damn, damn, damn. Severus would be apoplectic. And Hermione had been the one to suggest he get published. No, not suggest. Insist.


Yes, she had demanded that his story be heard, but now there was the very real possibility that people would hear it. And take note. Heaven help her, what if someone connected that he was forbidden from having conjugal visits? Hermione cringed again, knowing she'd spend her years hoping that nobody in the Ministry would cotton on to her scheme. She had taken a very large gamble and now couldn't afford to lose. Maybe though, it could go in her favor. It was more than wishful thinking, but perhaps the Ministry would come to the realization that she and her sexy, brooding kilted husband were not having proper marital relations and would amend his sentence so that they could get on with the loving. Hermione snorted loudly, bringing her hand quickly up to her face and glancing around the bistro in case anyone heard her. Nobody had so much as looked in her direction.


That would be divine. She'd be mortified to petition the Wizengamot on his behalf to allow for conjugal visits, but damn. Her mind left that thought and trailed into pleasant memories until the waiter came to refill her water glass. Hermione had been doing that a lot lately, allowing her thoughts to stray to nights spent in Azkaban. If only she had known then what she knew now, she'd have worked hard to get detention with her surly Potions Master. No, probably not. He was still a right nasty heartless git.


No. Not heartless. She knew that now. It had been a sharp blow, one that knocked the wind from her lungs and left her dazed, when Hermione had read the passages about the other witch. The other woman. Severus never once mentioned her name, or gave a true description of a witch he referred to as his angel, but he loved her. Oh dear gods, it felt like her heart had been betrayed. To read of his unrequited love for some winsome witch who had come before. And Hermione knew by the certainty that he wrote of his abiding love for her, that she had his heart still. It couldn't possibly be the belly dancer in Hogsmeade he once shacked up with? No. That seemed to be a casual relationship, or at least one he was willing to talk about. Hermione had never heard him speak of any other witch, and probably never would, given the reverent way he wrote about this ethereal beauty that haunted him still.


Ugh. She had no way to compete against a nameless, faceless witch. Hermione had never had beauty to recommend her. And Severus described the love of his life as academically gifted. High praise indeed from the demanding Professor. Hermione didn't even have her intelligence to set her apart. Was there any place in his heart left for her? When his flesh ignited hers, was he envisioning someone else? Dear god, was she a substitute? By the poetic prose Severus used to describe her, Hermione was a poor substitute for the witch who had claimed his heart for her own. She knew she wasn't being rational, but the references to this pedestal-raised witch were like threaded gossamer woven through the pages, and it made her sick with envy. Without even meeting the unnamed witch, Hermione despised her. And because it felt like he was hiding something amidst everything, it was more than a gut punch. The mystery witch was a link that somehow connected the two wars, but Hermione couldn't think of anyone who fit that description. And she didn’t even have a name to go on, but she did have friends, and research.


It wasn't rational at all. Jealousy was not a rational emotion. Where her heart was concerned Hermione had never been a rational creature. Yes, she studied with aplomb and could easily take down any wizard that matched wits with her in the sciences or debate, but she was utterly unable to control herself when it came to the irrationality of her own desires. It was territory that she had not charted well and had led to more impulsive drama than her life needed. But then, if she had been able to be in control of the topsy-turvy emotions she felt when she knew she was in love, she'd probably have married Charlie. No, she would have never married the dragon-handler. He just couldn't handle her; he found fire breathing reptiles easier to manage. Hermione knew when her emotions ran high she felt out of control. When she felt out of control, she well... made a damned fool of herself. Hermione wasn't a witch accustomed to being out of control, and when it happened she reacted poorly.


Hermione chuffed at the thought. Poorly wasn't exactly the appropriate word to describe her fits of desperate irrationality. Badly? Violently?


Best not to lose control.


Ever.


The only thing she knew was left to do was discover the identity of the mystery witch. Research was always a viable option. And research on her wizard was never time misspent. Perhaps, she thought, if she could discover what brought the two of them together, what endeared the witch to him, maybe then she would have a chance of gaining a small shred of the same worship he laved upon "her." Or at least pick her apart. No, that would be petty, but Hermione had been known to be petty in love before. Regardless, research was warranted. Research was always good. Yes, she would dig deeper this time.


At least she had an idea of where to start. No more fumbling around for records at the Ministry. Her fingers drummed over the cover of Severus' book, and her lips curled into a coquette smile. He had provided her with everything she needed to know what rocks to turn over. And she'd start with the one person who had avoided her most of all. Harry.


