The Gilded Cage

anncee- I’m sorry to hear about your Grandmother. I hope she’ll be ok.
Hermione Snape- Oh, I don’t mean to stretch it out or taunt you, it’s just not important to the plot right now.
Voracious- The Warden is so deliciously devious and easy to dislike. Wonderful thought on poisonous Rita.
pittwitch- Rita had best not mess with her man. And Luna? Sure, she may have made him a bit more likeable, but since when did Sev ever care about that?
Rini- *Passes more Chocolate Frogs* You can have em. I don’t much like em. The Warden will get his, Percy’s on the case.
Clairvoyant- Thank you, next project tentatively is a SS/HG romance/satire about ‘Virgin Sacrifices’
HermioneMalfoyFan- There should be enough Sev to go around for all who want a piece. And misunderstandings drive plot. If they communicated effectively they’d be without conflict and that’s kinda boring.
War Lioness- Thanks! I hate moving too. Not the unpacking, the boxing up is such a chore.
DawnEB- Percy is the man for such a job, and honestly probably the best way to get the wheels of Ministry justice turning. Cauldron bottom thickness indeed. If there’s any misconduct, he’ll sort it out.
Heidi191976- Thank you!
Phoenix Rhapsody - Indeed! We should all learn to service those above us.
ANGEL WINGZ1983- Why thank you, that’s very sweet of you to say.
kimjo2- It will end happily. It’s getting there that’s a process. But there will be a happy ending, so please keep that in mind when you get splashed with mud along the way.

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Chapter 46 - Vulpem Pilum Mutat, Non Mores


His warm body was curled against her, nuzzling into her chest, and tickling her nose with his soft hair. Hermione sighed, wanting to hang on to the lingering moments of sleep before beginning her day. He yawned and stretched against her. Hermione could feel the pronounced ridges of his spine as it pressed into her skin. "Morning Crooksy," she mumbled to her companion.


Her day began as it always did. Hermione was a creature of habit, and rising with the dawn was just another part of her morning ritual. Crooks cracked an eyelid at his Mistress, but as she did not stop for her good morning cuddle and scratch, he lazily adjusted himself and returned to chasing birdies in his mind. Hermione padded softly towards her bathroom, stretching and working out the stiff kinks from her restless sleep. The hot shower brought her clarity and a sense of readiness for the day ahead of her, but an air of melancholy pressed tightly about her.


Later in the office, just before lunch, Jake proudly brought in a large sheet cake and her employees surrounded her, singing loudly. She stared at the pretty handwritten frosting beneath the candles. Happy 25th Birthday Hermione! She didn’t mind her age being broadcast to her people; she hadn’t hit the age when vanity set in and she became cagey about her birthday. Though in wizarding terms, that usually didn’t set in with witches until they hit seventy.


She was a baby, and some of her employees who offered her a smile and many happy returns were old enough to be her parents. Twenty-five wasn’t much, but she somehow felt lacking, instead of proud of what she had accomplished in her short years.


Everyone had said she’d be a success. She’d been branded an overachiever and dubbed the smartest witch of her age. Certainly everyone had believed Hermione would grow up to do great things. Hermione seriously doubted some of her commercial products were what they had in mind. More to the point, she wondered if anyone would figure out that she was still a young girl playing dress up in robes. She wished she were.


Granger Industries was its own machine, like a windmill that turned and rotated in the breeze whether there was grain to grind or not. It was impossible and beyond her capabilities to stop. Her people needed her, her customers wanted her products, her asshole distributors made demands of her.


Trapped in a gilded cage of her own construction, Hermione couldn’t walk away if she wanted to. Every morning started with the sunrise, every evening ended by falling asleep, typically with a quill or thick blue folder in her hand. Her time was measured between meeting everyone’s needs at work in the day, and meeting her own needs with Severus at night. And it was killing her. Twenty-five. Just a baby.


