The Gilded Cage

catysmom- thanks, I try.
Veneficus- No, she didn’t really live up to her billing, did she? But nobody’s perfect. I just hope I’m that idolized after I’m gone.
Heidi191976- Excellent!
CB13- That about sums up my to-do list. I’ve got most of it covered, but some of it doesn’t get played straight-forward.
Hermione Snape- I think I might be unnecessarily cruel to Harry sometimes because of my own bias. I’m not a huge Harry fan.
doodle- She ought to have self-confidence, but I believe she’s also quite insecure.
Voracious- Harry can be an ass. I don’t know if reading Sev’s book will change much of that.
Alina- That was done to enable Ginny to have another relationship. And Severus can certainly love two women, it’s not an all or nothing thing.
Rini- That may seem reasonable to you or I, but Harry’s a touch off balanced when it comes to his Mum. I think he’s the self-proclaimed defender of her perceived honor.
HermioneMalfoyFan- Agreed. Bad Harry! Bad! No more chocolate frogs for you.
wishyouwere- Playing Devil’s Advocate: At least he made the offer to help Snape, that shows some growth and maturity. Severus didn’t want it, I wonder what that says.
neelix- It’s a common insecurity. I’ve been with my hubby nearly 10 years now and I still wonder if I measure up to his ex-fiance, but it doesn’t put the kibosh on a relationship.
Phoenix- I’m working on it… really I am.
HarryGinny4eva- It was a confrontation that needed to happen, and when tensions rise – kaboom. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they hadn’t avoided each other.
baebin- I’m glad you’re hooked. It was designed to be a slowly unfolding plot. And if they took the time to vocalize their wants/needs/feelings we wouldn’t have that plot. Or drama in daily life. Lack of communication is my ambrosia! I’m thrilled you like it.
Alabaster Princess- To be perfectly honest I’m writing Snape as I want to and as I see him. I’m told it’s very Mancunian, but I wouldn’t really know about that. I’m pleased as punch just the same.
EleanorRigby- That’s just because there’s always angst ahead. What’s going to happen next chapter? Angst. Chapter after that? Angst again. With more in the forecast. My fav! It probably wouldn’t surprise you that I enjoy reading Kafka in the original German.
Kimjo2- Hermione’s Mom is actually my Mom’s advice. And when I met and fell in love with a 30 year old at age 19, she really didn’t find the humor in it. Ah well, we’re an old married couple now.
Monkey Lady- Hooked eh? I’m glad it’s kept your interest and you’re ready for more. We’re about to start the final leg of it.

*

Chapter 45 - Vacca Foeda


Warden Blotts threw down his quill in angered frustration as yet again the fireplace behind him crackled green sparks. It was warded against unwanted intruders, a necessary precaution under the best of circumstances, and now he'd taken to warding it personally so that even the direct Floo connection to the Minister's office was cut off. He was mightily miffed at having to sever his personal line to the Minister, as he fancied being at the Minister's fingertips. Not that Minister Shacklebolt ever called, but that wasn't really the point. Very few Ministry officials had a direct connection to the Minister, but after knowledge of the connection spread throughout Ministry environs, enterprising witches had been attempting to use his Floo for their own nefarious plans.


Warden Blotts was a patient man. A virtuous man of upstanding morals and high expectations. His naturally holier-than-thou disposition allowed him to practice his much loved disapproving looks to his heart's content. But his generous and charitable nature was being stretched beyond reasonable boundaries for Prisoner 11652. He had humored the war heroine's request to marry the prisoner because she was well known and held sway among many other well known persons. That sort of good will always carried favor around budget time. And the witch had proven herself only a mild inconvenience, which was fine, but she had repaid his kindness with treachery.


Three days after Prisoner 11652's book hit the shelves, Warden Blotts had become inundated with too many items requiring his attention, and in the ensuing days it had only spiraled out of control from there. His orderly and properly scheduled calendar had been thrown on its ear.


Mornings, he arrived at different times so as to keep his men always on their toes. It was a security precaution, and they never knew if he would arrive by 8 or 11. That kept them sharp.


After allowing time for a proper cup of tea, Warden Blotts turned his formidable mind to the task of prison administration. The guard reports were dutifully read, and he was always pleased the majority of his inmates were Kissed. It kept the ruckus down to a minimum.