Severus had only devoted four short sentences to what he believed were to be his final moments in battle, but it was all news to Hermione. Oh, she remembered watching the man, pale and spurting blood everywhere on the dust-covered floor, silvering streams of memories escaping him. She had even Conjured the flask that captured his memories. That wasn't the sort of image one could get rid of, but she hadn't seen the Pensieve. Only Harry had. And he never mentioned the contents to her, not that she had bothered him about it, because at the time an evil menacing despot had been shouting deadlines on the battlefield, and corpses of her friends were going cold. Professor Snape's memories really hadn't been a priority. Somehow the entire incident had slipped her mind. It was insignificant against the backdrop of carnage and adrenalin that permeated her recollection of the battle.


But in his thick book Severus had clearly, plainly, and without obfuscation written that he had left what he thought were dying memories for Harry to assist with Lord Voldemort's downfall. And if she read between the lines, as Hermione was prone to do, she could plainly see there was not only information contained in those memories that would ultimately prove he'd been loyal to the Order, but also memories he didn't want to share. His description of the act was mechanical and devoid of his typical well thought out descriptions. Clearly he was hiding information.


She suspected that whatever Harry knew was not insignificant.


Ginny sailed in through the restaurant just then, late as always, but sporting one of the megawatt smiles she'd been wearing ever since Hermione had set her up with Billy.


The girls both ordered and got on with the serious business of their lunch date.


“Right Gin, spill it,” Hermione ordered with a stab to her creamy penne. Ginny was positively bursting with raw happy energy.


“I love him,” she sighed dramatically. “He’s dreamy.”


“Dreamy?” Hermione deadpanned, unconvinced. Billy Mulciber was decidedly not dreamy, but she doubted she could convince the witch with the faraway look and bright smile otherwise.


“He’s perfect, Hermione. He’s so thoughtful and talented. Did I tell you he fixed the radiator in my apartment? It no longer wails like a banshee on a bender.”


“So he’s been to your apartment, then,” Hermione taunted with a sly smirk. She had been taking smirking lessons from her husband and had become quite proficient in their judicious application.


Ginny’s eyes went wide for a moment before they dropped guiltily to her untouched salad. “He stayed over last night,” she mumbled low enough that her voice didn’t carry.


Hermione nodded to herself; that explained her glowing complexion. A right good fuck did wonders for a witch. She spared Gin the wistful sigh that threatened to come from her own lips.


“Fabulous. Was it good?”


Ginny looked up from under her curled strawberry lashes and without saying a word, Hermione knew it had been very good indeed. “So,” Hermione began carefully, “do you think he might be the ‘one?’”


“Look!” Ginny squealed tapping her wand on her right hand ring finger. There was a brief liquid shimmer before a gaudy, over-sized, emerald-cut diamond appeared, stretching between her first and second knuckles. Hermione was willing to bet she was seeing the best of the Mulciber family heirlooms.


“Oh Ginny, I’m so happy for you.” And she was.


Hermione was very happy for her friend. Just a bit envious as well. Was this what it was like to find your soul mate? To fall madly in love? To be able to make love to the wizard you longed for? She knew Ginny's joy would always be out of her reach.


She could never have this with Severus, and her eyes threatened to leak at the table. Hermione unobtrusively turned and blinked rapidly until she got her errant emotions and eyes under control.


Severus was her tragic pipe dream. He was everything she wanted when she started this farce of a marriage. Unable to have children. Unable to have sex. Convenient and available twenty four hours a day, as needed and on her schedule only. And now she realized she wanted none of it. She wanted her husband. Wanted him the same way Ginny desired and had Billy.


When she realized he didn't have the 'happily ever after' he deserved, that he deserved to have his freedom, it sounded so selfless. But it was foolish to suggest she was only thinking about him and denying her own desires. That Hermione was willing to give up her tidy life and welcome her husband and whatever children came from their union because she was charitable that way. Now she realized, like a hard stone in her belly, it was her 'happily ever after' she was thinking of. And there wasn't anything selfless about it at all.


What about her?


Could she really live for decades visiting her husband? Looking, but not touching? Touching, but not being intimate the way a husband and wife were meant to be? Making half a life on reheated take-away? What a fool she had been to think... No, she hadn't thought. What on earth had ever convinced her that she could manage a life in two locations? Neither one of them being real lives. Hermione realized acutely that half of her waking hours were spent grinding away her spirit and energy into a company that was both her proudest achievement and heaviest burden to bear. Her other life, the nighttime sky that didn't understand daylight, was home for her soul. Severus' presence was more than his embrace, greater than his devotion to her. His presence was balm for her weary mind and fractured body.