She wondered how people would react if she announced she couldn’t handle it anymore. It was too much. She just wanted to go home and be a kid. Hermione plastered on a warm smile and passed out slices of cake. Jake had made it, and he'd outdone himself. Even the buttercream icing tasted homemade, and it smelled perfectly like warm vanilla cake should.


If she could just get through the day, she promised herself, she could get through anything. Besides, Hermione breathed, in just a few scant hours she’d be in prison, and she was hoping to stay the weekend if Severus would have her. An odd thought for any outsider who might have been peeking into her unguarded thoughts, but for Hermione it sounded divine. The smile that stretched across her lips suddenly felt more genuine.


*****


Severus somehow instinctively felt her arrival before he heard her approach. He’d been nervous and on edge all afternoon, counting down the minutes until her normal arrival time, using his new bedside calendar and clock duo. It was his seventh. No, eighth. The seventh one he had killed by playing a game of catch with his wards. Every time he threw it at his window the enchantments bounced it back, which was loads of fun until he lobbed it violently enough and missed his mark. Still, it had been fun to sort through the guts of the little machine and make little toys from the parts. He had taken to regularly destroying his much hated calendar clock duos out of frustration, and she continued to supply more. Cheeky witch. By the Gods, he loved her.


As his wards shimmered, he stood and smoothed down his formal black robes, the set she’d given him for New Years. He had filled out since then, becoming less narrow and jagged from rich meals and little available exercise, and now the tailored set fit him perfectly. But if she continued to feed him as she did, he’d start to resemble signs of pregnancy. Perhaps a conversation about modifying their diet was warranted?


Hermione stepped through in a set of her emerald knit work robes, and though he knew she favored green and the color suited her, he rather enjoyed mocking her Slytherin tendencies. He might have said something glib and terribly cunning, except he was busy watching her, gazing at her with soft eyes as she kicked his door closed with her heel and began pulling food and leftover cake from her satchel. ‘Birthday,’ he reminded himself. Right. Witches expected their wizards to remember and celebrate Birthdays, Valentine’s Day, and Anniversaries. If he cocked this up, he’d be in the proverbial dog house, though Severus wasn’t sure what that meant for an already incarcerated wizard.


“Hi,” she greeted shyly, her voice faltering slightly. Her eyes dragged up and down his body, taking in his choice of formal robes for the occasion with a slight smile. “I thought I’d bring some cake for you. Not that we have to celebrate or anything. It’s silly, really. I’m a grown woman, I don’t need to celebrate. It’s just a day, but we had so much cake left over. Everyone must be on a diet, I guess.”


Severus looked down at the diabetic coma-inducing confection. The scribe had written the sentiment in garish pink and purple icing that didn’t suit Hermione’s nature at all. He sighed internally; she had brought her own cake. It was another thing to mark down on the list of how he failed her as a husband.


“It looks delicious,” he lied.


“No, it looks ghastly, but it tastes fantastic.” Hermione eyed the monstrous purple fondant Gerbera daisies and sighed. “Jake went a little overboard,” she explained with a shrug.


“I will save room for it, then,” Severus said politely.


He was trying. There wasn’t even the hint of cynicism in his voice, or at least he didn’t think so. Witches were funny about birthdays, and he hoped that whatever was bothering her would pass with the day.


She pulled out burgers and he frowned. Burgers were not celebratory fare, but he wisely kept his own counsel. He had learned better than to prod her when she was in a blue funk. Pestering Hermione to confess to what was really on her mind when she gave answers like, ‘I’m fine,’ was not an intelligent move. Hermione internalized way too much more than what was healthy, but she couldn’t be provoked into speaking about whatever it was until she was good and ready. He knew she’d come around eventually; until then he kept his eyes on his food and waited.


After dinner had been put away Severus stood, feeling very self conscious in front of his audience of one, and cleared his throat. It was easier to give his annual fifth year reproductive health lecture than to give Hermione her gift. He fished in his pocket before withdrawing the black velvet jeweler’s box and shuffled from foot to foot. It was the only action he made that betrayed his nervousness, but inside he was a wreck. Hermione would find the gift - and ergo, him - lacking. He had prepared something clever to say, but found his voice hoarse and his throat dry. That, and the words seemed to slip from his mind, so Severus just handed his witch the box and muttered “Many happy returns.”


