The Gilded Cage

Hermione Snape- I’m going to assume by ‘dead heat’ you mean their stalemate until he makes up his damn mind. Hermione tends to prod when she waits too long. She’s very punctual about things. I hope Severus knows.
Voracious- I agree, their Minister, though elected seems to have dictator-like power. That is the drop indeed.
wishyouwere- That’s not entirely what I have planned, but Ginny will unleash a form of unholy hell that smacks of similar evilness.
amd2175- Oooh, I definitely saw him, but missed the makeup. Thas’alright.
Phoenix- Yep, evil plan slowly unfurling, all the plotstrings tying together. I knew Hermione wouldn’t be able to do it given her condition, but Ginny is much more motivated.
neelix- That sums it up perfectly.
Carlieisastreetmonster- Harry has been laying low and avoiding her since the Yule chapter because he’s currently having a snit right now. Don’t worry, Hermione’ll sort him out.
Alina- The flag had to be taken up by someone, I couldn’t leave that standing. But whereas Hermione is task-saturated and in over her head, she’s in no position to commit herself to the cause. Ginny however is in a perfect position to, and given her intended she has all the reason to fight.
Kimjo2 - I have a big place in my heart for Billy, someone had to help him. Thank you for the compliment. My Mom used to say she had a roving pack of feral children.
Rini- There are many storms coming. Doncha see the dark clouds forming? And it’s not all for the Ministry. Hermione had better get an acceptable answer.
HermioneMalfoyFan- I don’t think he has much in the way of healthy relationships to draw upon, so I think he assumes if he says, ‘No, conversation is over,’ then he’ll be obeyed. I think that’s just his expectations stemming from his upbringing. Yes, it is her.


*

Chapter 44 - Proprium Humani Ingenii Est Odisse Quem Laeseris


The stunner swished by her head, missing its mark. He couldn’t do it; his wand failed him. He couldn’t contemplate what that meant, that hesitation, but Severus could not bring himself to turn his wand on her. A half second, only long enough to draw a sharp breath and Hermione’s wand was now leveled at his chest. By the dangerous glint in her eye he knew engaging her would cost him dearly, and in more than just life’s blood. Hermione was no match for his wand, but the softly screaming fuzz in the back of his brain that urged him to make haste up to the tower was getting louder, and he had not a second to spare.


“Put down your wand Miss Granger, there is no time for this.”


Her eyes flicked briefly to Lovegood’s prone form on the floor.


“Oh, I think there is.”


He had not a second to hesitate; he knew this in the firmament of his bones. “Get out of my way. Can’t you see I’m trying to protect you by removing you from this fight? The Order needs you, Miss Granger. Let me pass.”


Her wand did not lower, but it drooped slightly in consideration and Severus did not pause any longer. As his heavy robes brushed past her, Severus was confident she’d not hex his shoulder blades.


The dungeons seemed damper than usual, the stairs more numerous than possible, just as in his nightmares when he could not climb up from their depths. Wicked dreams where each footfall made him slip back and his feet could not find purchase as Hogwarts’ living foundations colluded to delay him. Circling staircases that stretched endlessly skyward conspired against him as his long legs moved swiftly on impulse. Driven without conscious thought as the cacophony of sound in his brain became deafening. His wand felt leaden in his hand.


Reaching the tower door he threw it open, and arrived in the brisk swirling night air to meet empty beseeching blue eyes for a fraction of a second. A heart beat. An eternity of silence as they dropped from sight. Severus followed him to the ground, his knuckles white and digging into the unyielding stone as Albus dropped. His pale lavender robes swimming with unnatural grace around him like a rippling wave cocooning his body. Shrouded in lavender, he was beautiful, his arms outstretched to release the remaining spirit from within. But the same heartbeat that thundered in Albus’ aerial exit contained a sickening thud audible even at the highest tower.


Severus owned no knees, no legs as he sank into the cold granite wall. Only the pale blond boy’s hollow footsteps pounding behind him registered dully, even as the migraine tore viciously through his skull. As pinpricks of painful stars exploded in his vision, Severus squeezed his eyes shut, blotting lavender robes from his vision, grinding his knuckles into their sockets. Dizzy, panting, and nauseous, Severus succumbed to darkness.