How had she been so stupid to allow this to happen? Living divided desperate lives. Half lives. Hermione couldn't bear a lifetime of it. Could she trudge to Azkaban to visit her home when her hair was shot with silver and her joints aching? Severus could condemn himself. She could not. They'd been married in a small antechamber with flickering lights on fish night. Her mother had dreamily said one summer many years ago that couples got married in front of altars because marriage was a sacrifice. Both husband and wife give up a part of themselves to create something greater, a partnership. At the wedding there had been no altar to sacrifice herself upon, but surely a lifetime of this was a commitment she couldn't bear.


It must have been the drugs. Perhaps Severus was right and Liquid Sunshine was much more potent than she thought, because she must have been barking to think she could do this.


Hermione glanced back at Ginny's gaudy ring. It wasn't the sort of ring that Ginny would have ever chosen for herself. The girl preferred the understated and elegant, but the heirloom came from the wizard she loved and she wore it proudly. What would she give for a little bit of that in her life? For Severus' freedom? What if she couldn't have it? Her 'happily ever after?'


Holy father, if she was bound to serve a sentence in Azkaban parceled out as a mandatory two hours a week with her beloved for the rest of her life, she'd go mad.


Ginny quickly re-Glamoured the ring to hide it and her eyes surreptitiously slid around the room to see if she had garnered the notice of any of the other patrons. She needn’t have bothered. The bistro was filled with self-absorbed witches and wizards too involved with their own lives and only out to be ‘seen’ anyway.


“Oh Hermione, he’s… he’s…”


“Perfect?” Hermione supplied, and Ginny vigorously nodded in the affirmative. Ever since she had started seeing Billy her vocabulary had been limited to a handful of adjectives.


Ginny’s smile faltered only briefly, but Hermione knew it spelled trouble. “And?” she probed. There shouldn’t have been any trouble in paradise the day of her engagement.


Ginny sighed dramatically again. “I haven’t told my family.”


“About the engagement?” Hermione asked, already feeling a cold knot in her stomach.


She shook her head and looked honestly scared. Hermione would have been scared too. Molly didn’t like surprises concerning her only daughter, and to say the mother hen was a wee bit overprotective was an understatement. That, and there was also the roving pack of feral brothers to consider.


“About anything.” She lifted a sliced radish up off her plate and pushed it to the side. “How do I tell them? Every member of my family belongs to the Order. Did you hear the entire Mulciber clan was sentenced for being loyal Death Eaters? They’ll flip.”


“They weren’t all Death Eaters,” Hermione corrected.


“That’s true, Billy never did take the Mark, but I doubt that’ll satisfy Mum.”


“No,” Hermione said slowly. “What has he told you of his family?”


“Not much, only that he takes care of them in Azkaban. What do you know that I don’t?”


Hermione put her fork down with a clatter. “I just don’t think small children qualify as loyal Death Eaters.”


Ginny’s eyes became frightfully wide as she processed Hermione’s meaning. “Oh! Oh. Oh my. I never thought… I never thought the Ministry could do that. Would do that. Did you say children? Well, maybe that explains why Billy wants as many kids as I do.”


“That’ll help soften the blow to Molly,” Hermione said helpfully, but she knew Ginny was no longer with her in the conversation. She was studying a spot behind Hermione’s shoulder with intense concentration.


“Why doesn’t anyone know about this… I don’t even know what to call it. Travesty? Horror? Injustice?”


“I suppose ‘dirty little secret’ would be appropriate. You know the Ministry controls the media. And I don’t think anyone really gives two shits about what happens to people once the Ministry labels them as ‘Dark.’ Of course I take issue with how the Ministry applies labels, but that’s another conversation. Ginny?” Her friend was frowning at the painting behind Hermione’s head. She knew it was an atrocious still life, but that was neither here nor there.


“What are you thinking, Ginny?”


“I want…” she said slowly and carefully still not making eye contact, “I want to bring honor to the Mulciber name. I want our children to be proud of being Mulcibers. I want my family to be happy for me and Billy. And I want the Ministry to bend over and spread it’s cheeks 'cause I’m about to hit them hard.”


There was a half crazed steely glint in Ginevra Weasley’s eyes that Hermione recognized only too well. Inwardly she sighed in relief. She knew what she had seen with her own eyes was very wrong, and had felt indescribable guilt over not having the time to champion the cause, but Ginny had taken up the flag. And the witch would run with it.


Run, Ginny, run.

*

A/N:
Chapter title: Lex Talionis - The Law of Revenge - (Ginny is gonna skin someone alive!)

Three Cheers for fantabulous beta Christev20 - Hip-Hip Huzzah! And an Apparition License thrown in too.

Thanks for reading kittens! Please leave a review. Thanks, AV