Hermione looked at the box with cautious anticipation and gave him a warm smile as she took it in hand, her smile faltering slightly as she opened the box. Severus sank into his leather chair, feeling like an utter failure. The gift was a mistake. He knew it the moment Mr. Mulciber delivered it by way of Ffoulkes’ owl. He’d been fucking reduced to begging another man to select his wife’s birthday gift.


The letter he had quilled to Ffoulkes asked him to select something appropriate, as he leaned on the older happily married wizard to know about these things. The reply note assured him that the necklace was a perfect choice, and Ffoulkes' wife had been eyeing a similar necklace. When Severus looked at it, however, he immediately knew the gift was not meant for his wife. Hermione rarely wore gemstones; in fact, he couldn’t actually recall her wearing any.


The mass produced sapphire and diamond tear drop pendant was lovely. It was perfectly acceptable jewelry, he supposed, especially for a Ravenclaw witch, but he neither saw himself ever picking it out, nor Hermione wearing it. Severus cursed his good friend under his breath as Hermione pulled it out of the box with a badly disguised frown.


He leaned on his solicitor more than most clients did, but their friendship extended past their professional relationship, and Severus did not have many friends. He thought he could count on Ffoulkes, but obviously he couldn’t. Andrew Ffoulkes didn’t know Hermione, not really, he didn’t know what made her smile and her eyes light up. He had no clue who she was as a person or what made her giggle.


Severus gently fumbled with the clasp as Hermione lifted her hair. He looked at the unremarkable jewelry that said nothing about the character or personality of the witch that wore it and tried to say a kind word. “You look lovely, Hermione,” he stated truthfully, his eyes on hers.


“Thank you, Severus. It’s a very pretty gift,” she replied half heartedly.


Hermione felt for the pendant that rested on her breastbone. It was very pretty, but she was also puzzled by it. It was as if Severus hadn’t put any thought into her gift, which she knew was irrational because it wasn’t as if he could go on an all day shopping trip to pick out the perfect present for her. But still, it had been disappointing.


It didn’t speak to their relationship, or make any proclamation one way or another, and Hermione couldn’t get a reading of what it meant. She couldn’t get a reading on what her wizard wanted to say. She was saddened to think that maybe he didn’t actually have anything to say to her. There wouldn’t be any heartfelt declarations of love, or tender words of commitment. Just ‘many happy returns.’


She had felt empty all day, but as she packed up the remainder of the cake for Severus, absently going through the motions, Hermione began to crumble. Perhaps she’d been too hasty in assuming that heartfelt declarations of love and tender words of commitment would ever be forthcoming. Perhaps she was deluding herself, and Severus really didn’t feel that way.


With a sudden weariness he hadn’t felt in ages, Severus dropped heavily into his leather armchair, quite ready to reach for the last of the Ogden’s Special Reserve once Hermione left. He expected she’d leave and all hopes of a weekend lie-in had been blown away. She’d return to the Homestead and mope about in depression, something she’d been doing quite a lot lately.


Witnessing his knees give way was oddly disconcerting for Hermione, and it snapped her back to the reality she was living in. Sometimes, in their home, which wasn't a home at all, but a cell, she forgot. She forgot that they were in the middle of the harsh North Sea. She forgot that he was branded a common criminal, although those who knew the wizard would never term him common. It slipped her mind that he was bound to the place, just as she was bound to Apparate the long journey to get there. The cell was a cell, but it felt like their home. His bed was their bed. But she recognized that she needed to lighten up on him, and give him the benefit of the doubt. The fact that he remembered her birthday, and managed to get her a gift while imprisoned, spoke volumes about their relationship. So what if it wasn't what she would have liked? And now, as she watched him slumped in his armchair, looking like the wind had been kicked out of him, Hermione softened.


A smooth hand cupping his jaw interrupted Severus’ deep contemplation of his shortcomings and failures, as Hermione smiled down at him.