Drugged and drowsy, the world was swirling in sick pastel. Sweet like the spun sugar purchased by his mother in his long faded early memories. His body was buoyant and bobbed painlessly riding unseen waves.


A mental image of himself as a young boy floated to the surface of consciousness. In short pants, he gripped her hand as he tottered along, happy to soak up the sun and stand alongside her radiance. He gripped a bright red balloon tightly, unwilling to risk letting any belonging go.


‘The balloon,’ Severus mused, ‘I feel like the string on that balloon. Pulled taut and tethered.’ Drowsy once again he closed his mind’s eye…


And felt the world spin once again. His head hanging off an edge as his body spun, sending blood pounding through his temples as bile rose in the back of his mouth.


“Severus?”


Her voice was clear and real. Of that he was certain.


Severus lifted his head from where it hung off the edge of the bed. And tried with limited success to shake the spiderwebs from his vision.


As she frowned at him the lines between her eyebrows drew together. Severus decided he didn’t like it. She should never have cause to ever frown like that. If he had it in his power he’d ensure it.


“Sometimes I have nightmares,” he said hoarsely rubbing at the pulled and tender jagged pink scar on his neck. “Sometimes I hallucinate. And sometimes I can’t tell the difference.” He sat up slowly and made room for her next to him on the sweat soaked bed. Where she belonged.


“What did you dream?”


He looked at her incredulously for a moment, astounded that her curiosity knew no bounds. Was nothing sacred with the witch? No, experience had taught him she had the misguided belief that she should concern herself with his life. Their relationship hadn’t started out that way, but they weren’t just married. They were… involved.


“I dreamt I couldn’t Stupefy you,” he began uneasily. “The night I killed Albus. Only this time, the hesitation meant Draco did it.”


“Oh!” she gasped. “Oh, well. That would have changed things considerably."


“I’m not sure how. I’d still be in Azkaban for murder. You can’t supply the Dark Lord with life-saving potions for years and not have blood on your hands.”


"But you never Stupefied me, Severus. You know that. You didn't even point your wand at me. You just sent me to look after Professor Flitwick.”


He flopped back heavily into the headboard; his shoulders could not bear the load of a sleep without rest. "In my dream... in my hallucination... I had you at the end of my wand."


He never held his wand on someone he wasn't prepared to hex. He didn't believe wizards should lift them unless they were going to use them. He had once lifted his wand at the Potter boy, at the time it had been purely on instinct and self defense. But he hadn't hexed a student. Not once. That was an accomplishment of the highest order, given how much they had pushed him to the very limit of his sanity at times. Yet Severus could not hex a child entrusted to his care. He had no quibbles dropping Filius with a simple Stunner and sending the witches to tend to them, but no, he doubted very much he could have Stunned them as well, unless it was an absolute necessity.


She frowned as if tasting something foul on her lips before speaking, "It was just a dream, Severus. I know you could never hurt me."


Hermione sadly turned her eyes on him and he hated to read the pity there. ‘Empathy,’ she called it. Sounded a lot like pity to him.


No, he could not hurt the witch. They both recognized that he'd never turn violent towards her. He was his father's son, but Severus was his own man. Clearly, he understood that his dream conveyed that message. But his dream hadn't been about hexing her. The Hermione of his vision impeded him from accomplishing his goals. His hesitation would have changed history irreversibly. And it was possible Hermione was a stumbling block to his current goals. His eyes cautiously shifted around his cell. This was not the life of a penitent man. He was rich off her food, warm in his bed, and wanted for nothing, but at what cost to his soul? Again Severus asked himself, was she a symbol of his salvation or a test of his faith?


“I have this for you,” she said in a false cheerful voice, mercifully changing the topic and proffering a paper-wrapped book by the shape of it.


