The Gilded Cage

TQW- Ma’at was there for you babe.
Elo- Why thank you sweetie. I try for realism, in a fantasy realm mind you…
Voracious- Sex would never work as an argument, he’s gone years without. But know that she’s determined what she really wants, she’s going to have to be tenacious.
neelix- Nobody wants him in there forever, except for maybe Severus.
Snapes_Goddess- Fascinating theory, I prefer making fat curly-haired Snape babies the good old fashion way, but eh… I’d take ‘em any way I could get ‘em.
Heidi191976- Thank you!
Slytherin-princess- Why yes, I do believe she’s getting broody…
kimjo2- I honestly hadn’t thought of Healer Culpeper past this chapter, perhaps I ought to.
alientheet- I’m so glad you are enjoying the story, yes I’ve slowed down posting to catch up, but I assure you I haven’t forgotten.
Rini- Silly Rini- we were talking about candy flavors- unless of course you’ve forgotten what this response is referring to… again. Warden is a poopy head. I have a feeling Percy won’t let him go so easily, nor will Ginny. Christev20 has returned to good health. Thanks for the warm wishes (and tea).


Chapter 48 - Vos Vestros Servate, Meos Mihi Linquite Mores


Her notes were perfectly arranged – well of course they were; her notes were always perfectly arranged. That, however, wasn’t the problem. Hermione believed she had several well thought out and convincing arguments. Whether they’d sway Severus was another matter entirely. Fortunately, she recognized that waltzing in, proverbial wand a-blazing and making heavy-handed demands, was not the most advantageous route. She suspected he’d prefer a calm, rational, well presented argument that both satisfied his intrinsic need to make restitution for his past sins and transgressions, while satisfying their need for a life and marriage together.


Hermione bit her lip and dutifully wrote down, ‘intrinsic need to make restitution for past sins and transgressions.’ It sounded nice. She grabbed another leaf of parchment from the dwindling stack the elves had put out for her and scribbled Cognitive Needs, and Affective Needs.


She’d spent most of the day deconstructing logical arguments, to the point that the sun was hanging low and hazy in the sky. Not that she’d admit to lingering in the library as a method of avoiding Severus… of course not.


From a purely ‘Benefit Humanity to reach Atonement’ perspective, Severus wasn’t doing a damn bit of good to anyone by locking himself away. True, he’d argued that he couldn’t solve the world’s problems by working on healing potions, but shouldn’t he try? Wouldn’t devoting his life to acts of kindness be better than solitary devotion? Hermione wasn’t sure if he’d go for that, but it was as solid a point as any other she had. So far it was about the best argument she had. Well, the least inflammatory anyhow.


And he'd never go for the argument that forgiveness did not have to be earned - it was available to those who accepted it. Just because she believed in a merciful God with a never-ending capacity for forgiveness did not mean Severus would. She rather suspected he believed otherwise - for no other reason than perhaps to be bitter and contrary.


On the Affective side Hermione began to jot down their needs. She didn’t know how well he’d take to a declaration of love from her. It was possible he was waiting for the brave little Gryffindor to make the first move – fucking Slytherins – but she didn't want this discussion to be the first time she used the L-word. It was like a trump card, but one she was hesitant to pull. Not that she expected a besotted Severus Snape to return her affections and begin reciting sonnets to her beauty. No, their wedding had been lack-luster. They'd been married in a dingy ante-chamber on Fish Night with neither family to witness nor flowers for her hair. She wanted to save the L-word. She wanted it on her own terms, and wanted it to be a romantic moment - not part of a dispassionate and logical argument.


Hermione continued to scribble her longings for a family, a happy, healthy home, and some semblance of normalcy. These were things she’d already laid down on paper before, but it gave her confidence and reassurance to trace the letters over and over again, to commit her them to memory. If necessary, she was perfectly willing to expose herself. She’d have to push away the feelings of inadequacy that lingered after her realization of his love for Lily.


Perhaps he didn’t love her as deeply as he loved Harry’s Mum, but surely that didn’t discredit the fact that they were married, Hermione was attentive to his needs and willing to be a good wife – whatever that meant – and well, didn’t they have a future together? Wasn’t that enough?