“Budge up, you.”


“Hermione, I hardly think there’s room enough for two here.”


“Hm… I suppose then I’ll just have to make do with your seat.”


In short order, Severus had his witch on his lap and her arms twined around his neck. If that wasn’t enough to drive coherent thoughts from his highly rational mind, Hermione was licking with her supple tongue the strong column of his throat and leaving what was certain to be marks on the flesh she found there.


Even the raw puckered skin was given proper adoration, and Severus shuddered under the tremendous sensations that darted across his nerve endings. The witch was kissing him there of all places. It was indescribably euphoric. His Hermione didn’t turn her head in disgust or hesitation. Indeed, Severus mused absently before the wicked witch wriggled against his arousal, it was nearly as if she were cleansing the wound. She was sucking the poison from him.


It was an absurd notion, borne from the insanity that occasionally crept into his thoughts after long years of solitary confinement. But by her loving treatment of his much-abused person, he could almost imagine she was cleansing him. The wound should have been his death, and yet, with his arms filled by the warm and very real woman, his wife, she was life. Severus threw his head back dizzily, his mind swimming in and out of focus as his Vixen attacked an earlobe.


He held her, allowing her to writhe against his body, even as she plucked at the line of buttons descending from his collar. Her warm palms coasted over his pectorals before tracing the musculature of his shoulders and feeling out the pale lines of scars. Severus had a body built by decades of demanding physical labor, of hauling cauldrons and harvesting the earth. Service to two Masters who called him at their leisure had developed his frame so well that even after years of arrested movement and limited exertion in a cell not large enough to properly stretch out his legs, his muscles were still defined. Apparently, Hermione held an appreciation for his physique. It was entirely mutual.


As his own gripping hands found purchase of her robes, running gently under hemlines to touch her heated skin, Hermione shuddered slightly before untangling herself from his lap. Severus nearly followed her from his chair, wanting and striving for more of her lush embrace, until she held him down. He sat back dumbfounded as his Vixen dropped her outer robes in a puddle at her feet. The sound of his thick swallow when her sweater followed could be heard throughout the cell. He’d seen strip teases before, but Hermione wasn’t teasing. She was making herself deliciously naked for him. She shimmied out of her knit skirt and he could not restrain himself to behave when she pulled down her cotton knickers. The crotch was visibly soaked. He was a damned man.


Severus pulled Hermione between his legs, flexing and kneading the rounded curve of her rump while laying kisses underneath the swell of her breasts. He had learned his witch well and knew that kissing and nuzzling the heavy flesh turned her on. When the heady, warm aroma of her moisture hit his nostrils, Severus was lost. Hermione’s head flew back as Severus lifted her forward into him, her legs straddling the armrests. Her thighs were spread wide, which brought her nipples at the perfect height for Severus to worship the tightened buds with his hungry mouth.


As one hand kept a steady grip on her hip, dragging the crux of Hermione’s need back and forth across his tented trousers, Severus worked dexterous fingers around her to touch her warm button. The first contact of his cool tapered fingers firmly stroking her made Hermione wail. Vulgarly displayed before him, she was his. Any part. Every part. Hermione knew, evil warding or not, she belonged entirely to her husband.


Severus’ reciprocating firm kisses on her arched neck would without a doubt leave bruising marks, and she’d wear them to work if they were still there Monday. She hoped they would still be there. Hermione panted for a moment, slumped slightly over his shoulder as Severus fumbled awkwardly between their bodies to unbutton his trousers and pull out the large thickened length of his cock. Hermione reached down, batting his hand away, to touch his heavily weighted member. She stroked the velvety skin with sure fingers. Palming the glistening essence weeping at the tip, Hermione worked her hand in twisting, sliding motions that made Severus hiss. She gathered the silken moisture that drenched her pussy in her palm and along her fingers, and lubricated Severus’ cock with their joined essences.


Hermione grinned triumphantly into the crook of his neck when Severus bucked into her hand. He was just as helpless against her as she was to him. He was hers. Any part. Every part.