Severus arched an eyebrow and dutifully unwrapped the parcel to slowly unveil his published memoirs. His fingers caressed the black dust jacket, tracing lightly over his own name. This was not a good day for her to come and interrupt his solitude. ‘Albus-days’ were fewer and far between, but when he was feeling uncomfortable, cowardly and fragile, well, those weren’t the days to entertain guests. And now, seeing his work in print, tangible and heavy in his palm, well, it was the sort of experience that could make a wizard choke on all the dust in the room.


“This...” he stuttered as he threaded his fingers through layers of fine parchment, “is nice.”


“Nice?”


Severus held up the thick tome and gently sniffed the printed parchment hoping he didn’t look too much like the idiot he suspected that he did. Muggle paperbacks had nothing on wizarding parchment, and it had been so very long. Hermione favored cheaper parchment-shaded Muggle knock-offs for her own work, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the real deal. His book was printed on expensive parchment. His life story was valuable enough to put to parchment, not cheap paper. Were he alive, he would have loved to shove the book down his father’s throat with a mighty, ‘See! I did make something of myself.’


Except he was in Azkaban. And had not made something of himself. Unless ‘notorious murdering Death Eater’ qualified. His father had been right. He was destined to be a disappointment. Hermione was still smiling brightly. When she looked at him like that, her eyes filled with warmth and not a trace of dishonesty, it made him wonder if she had over-medicated herself. But. There was also the smallest possibility that she thought as well of him as she was prone to say.


“It’s more than nice,” he tried again. “It’s overwhelming.”


Her smile lit up her face and Hermione was beautiful, and smiling just for him. His heart clutched just a tiny bit. Not enough that he’d ever admit it except under duress, but she was perfect. And her smile could chase away even the worst of ‘Albus-days.’


“Luna is going to do limited release of the special editions to generate interest, and then a mass distribution to keep sales up.”


“Mass distribution?” he frowned.


That wasn’t in the agreement. No, this was for scholars only. Scholars were not the unwashed masses that received mass distributions. That was tacky and so very plebeian. Severus tightened his hold on his book.


Hermione rolled her eyes and ‘tsk’d’ as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Well of course, she has a lot of money tied up in this project. And as nice as those leather bound parchment versions are, they’re cost prohibitive. I mean, nobody would purchase them if she didn’t defray the cost somewhat. But by offering a ‘collector’s edition’ at a reasonable price she can generate early buzz on the paperback. And that’s where the real money is.”


Severus stared at her, stunned and horrified. Blinking rapidly as his brain whirled and tried to come to grasps with the utter gobshite she had just spun.


“Severus, you can’t have a bestseller with a book that nobody can afford to read.”


“Practical Poisonous Potions Prepared by Proficient Potioneers is a bestseller and it’s a damned sight more expensive than this!” Severus defended. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted by her words or his own. It was damned confusing and he didn’t like the feeling of having the ground ripped out from beneath his feet one bit.


Hermione must have been approaching her menses because her eyes were threatening to do that ‘leaky thing,’ that witches occasionally did. There was something to be said for the Greeks' theory of a wandering uterus causing hysteria, but he knew much better than to mention anything. Commenting upon a witch's menstruation was an excellent way of getting hexed.


“Fuck,” he swore. Just when he thought he could win an argument she pulled out her ace. The moment her eyes started leaking, he was trapped. “And I suppose it’s already gone into print,” he said dully, knowing he had already lost.


Hermione nodded affirmative.


“You don’t suppose I could buy Miss Lovegood out?”


Hermione shook her head negative. “It’s Madam Creevey now,” she added unhelpfully.


“Oh Gods, why have you turned on me so,” Severus begged to the silent and unforgiving deities.


A Creevey and Lovegood union could only bode disaster for the wizarding world. His only salvation was he no longer had the misfortune of shoving knowledge in their sugar-rotted heads. The small benefit of wasting in Azkaban was he’d be spared the agony of teaching the fruit of their soiled loins. Now he wished he had Stupified Miss Lovegood years ago, instead of sending her after Professor Flitwick; that at least would provide a modicum of satisfaction.


“So there’s nothing I can do?”


Hermione shrugged and watched as Severus’ head dropped in his waiting hands. He was so melodramatic sometimes that she could only stare and wonder why he blew things out of proportion. They could manage this; it wasn't likely to pose any serious problems.