Then he notated supply requests from the kitchens and checked for discrepancies and areas to cut costs. Anytime he could find a better deal, he was pleased. By purchasing from the lowest bidder he could prove his worth as a valuable Ministry overseer. And he swore he'd never be outdone by Control of Magical Creatures again!


The Ministry highly approved of its management finding creative and enterprising ways to eliminate wasteful government spending, and rewarded innovative managers accordingly. Warden Blotts advocated the liberal usage of Dementor's Kisses as a useful tool for prison administration, as Kissed prisoners were model prisoners, and the nutrient bags that sustained them were much more cost effective than maintaining the kitchens.


Some time after lunch or thereabouts, the Warden had the necessary time allotted to keep up with important current events by reading Ministry leaflets and The Daily Prophet. And when it was necessary to keep abreast of global issues he read travel brochures.


Occasionally the odd visitor request or media interview request passed his desk. If the reporter was reputable and known to publish articles favorable to the good nature of the Ministry, Warden Blotts was inclined to grant them a token measure of his esteem and allow an interview. And since reporters were only ever interested in interviewing him, he was able to make arrangements with his demanding schedule to accommodate. He preferred luncheon interviews in Diagon Alley, and furnished reporters with a listing of restaurants where he enjoyed dining.


Visitor requests were of an equal rarity. If the requester was someone, say like Hermione Granger, one third of the Golden Trio and highly successful businesswoman, it was prudent to allow the interruption. If it were a family member, particularly of a Kissed inmate; he declined them. Nobody ought to see something like that. It was unnatural and unhealthy. It agitated the mind. Nothing good could come from such visits. Witches and wizards not highly trained in the correctional career field found those prisoners disturbing and turned their anger upon the Ministry.


Where was the benefit in that?


It was the criminals who deserved their anger. Had they been more morally upstanding individuals, they would not have received their just punishment.


So he was understandably quite cheesed off to saunter into work and find a gaggle of witches clustered around his bloody Apparition entryway. They couldn't come much farther, but the disturbance was a nuisance. His well oiled machine of Ministry justice was further derided when he found his spotless and polished desk littered with stacks of media and visitor requests and the queerest requests from a Mr. Percival Weasley, some petty Deputy Undersecretary in Regulation and Control.


For whatever inane reason, the Ministry section was looking into the welfare of Kissed inmates, and was questioning his recommendations to use Dementors' Kisses as behavior modification tools. As far as Warden Blotts was concerned, it was a minor procedural matter of little consequence, but Mr. Weasley had sent him a near constant barrage of records requests. Every day brought longer lists of aggravating questions asking for the most detailed of information. It was damned infuriating, and the Warden had to start coming into work by seven in the morning just to keep up with them.


Then there was the matter of the owls.


Owls never made the trek to the offshore prison, or when they did, Warden Blotts highly disapproved. The North Sea was merciless. And though he had a Ministry owl at the prison to conduct official business, he hated sending the poor thing out where it could catch a chill. Warden Blotts was at heart an animal lover. Indecent witches obviously had no objections and loaded their owls down further with packages for Prisoner 11652.


Well, that certainly wasn't allowed. Azkaban had many rules and regulations regarding its upkeep and management. It had been in service since 1730, when it had been created to house uncooperative witches and wizards during the Highland Clearances. There were many laws on the books, and there were many books. Warden Blotts hadn't really bothered to familiarize himself with many of them because he understood intrinsically what it meant to govern a prison, and he didn't require any additional assistance. Aside from that fact, who in their right mind would research prison legislation? Regardless, though he was unable to point to any particular regulation, he was certain that sending things to prisoners ought to be forbidden. He confiscated all incoming parcels, many of which strangely contained several jars of pickled walnuts, and lots of naked photographs. It was an odd combination, to be sure.


*****


Severus heard the witch outside his door. She’d been running her mouth nonstop for twenty minutes, ostensibly to provoke him into answering her questions, because they became more and more insipid by the minute. Snape-baiting was not a game. It always ended poorly, with lots of mangled fingers and hurt feelings, and Severus always won. Always.