Hermione broke her ministrations to pull herself tightly against him, trapping his cock between his belly and her engorged clit. Severus’ hands traveled up her lean back, spread wide to reach all parts of her before twisting into the cascade of her hair. Their mouths met hungrily, twinning together in unrestrained passion. Consuming bliss without struggle. Hermione sinuously moved against his length, her cries drowning in Severus’ mouth. He held her then, hoisting her hips and adding his own thrusts against her womanhood as she clawed at the robes that hung loosely open on his shoulders for leverage. She pressed her nose into his skin, inhaling the herbal soap and Severus.


Strong, clenching hands smoothed down her cheeks, fingering gently against her tight pucker before moving forward to caress the parted flesh between her legs. Hermione twitched and moaned loudly at the feeling of questing fingers massaging her as his velvety cock tortured her clit. Severus growled louder, no longer suppressed by kisses alone as he thrust against her molten skin. His deep reverberating groans came from deep within his throat like a chained beast brought to his limit. Severus slid digits into the slickened sleeve of her fluttering pussy and gave himself over to his own straining release as Hermione bounced and shuddered in her own drowning orgasm. Her hot juices flowed over his palm and down her thighs staining the crotch of his wool trousers he had missed with his own spurting come, but Severus didn’t spare a thought to it.


Slumped and sated, and locked in their embrace, the lovers eventually found the bed.


Hermione was wonderfully mussed and playing with his chest hair, a nasty habit of hers that Severus did not at all like. Not that he’d confess to her that it tickled, because Severus was not a ticklish man. But as he was about to advise her that it was impossible to braid his chest hair, when he noticed that she was not only biting her lower lip, but she had drawn it completely into her mouth. Severus was a wise enough man to read that something was on her mind.


Having deep conversations regarding life and the nature of the universe while snuggled in bed was on his list of most painful situations. It was down there around ‘Tea with Hagrid’ and ‘Scourging by the Dark Lord.’ The tea was only marginally more palatable. Except that he knew not everything was well in the Magic Kingdom.


The wards had been screaming at him for days that she was terribly depressed and anxious. Well, he didn’t have a particularly sunny disposition either, especially given how his life story had been received. Still… her weariness was of particular worry, and Severus was keen to avoid a depressive episode that possibly featured Liquid Sunshine. And she was his wife, damn it. He hoped she felt comfortable enough to bring him her troubles, and was disappointed that she hadn’t. He wasn’t going to play Divination guessing-games to figure out what was eating her.


Severus rolled towards her, drawing her breasts against his chest so she’d stop tickling the hair with her fingers. Except Severus wasn’t ticklish.


“Hermione, talk to me. What’s wrong?”


Her eyes were thickly lashed and rimmed with smudges of liner that made them seem impossibly large and Severus took a moment to appreciate how beautiful those brown eyes were. Her lashes fluttered as Hermione avoided his penetrating gaze. He could read her so well, and what he saw disturbed him.


He nudged her chin to get her to look at him again and made his best attempt to appear concerned. For her he could almost manage to seem soft. Of course he hadn’t realized that Hermione had learned to read Severus long ago and no longer thought him cruel. There was softness and vulnerability to him; and on her own Hermione had learned that Lily was the cause of some of those feelings of vulnerability. But Hermione didn’t want to talk about the other witch. That was a sharp painful feeling she didn’t want to dredge up, so instead she buried it along with her own vulnerabilities and insecurities.


Severus was about to repeat himself, thus proving he was a man of infinite patience, when Hermione spoke, turning her head into his shoulder to muffle her words.


“Why are you here, Severus?”


Severus exhaled loudly, and a hissing sound came from his lips as he laid back and stared at the stone ceiling. His mind was blank. He hadn’t expected the question. And in truth, it wasn’t the question that Hermione had prepared herself to ask, but it nagged at her and seemed the least threatening of all questions to ask.


“We’ve discussed this already,” he muttered half-heartedly.


“Not really.”