*****


The morning Severus' memoir was set to be released Hermione thumbed through her well worn early copy, where she had highlighted inconsistencies and passages that had stuck out as odd. She was already well aware of the uproar it would cause, and thanked her stars that the Ministry hadn't heard of it in advance. Luna had made certain to keep it under wraps - all documentation about the book included the working title of 'Nocturnal Ring-tailed Blibbering Humdingers of Southeast Asia.' A literary masterpiece, to be certain. Had it been made public knowledge that famed Death Eater and Azkaban prisoner Severus Snape had written a first hand behind-the-scenes account of both Voldemort wars and had named names, Hermione was sure the Ministry would have swooped down upon them like a Crumple-Horned Snorkack after an Aquavirius Maggot.


Severus' book answered a lot of her questions. She'd had no idea that the Patronus the boys spotted in the forest belonged to him, and well, that explained quite a lot. And the fact that he could cast a Patronus at all, that… She didn’t know what to make of that because try as she might she couldn’t think of a single ‘baddie’ who had a Patronus. And surely that spoke volumes. But as far as it went to proving his innocence, it raised more questions. One question actually. Why? Why, if as many people knew of his innocence as she suspected, why was he still in prison? Ffoulkes would only humor her so far, and frankly, his cryptic answers that skirted just the hair’s edge of violating client privilege were nice, but were not going to cut it. Hermione had a good idea where she could find her answers. From the one person who had been avoiding her.


Harry.


A half naked Ollie answered the door covering his eyes from the rising sun and shaking a tanned hand through his bleached blond hair. “Wondered when you’d finally show up,” he greeted, opening the door wide for her.


“Is he up yet?” Hermione asked, realizing now that when she'd placed 'Chat with Harry' on her daily To Do list, she had forgotten to take into account his penchant for sleeping late every chance he could.


Ollie briefly fluttered his eyelashes and looked upstairs before muttering, “Give me a minute, I'll rouse him.”


Hermione placed herself uneasily on Harry’s very Muggle sectional sofa. She hated how her butt slid into it, and felt like an insect inside the jowls of a Venus Flytrap the way it wrapped around her, but it was clean. Or appeared to be. The recliner in front of the large flat screen telly had remnants of greasy popcorn and crisps in it.


Twenty minutes later Hermione was teetering on the edge of letting herself out or going upstairs and rousing him herself.


While she was alone, her eyes taking in his bachelor pad crate furniture that tried too hard to scream, ‘I’m not the Boy-Who-Lived, I’m just an average wizard,’ Hermione reviewed her game plan.


There were a few approaches that worked with Harry and several that did not. For instance, if he got a whiff that someone was being cagey or not entirely truthful with him, he flew into a rage. It was probably a lingering aftertaste from what Professor Dumbledore had done to him. If he sensed any Dursley-styled accusations, especially if anyone poked a finger in his direction, Harry turned horribly petulant, and it would be days before he could be coaxed out of his snit. Sharp -tongued reprimands generated either shamefaced responses, if he felt particularly guilty, or childish resentment.


Really it was a mixed bag, so Hermione kept her fingers crossed and hoped for the best. She chose the straightforward Gryffindor approach, but was not interested in coddling him. After all, Hermione already knew he’d been hiding from her and was kinda looking forward to a bit of humble-pie from him.


Harry loudly trudged down the stairs, each step dramatically loud, and Hermione rolled her eyes. He was in one of those kinds of moods. Served him right for avoiding her. But then, that was the sad reality of most of her schoolmates. After Hogwarts everyone went their separate ways and occasionally caught up when passing in the streets, but otherwise had moved on.


She supposed it was the way all schoolmates the world over got on, but somehow she had always thought they’d remain as close as they’d always been… when it seemed like the three of them against the world… or at least against a deranged reptilian maniac and his army of Unforgivable-casting sickos.


“Hey, Hermione,” he acknowledged her with a flip of his head, “You want something to eat? I’m starved.” He strode right past her and headed in the direction of the kitchen.