He clenched the newspaper firmly in his grasp and kept his eyes on the Muggle crossword. He was getting much better at them, though many of the television references went over his head. But when in doubt, he substituted a similar word from his own world's vocabulary and then made it fit. The puzzles never quite worked out in his favor that way, but if he had a wand, he was certain he could bend it to his will. And then the letters would all line up. Oh yes, they would.


The Harpy at the door asked another impossibly stupid question. "What does your wife do for work?"


Didn't half the country know the answer to that? He was tempted to answer, ‘My dear wife works in the diamond industry. She shoves pieces of coal up her asshole, and eight weeks later diamonds pop out.’


He doubted Hermione would be pleased. And he wondered if the average Daily Prophet reader would understand sarcasm. No. Probably not. The last weekly reader’s poll suggested a third of the subscribers believed ‘two left feet’ to be a magical malady. St. Mungo’s would be overwhelmed by idiots and possibly have a few deaths from arsenic poisoning.


"How did you meet? Was it love at first sight?"


Who wrote these questions? She had been a bushy haired, flat-chested, prepubescent child. No, not a young woman, or even much of a witch; she's been a child. Like all the other bloody first years. Love at first sight? A disgusting concept under the best of circumstances. In reference to pedophilia, it was enough to churn his stomach. And even as a teenager Granger had stuck out in his classes, but never in a good way.


Still, Rita had the temerity to slog on with her insipid questions, ridiculously hoping the prisoner would deign to answer one.


"How is it you managed to survive Nagini's toxic bite?"


Severus rolled his eyes. He had covered all that in his memoirs. His eyes slid over to the book and he was damned tempted to growl at it. He was not a bleeding sex symbol. Fucking Lovegood. No, wait, she was a Creevey now. Still, just as bad.


What was her question? The poisoning, oh yes, he remembered more than he cared about that bit, and was tempted to answer her. Tempted, but not deranged enough to try. Any utterance spoken to that hag would be twisted 'round the bend into something entirely different. Fucking bat-shit crazy reporters.


But he wanted to respond, 'The Dark Lord had a rather unhealthy kink for snakes that bordered on the perverse, and that was saying quite a bit, given that it was the Dark Lord, after all. The wizard really took everything to the extreme, except for perhaps the nose. One would think that a wizard professing to have the universe-shaping power and ultimate Dark Arts knowledge could fashion a fucking nose for himself. Well, ignoring the bad personal hygiene and questionable bone structure, the all-powerful wizard liked snakes, and it was only a matter of time before that damned overgrown man-eating snake had a brother Death Eater for a midnight snack. Keeping an anti-venom on me at all times was mandatory.'


Not that Severus would have minded overly much, but it still gave him the fucking creeps, and he did not creep out over much. He regularly harvested his own Bezoars from goat stomachs. Nothing creeped him out. But seeing Nagini had always caused a cold shudder to race through his spine.


He rather felt if he opened his mouth and uttered that, she'd record it with her poisoned pen and the next day the Prophet would claim he had confessed a love for the Ministry, predicted that hooded robes were back in fashion, and black was the new black.


****


“Madam Granger! How did you come to win Professor Snape’s heart?”


"Madam Granger, who’s your pick for the Quidditch Cup?”


“Hermione!” Hermione turned to the sound of her voice and the flashbulb of an oversized camera blinded her. “What do you say to the rumor you were seen on notorious playboy Donald Browne’s arm? “


“Madam Granger, were you having an illicit affair with your husband while attending Hogwarts?”


“Madam Granger, any advice for lonely witches looking for love?”


“Madam Granger, is it true that Severus Snape has slept with every member of the Golden Trio?”


“What!” she shrieked. At her exclamation, rabid pseudo photojournalists furiously wrote down her comment and awaited more. They crowded her closer and Hermione had to push through the throng to get from the Apparition point to the door to Severus’ cell block. Getting there meant security, at least in the short term, as the boys would certainly protect her. They did.


The boys, her boys, Strathmore, Mulciber, and Cooley, though complete and utter softies, looked menacing enough when they stood broad muscled shoulder to broad muscled shoulder. No one without Ministry-petitioned approval, or in Hermione’s case, Prisoner Guardianship, would get past the security check point. It was one of the very few times the boys were really put upon to do their jobs, and they were chomping at the bit at the opportunity to restrain and forcibly evict one of the members of the Press that had set up lodging in their Apparition courtyard.