“It’s written in the book,” Severus stated, as if that answered everything. He was beginning to believe that he could just point to Ex Intempestivo Pax any time he wanted to avoid her questions entirely.


Except avoiding Hermione was impossible. It was easier to ditch the old poof when he wanted a chaperone for a dance than it was to avoid Hermione. The witch was entrenched into every bit of his life. And though she was still the world’s biggest swot, she wouldn’t likely accept, ‘Go look it up,’ as an answer.


“I’m serving penance.” There, that sounded reasonable enough. “You know this already.”


She nodded wisely and Severus waited for the other wand to drop. Briefly he considered preempting the witch by dragging her attention to something else, but for the life of him Severus was sated, had a naked witch curled against him, and couldn’t think of a single topic to distract her with. Wicked Vixen. He resigned himself to the fact that she would get what she wanted. Rita Skeeter could have taken lessons from her.


Besides, Severus reminded himself. It was her Birthday. He could afford to be generous and still not sound like an absolute pussy. Cunning Vixen.


“Penance can be served anywhere, and you have the ability to leave at any time.” She frowned to herself recalling the massive outcry from Severus Snape fans clutching his book and demanding his release.


“Why here? Why Azkaban.”


Severus’ glittering eyes searched her face and listened for any traces of malice or accusation, but Hermione spoke sadly as if she felt just as resigned to her fate as he was resigned to his. For a moment he pondered the choice she had made to marry an incarcerated man. Hermione was giving up an incredible amount to be with him. His heart clenched, and had she known about it, Hermione would have elaborated that this feeling was the ‘Empathy’ that she had tried unsuccessfully to describe for him. Against his better judgment, Severus felt his lips begin to loosen. Beloved Vixen.


“Where would I go? Where better than here? Society has judged me unfit and unredeemable.”


“Not anymore,” she whispered and the thin lines of his mouth pressed together in a glower. Neither said anything about his growing legions of Snapettes.


Severus eyed her loosely curled hair. It had become frizzier since their carnal exertions, and her small imperfections were part of the things he loved about her. They could dance all night. She could raise her impudent hand, peppering him with nonstop questions like a student, or he could assuage her, and give her the answers he knew she was itching for. She ought to consider it a birthday gift. Something a bit more substantial than the pendant that hung between her breasts.


Hermione watched closely as Severus’ jaw clenched rhythmically, and she held her breath in anticipation. He hadn’t told her off or admonished her, not really. And she could see the barriers slowly start to tumble down from their crumbling foundations.


“I regret killing Albus,” he said slowly, as if the words were distasteful in his mouth.


“Of course you do,” Hermione offered helpfully. “But you have to know by now that he doesn’t blame you. His portrait even dictated the Foreward of your book.” Hermione winced, realizing she sounded a bit callous and preachy. They had discussed this before, and her argument that it wasn’t murder wouldn’t help. “I’m sorry, I’m not helping. You regret killing Albus. Go on.”


His jaw clenched several more times, and Severus had a death grip on the bedding. “Albus wasn’t the first wizard I killed,” he confessed in a terse voice. “Name those I’ve wronged.”


“Pardon?” Hermione blinked not following Severus’ logic. She didn’t see the connective tissue that led to the Headmaster’s death.


“Name those I’ve wronged. If you want the list, start with my parents and half my genetic line who hate me by virtue of my existence.”


“That’s not a wrong,” Hermione corrected. “That’s their prejudice.”


Severus continued speaking as if he hadn’t heard her. “Then we can add every Marauderer – please note, all deceased, including Lily. Don’t forget twenty-six Muggles murdered by Death Eaters. I either participated directly or indirectly in their killings, or they were dead by my wand. Shall I go on to list how many I’ve tortured? I’ll try my best, but even I’ve lost count, and I’ve tried to remember,” Severus frowned to himself and Hermione found herself unaccountably tense as Severus began to relax.


“That takes us through the end of the first war.”


Hermione was sickened.