“You stop right there, Harry Potter,” Hermione shrilly commanded rising from the claw-like sofa cushions. Harry winced and stopped mid-step, his foot hanging in air as he looked over his shoulder to gape at her.


He might have been a petulant ill-tempered boy, but Harry knew better than to piss off Hermione, and she was quite ready to remind him of that fact. He grumbled, muttering something about not missing meals, before sagging his shoulders and traipsing back towards the couch where he sat in a most ungainly manner.


One would have thought years of adulthood and being the youngest Chief Inspector Auror in wizarding history would have matured him, but such was not the case. Well, Auror Potter was well decorated and highly respected, and Boy-Who-Lived-Potter was a national hero, but Harry was still very much a teenager. Hermione idly recalled her Mum’s advice that men weren’t worth a damn until they reached at least thirty. Hermione coldly agreed.


He crossed his arms across his chest and looked up at her from behind the messy bangs that fell into his eyes. All he needed to do was stick-out his lower lip and the impression of a juvenile would be complete. Hermione reassessed her game plan. If he was going to act like a child, she would have to treat him like one.


“Thank you for seeing me,” Hermione primly began, and she resisted the urge to pull her carefully constructed notes out from her satchel. “I understand your time is limited and you don’t have the ability to see people very often.”


Harry snorted and muttered, "that’s rich coming from you," under his breath. He spoke it just loud enough that Hermione could hear it, but she wasn’t going to rise to the bait.


“As, I was saying, thank you for seeing me. I have just a few questions if you don’t mind. I now know for instance, that the Patronus in the Forest of Dean belonged to Severus Snape. I also now know that the memories he provided you at the Final Battle aided our war effort and exonerated him as Dumbledore’s man,” she rested her hand on top of her leather satchel where her copy of Severus’ book was ready at her fingertips. “What I don’t know, or rather what I don’t understand, is why you concealed this information from me.”


Harry gaped at her for a long moment before his jaw shut, his lips thinning into a disapproving line. “How was I supposed to know you’d run off and marry the git? I had no idea you fancied shagging ole Snapey! That's what you do in Azkaban, isn't it? Fuck Snape. That's disgusting, Hermione. It was disgusting just sitting at that conference table while you smelled of him. I wasn't even sitting near you, and you reeked of sex. Every wizard at the table was gagging 'cause we knew you were doing nasty-"


"That is enough! Harry James Potter, I have reached my limit with you." She wasn't going to justify her new intimacy with her husband to the likes of Harry. It was none of his damn business. "Why didn't you tell me he was working for the Order? Everyone still believes he's a traitor!"


"If you had asked me I might have warned you, but No, I had to hear you married him days after you’d run off and done the deed! You slunk off to that prison without saying a word to anyone about your plans.”


“Don’t change the subject Harry,” Hermione chided, her irritation clearly evident in her voice. “I wasn’t exactly in a position to send out wedding invitations.”


“Of course, that would mean you’d have to think about your friends. It’s only convenient to care about us when you want something like information, or favors for your little Muggle lawsuits, but you’re far too busy to be bothered to ask how we’re doing or send an invitation to dinner. What's happened to you, Hermione?”


She closed her eyes and tried to stop grinding her teeth. It caused tension headaches and was unhealthy for the enamel, gums, and nerves, and solved absolutely nothing when it came to Harry. She stayed silent until Harry realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere with her. It was a great technique that she’d picked up from Severus. People universally hated awkward silence. It made them feel uncomfortable, and in general most people had the natural urge to fill large silent gaps with chatter. If she could just wait him out…


“I’d have told you about it if you’d have asked me, Hermione. I could have warned you about him. Not that I thought I’d have to warn you about Snape. I thought you would be intelligent enough to know to avoid him. I certainly never expected you to run off and marry him.”


Harry paused and studied her, waiting to see if she’d respond, but since he was starting to talk up a streak Hermione composed her face neutrally and waited. Auror Potter would have recognized the technique immediately, but Harry was always able to compartmentalize so completely that it was often like speaking to different people. This ability of his to compartmentalize had probably kept him sane throughout most of his early childhood and frightful adolescence, but in many ways Hermione suspected it kept him from growing and maturing. So she remained silent. He still had not answered her questions to her satisfaction.