They stepped aside quickly to usher Hermione in before closing ranks again and looking right menacingly towards the eager Press. Strathmore cracked his knuckles for effect and the smarter members of the Press Corps stepped back. Prison reform legislation or no, wizards knew better than to fuck with Azkaban guards.


She slid right past the highly dubious Dark Arts Detectors, and sharply turned down his corridor. The sound of one voice echoing off the granite brought her up short, and Hermione was thankful she had worn her silent trainers.


“When you wrote you felt unnaturally compelled to protect Harry, how did you mean that? Are you speaking of a magical obligation or a fatherly inclination? Was the guilt over causing the Potters’ deaths motivating you? Tell me about that. It must have been difficult to see the child every day, knowing you had his parent’s blood on your hands. Did you ever –”


Rita halted at the unmistakable feeling of a wand pushed between her shoulder blades.


"Buzz off, Rita," Hermione growled, using her wand tip as an extra emphasis.


“I'm registered," she yelped in a slightly high pitched voice. "I have a right to be here,” she exclaimed waving a few sheets of pistachio green paperwork. “And he’s supposed to open the cell door for me,” she added petulantly.


Hermione’s eyes flicked to the firmly latched jailer's slot and thanked the heavens for small mercies.
“Inmates can’t open their cell doors, you two-bit hack, or else it wouldn’t be much of a prison, now would it?”


As she said this, Hermione’s eyes scanned the so-called journalist’s paperwork. It did indeed say that the prisoner would open his/her cell door to accommodate the guest. The Ministry in its infinite wisdom strikes again.


She scooted past the journalist and tapped the entrance code into his cell door as best she could, knowing full well the bitch was trying to look over her shoulder. The wards rippled and fell under her wandwork. As fast as she could, Hermione darted in the door and shut it quickly behind her. It was a damn good thing her robes didn't get caught in the door frame. She leveled her wand on it and cast a strong silencing spell on the entire cell, one that Severus had invented, and cast an Obscurus Charm over the jailer's slot. Once satisfied, she slumped into his embrace.


Hermione had trekked to the prison weighted down with dinner and promises she had made to herself. Tonight would be the night she would finally confront him about the other witch. Lily, whom he obviously loved more. Hermione was certain of this because he had never confessed his love for her and never spoken to her in such a beautiful or reverent way. She was 'Vixen,' a whispered epithet of endearment or a growled slur. All her good intentions of confronting him were lost as his soothing warmth enveloped her. Hermione recognized that she would just have to accept being second best. She added it to the growing list of things that she was going to have to accept.


Severus stood behind his witch, feeling her weight resting upon him and ran comforting hands along her arms.


"Are you alright?" he mumbled into her collarbone, "They're harassing you, too, aren't they?"


Hermione sighed, "I suppose it's to be expected. After all, I'm married to the most desirable man in all wizarding England."


Severus stilled, and Hermione winced. She still felt guilty. She had brought this upon their heads. She hadn't honestly expected that he would write the year's biggest bestseller. Everyone had a dog-eared copy of his book tucked up under an arm. It was the talk of the town, and the wizarding world was a really small town. Well, at least she knew of a damned fine way of making amends with the touchy wizard. Hermione turned into his embrace and nuzzled his soft woolen robes, inhaling the scent of the French milled herbal soaps she had come to identify with him. God, she loved this man; she wanted to burrow into his robes and never leave.


Severus rested his chin on his petite witch's head and held her tight. They could bear this. They would get through this if they could just manage to hold on to each other and tell the reporters to back the fuck off. And the idiot witches.


He despised them the most. The reporters, Severus could understand. They had a job to do. Newspapers were in the business of turning a profit and increasing circulation. Screaming empty-headed witches who fancied him their hero had nothing and no one other than their misguided fantasies to blame.


He had heard rumors from Billy of their escapades trying to break into the prison. Some idiot girl, a Ravenclaw he had once taught, no less, had gotten herself arrested for shoplifting and demanded that the Wizengamot sentence her to Azkaban, preferably within his cell or next door. How the blazes he'd managed to find a cult-like following of fanatical fawning witches was beyond him. They certainly were about ten years too late. And they all fancied him some sort of misunderstood dark hero.