He looked down upon his pale and ashen Vixen and resigned himself to hurting her. It was best to yank the bandage from the wound at once. She’d understand he was an unredeemable monster and would stop pestering him to justify his need for penance. Then perhaps he’d finally find peace within the walls of his cell.


“Can’t handle it, my dear? I was directly involved in the deaths of a further seven wizards and thirty-four Muggles during the short span that he was reincarnated. Don’t ask me to count the tortured either, or how many minds I’ve destroyed with Obliviation. So, where to end this tragic tale?


“Do I atone to their families? Throw myself atop their graves? In the case of Dumbledore’s tomb, I rather believe that would be quite dramatic. The Prophet would be eager for such a photograph. But then what do I do about all the children who were never given the chance to draw breath because I killed their would-be families?


“Where does it end, Hermione? How do I beg forgiveness to the deceased? I cannot begin to satisfy their debt. It will go forever unpaid, and I cannot do charity work or create a potion and make it all better. That simplistic line of thinking has no place for the real world.”


Severus shook his head and took a deep breath. Shuttering himself away was all for the best. The only way he knew how to repay his sins was to take it out of his own flesh.


“Look at me, Hermione.”


Her eyes alighted on his. They glistened with impending tears, but Severus ignored them. She had asked for this. She had poked and prodded him ceaselessly for answers she didn’t want to hear ever since she came to the erroneous determination that he was somehow innocent. Death Eaters were never innocent. He’d tried to tell her that, though it was foolish to even have to articulate it. Everyone knew Death Eaters were merciless with their victims. His supplying the Dark Lord with potionry to keep him alive and strengthened was an abomination, and it made him partially responsible for every Avada Kedavra the Dark Lord cast. He’d tried to tell his readers that as well, but they only saw what they wanted to see. Yes, he told both sides of the tale, but that wasn’t a request for leniency.


“I am not a nice man, Hermione. I regret killing Dumbledore. I do not regret any of the other deaths. They were victims of a much larger machine. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, or did something to incur the Dark Lords wrath. Or I carried out killings and tortures in my service as a spy. That was my job. It’s not something I’ll readily apologize for.


“But it’s best that I stay here in Azkaban, Hermione. I don’t regret killing them. I’ve rationalized death to the point that it does not bother me. And I’d easily kill again. You didn’t take me seriously when I told you I’d slit Mister Hopper’s throat. I’d kill anyone who harasses you, and I wouldn’t feel remorse.


“Leave me to my penance, Hermione. Perhaps through years of contrition I’ll finally be able to stop justifying taking a life, but it’s obvious I’m not ready to leave Azkaban. I have too much unpaid blood on my hands.”


Hermione sat up, running cold hands over her bare shoulders and shuddered lightly. Severus made no effort to comfort her.


“I have to think about this,” she said hollowly.


“I expect as much.”


“Are you trying to drive me away?” she asked.


If he had made this sort of confession to her long ago, before they had become intimate, before she had fallen in love with him, Hermione would never have returned to the wizard. Now? Now, she didn’t know how much she could put up with. She didn’t know if she could accept this from Severus, if her love for him was strong enough to accept the true darkness he had concealed from her.


Silence stretched between them.


“No,” he replied quietly. “If I had wanted to drive you away, I would have told you this the day you proposed marriage.”


Hermione nodded. “I thought as much.”


Severus ran a gentle hand down her naked back, feeling the pricks of goose pimples along her skin.


“I won’t hide from you, Hermione. You wanted to know, and… you deserved an answer.”


He loved her. He had barely confessed it to himself, and hadn’t the courage to confess it to her, but he knew if they were to move forward together, she had to know. He couldn’t undo the mistakes of his past. He couldn’t distance himself from who he was, an unrepentant murderer, who, if necessary would kill again. But within Azkaban, within the walls that kept him safe, they could make a life together.

*

A/N:
Chapter title: Vulpem Pilum Mutat, Non Mores - A fox may change its hair, not its tricks.

This was a very difficult chapter to write, and I must thank my nursemaid, I mean my beta, Christev20 for getting me through this.

Thank you dear readers, for staying with this fic. -AV