“I would have told you about the memories if I thought it mattered, but at the time I was kinda distracted. You know, Voldemort? He killed me. I killed him. There was a battle… Right. Are you going to stare at me all morning, because if you are I’m going to get up and make some eggs.” Harry hefted himself up out of the pillowy cushions.


“I’m not finished with you. Sit,” Hermione commanded. Harry obediently sat. She congratulated herself; she was getting quite good at this. “You haven’t answered my question satisfactorily. I’m well aware there was a battle - I was there too, remember? But that doesn’t explain why you didn’t work to exonerate him after the battlefield was cleared. He’s sat in Azkaban for years.”


“Oh. Well, um…” Harry scratched at his head ruffling the mop he called hair. “I turned in the Pensieve to Mr. Ffoulkes. He’s got it and a bunch of other exonerating evidence. And the Order members on the Wizengamot set up the charges so it would be real easy for him to get out if he wanted to, but…” Harry shrugged as if that answered everything. “I offered to testify for him. He didn’t want me to.”


“And you didn’t think it was worth mentioning to me?”


Harry shrugged again. “I didn’t think it was relevant. I had Auror Academy to get through, and I had just hooked up with Ollie, and well… it kinda slipped my mind”


“For five years? You let him rot in prison!”


“Hey!” Harry shouted defensively, “I offered, and the greasy git said he’d rather rot than owe another Potter anything.”


Hermione grimaced. That sounded a lot like Severus. She sighed wearily, she wasn’t getting anywhere with Harry. “I just don’t understand how we could allow another Order member to sit in Azkaban, whether he wanted to or not. It’s not right and it’s not the values we believe in. If you or Ron were falsely accused I know I’d work day and night to set you free, but somehow that’s okay for Severus,” she lectured, feeling the urge to start one of her patented Prefect sermons.


“That git was perving after my Mum!” Harry railed. “I could care less if he turned to dry bones there.”


His Mum? His Mum.


The realization hit Hermione painfully in the chest. His Mum. The doe. Of course.


Harry had just warmed up to his tirade and was going on and on. Hermione listened to him with only half of an ear.


“It doesn’t matter that he was an Order member. It’s not like Snape joined the Order because he believed in our values. He’s not a principled wizard, Hermione! He only joined 'cause he still had a thing for my Mum. Do you have any idea how disgusting that is? He’s a Death Eater through and through. He never subscribed to the Light; he never gave a damn about Dumbledore. Snape's just some dirty old pervert…”


Hermione tuned him out completely as the tightly turned spring in her mind uncoiled, the shapes and puzzle pieces rearranging and morphing into a new vision of reality. In a detached manner she looked at the elements there and saw patterns where there had only been chaos. The key to the map, the missing bit of information that revealed everything… the final misshapen pieces lined up together and she could see how things fit together where there wasn’t any connective tissue before. And even though her new understanding was fresh, and she hadn’t an honest moment to dwell on the picture it made, Hermione felt a crash.


Lily Potter was untouchable. Hermione could never compete against the witch. Even if she could ignore the sad longing with which Severus wrote about his unrequited love for his ethereal beauty, Hermione had hoped she still had a chance of securing whatever part of his heart the other witch had left untouched. Knowing the mysterious witch was Lily Potter was worse.


The war had lifted her up. She had been canonized in the psyche of every British-born witch and wizard as one of the original heroines of the Light. The Madonna and Child. Lily Potter’s memory was larger than she had possibly been in real life. Hermione never stood a chance. Severus would always love her more.


She had only a vague impression of leaving Harry’s house that morning.


*


A/N:

Chapter title: Proprium Humani Ingenii Est Odisse Quem Laeseris - It is human nature to hate a person whom you have injured

Thanks again to Christev20 for her amazing beta skills. They're like buttah.

And thanks to everyone who has dutifully read and reviewed. You keep me happy and my Muse a kickin.' So lovely, thank you. AV