Severus was nobody's dark hero, well, except maybe Hermione's. He'd fulfill whatever needful fantasy she wanted him to play out. A cheshire smile curled around his lips as he thought of role-playing with his witch. His witch. He lowered his head as she instinctively tilted hers up. His little witch responded to him, needed him, wanted him. As he sealed his mouth over her soft glossy lips, Severus couldn't help but close his eyes and delight in the feel of her beneath his palms. Her kisses were enough to make his head swim, and as her wicked tongue entered his mouth, Severus moaned happily. She licked at the top of his mouth, coaxing his tongue into following her back into hers. Severus needed no additional encouragement. He backed her knees into their bed and she tumbled down, her clawed hands pulling him atop her. Wicked witch.


Hermione showed him what a delightfully wicked witch she could be, twice in fact, before they had to stop for some light nosh. Like any male, he wanted to lay claim to his witch all night long and give her something to really brag about. His mind skidded to a mental halt. Bragging about his sexual prowess, though ego-inflating, for him was off limits. He'd have to gently remind her not to encourage rumors of his magnificent male appendage, and his intuitive ability to bring her to moaning, shuddering, earth-shattering orgasms... again and again.


But still, even he, Severus Snape, desired by horny witches around the globe, needed to rest between bouts of lovemaking with his wife. He was limited; it was frustrating and disheartening. They were restricted to furiously frotting against each other and employing their oral talents to share in the delights of married life, and still without the aid of his cock Hermione managed to shag him out. It was moments when she left his chest heaving and sweat rivulets running down his neck that he felt so goddamned old, but then a quick glance at his soaked and sleepy witch made him mighty proud.


He still had it.


And he could show it properly to her if he were out of prison and actually able to lay wand to her, but that wasn't meant to be. Severus briefly considered the Gods were using her to torture him, it would be just like them to do so.


The Fates had fucked with his life since birth, and had used him for their perverse pleasure ever since. But Severus castigated himself when he contemplated throwing off the shackles of Azkaban and joining Hermione in a proper marriage. This was his penance.


It wasn't supposed to be easy.


The more difficult and tempting it was, and the more he rose to the challenge, the greater he proved his worth. He could deny himself the sins and pleasures of the flesh if it brought him closer towards forgiveness. Well, abbreviated pleasures of the flesh, if he was completely honest with himself. If he had the ability to fuck her, he would do so at each and every opportunity. The Fates, those blind old hags, were amusing themselves at his expense again.


While Severus pondered the circular thoughts crashing through his skull, Hermione dug into her satchel for lunch. It was a good thing she had brought a light meal and a flagon of bottled water. Severus nabbed the water first. Hermione could drain a wizard so completely, it left him so dehydrated, he needed to drink a full litre before feeling revived enough to be up for another round. He eyed the flagon critically, calculating it and the three others she carried with her. Yes, he could be satisfied for quite some time.


Hermione stretched her arms high above her head, and given that she was deliciously naked, the sight of her rolling her shoulders held him captivated and his mouth dried, despite the water at hand.


"I nearly forgot," she announced, jumping off the bed to rummage in her satchel again. Severus watched her as her round arse spread showing off her lovely backside. As she sorted through the leather case, Hermione was oblivious that she had given Severus the best view in the house. He cocked his head to the side watching her pink feminine lips peek out between her legs and smirked. There was the heart shape. Albeit upside down, but Severus could think of no prettier shape on earth. "A-ha!" she cried triumphantly.


With a look of delighted anticipation, Hermione handed him a clear grey potion. It was the product of the near daily communication between Severus and Hermione’s crackerjack potioneer, Gibson.


Severus recognized the potion immediately, even though he had never laid eyes on it, and there was the faintest dimple in his smug grin.


“It’s a very pretty brew,” Hermione said, by way of a compliment.


Severus’ eyes were riveted to the tiny test vial as he took it in hand. “Madam Gibson appears to be a tad generous with the Doxy Eggs, but it seems adequate.”


Adequate. High praise from the wizard, and Hermione shuddered to think how he’d describe her. Severus had not lavished compliments upon her outside of the breathy moans in bed when he called her fucking magnificent. He’d never confessed that he loved her, either.


And if she had to guess, Hermione could imagine his voice cataloguing her in the same way he assessed most things, ‘Passable witch. Mildly neurotic, with decent enough temperament. Slightly volatile. Tends towards brownish spectrum, with high amounts of hair fluffiness. Provider of nutrients. Acceptable snog.’


“Well, only one way to find out,” he muttered.


Before Hermione could intercede, Severus tipped a splash of it back in his mouth. Horrified didn’t come close to describing how she felt.


“Don’t do that!” she shrieked, as she hurriedly began looking for physical signs of distress. “That potion is untested. We don’t even know what the side effects are yet.”


Severus grimaced as he worked his mouth, tasting the concoction on all the areas of his tongue. Satisfied, he opened his eyes to the worried witch.


“Dizziness and mild nausea in a small percentage of imbibers. Completely negligible with possible contraindication when taken with opiates. As you can plainly see, Vixen, I am alive.”


“You should never drink something that’s not first been vetted-” Hermione stuttered under Severus’ dark glare, as he knew she was going to say, ‘vetted by a Potion Master.’ As if to loudly register his dissent, Severus tasted another sip, swirling it around his palate like a fine wine.


“Ugh! If you’re going to poison yourself, you might as well just drink it. There’s far too much armadillo bile in that for it to be anywhere near pleasant. If you’re so determined to make yourself sick, I’ve got some Weasley Wizarding Wheezes prototypes with me.”


“Stupid girl.” Hermione rolled her eyes. She knew she was in for a lecture when Severus reverted to form and used ‘Idiot boy,’ and ‘Stupid girl.’ She crossed her arms defiantly and as a protective measure. “Potions are classified by viscosity, color, storage temperature, taste, smell, opacity, toxicity…”


“And consistency,” she interjected. “Yes, I’ve got all that, thank you. I did attend my first year.”


Severus glared at her in a mute rage that threatened to take points from Gryffindor, although if she’d been able to see inside his head, she would have seen a vision herself spread across his thighs as he pinked her round cheeks. Severus closed his eyes, Occluding the image away for later and sipped again. When he was satisfied and Hermione appeared sufficiently chastened he deigned to enlighten the little know-it-all.


“Being completely familiar with any brew is the hallmark of a truly great Potions Master. You cannot imagine how many times I was roused from my bed because some little miscreant imbibed some unknown substance and I had only descriptions of the ingested potion as retold by the foolish child to make my determination. Off-hand, I'd say there were at least three attempts to poison me per school year, which ranged from the humiliating prank to an actual attempt to end my life. And as much as I’d like to claim credit that I’ve thwarted each attempt, that simply isn’t true.


“Knowing the unique taste of potions, even when mixed with food, can be a life-saving skill. And you know why potions should never be altered to appeal to taste. The most successful attempt to put me in an early grave was an Eviscerating Solution, flavored as a lemon sherbet. It could have wiped out half the staff, including the Headmaster, if anyone other than Albus ate them.”


“I didn’t even hear about that,” Hermione said with a touch of awe.


“Yes, well,” Severus grumbled uncomfortably, “I started teaching when you were three years old.”


"Is this the part where you tell me you're some dirty old man and you're much too old for me?"


Calmly and with full rational thought, Severus tidied the bed and cleared away their nosh before gesturing to her with a single finger. Hermione looked as skittish as an unbroken colt as she approached the wizard stretched out in their bed. Growling, Severus caught her hand and pulled Hermione flush into his body before flipping himself on top of her. "Does this feel like an old man to you?" he asked into her ear just before he bit it.


Hermione spent the rest of the evening doing acts of contrition to assuage her guilt and atone for her insult. Like any good penitent, she spent a good deal of her time on her knees.


A/N:
Chapter title: Vacca Foeda - Stupid cow (There are many stupid cows in this chapter, I'll let you determine who the title refers to.)

Hey, didya know elleF is translating this fic into Russian? How cool is that! Spasiba elleF!

Thank you to the lovely and talented Christev20 - not only is she a faboo beta, but she's royalty. She's a Powerpoint Queen. I humbly bow.

*Passes out chocolate frogs to readers* Everyone got their sweeties? Good. Story will be rolling out at a slower pace. Possibly 1x/week, but no less than that. We're on our final leg and there much to be done. With that, thank you for reading and staying with the fic. I am amazed by the loyalty you've shown me and the depth of your reviews. Thank you so much, I've been blown over by how wonderful you all are. -AV