Hermione sighed and brushed a snarled curl from her face.


She was stalling.


She hadn’t come up with a new point in the last hour. Stretching until her hunched back popped, Hermione reassessed the daylight streaming through the high windows. No, she hadn’t made a new point in probably four hours. Damn.


Severus would be expecting dinner soon.


She should have stayed the night, brought him breakfast and spent the morning snuggling together.


“Daisy,” she requested sheepishly, a disgusted knife twisting in her belly. The pleased-as-punch house-elf arrived, ridiculously giddy to be of service yet again. Hermione winced as she formed her words in her mind. She had a manor house crawling with elves, they tripped over their pointy toes to assist her, and it still made her anxious to ask anything from them.


“Would you mind terribly, I mean, it would be very helpful if you could put together a dinner for Severus and myself. Something healthy perhaps?”


Daisy’s eyes widened exponentially, as she clasped her hands and jumped for little house-elf joy before making a swift exit. Hermione was disgusted with herself. She didn’t really have an excuse not to run out for take-away. It was something she could do for herself, but then it might be more stalling.


Throwing down her battered quill, Hermione stalked towards her bedroom, shedding stinky, rumpled robes en route. She had to psyche herself, buoy up the confidence to have the conversation they’d been putting off for far too long. Oh, she finally understood Severus. They enigmatic man had finally dropped the last curtains that hung around him, and she had the measure of the man.


He was willful, as always, but that did not mean he was right.


Try as she might, she couldn’t see herself withered and infirm in her old age continuing to make the trek to the prison. Nor could she envision herself putting up with another year of this malarkey.


As the hot shower spray hit like needles across her body, pinking her flesh, Hermione determinedly set her jaw. She would not be married to a condemned man. She would allow neither herself nor him to languish and turn to dust. She would not permit herself to continue to live this partial existence. Severus had to leave Azkaban. There just wasn’t any other option.


Still dripping from the shower, Hermione pulled the first set of warm robes she found in her wardrobe and placed them around her methodically. Her mind had already shifted, drawn and focused into the battle that lay before her. She strapped her wand to her inner arm, and stepped into her Dragonhide boots. Her wet tousle of hair was yanked, twisted and pulled into a tight knot and secured. All she was missing was a Portkey to France and she was prepared exactly the same way as she had been on the eve of the Battle of Hogwarts.


Daisy appeared before her, muttering words of joyful exclamation interspersed with hateful epithets, completely loaded with steamy, fragrant packages. Hermione’s stomach growled lightly, reminding her she really hadn’t touched more than tea and toast, but it didn’t garner much consideration.


The sound of her Dragonhide boots clacking on the floorboards gave her strength and purpose as she stalked towards the Apparition point.


*****


Severus stiffened and set aside Gogol, as Hermione’s footsteps announced her presence . The damned chit certainly had taken her precious time about returning. He had been hopeful for breakfast. Coffee, scones, a fresh newspaper, but then that was obviously not in the cards. Hermione had been on a tear for hours, and he steeled himself.


Her hair was still wet and it pulled her scalp back in a very unflattering way, but Severus held his tongue. It was best to save the invectives for the proper time, and he rather suspected it would be soon enough.


“I brought dinner,” she said briskly with a hint of a smile in his direction before placing the spread out.


‘Of course you did,’ he responded in his mind. She always brought dinner. Though it appeared that she was fattening him up for the kill. The box of tarts alone could probably stop his heart, or at least his arteries.


Hermione grimaced and apologized. “I asked them for something healthy. I guess we have different ideas about what that means.”


“Indeed,” Severus quietly murmured as he spooned out a plate of roast beef for her. A quick glance towards the vile calendar clock duo revealed the time, and Severus wondered how long it would take before she finally said what was on her mind.


Dinner was slowly devoured in an agonizing way that did not help the food settle well in either of their stomachs. Conversation was polite and nearly non-existent, and Hermione hurried to tidy up afterward, casting preservation spells so he could enjoy the leftovers for later. There were enough leftovers to have him satisfied for days. Throughout dinner Hermione had continued to glance discretely at him from behind her lowered lashes. She wasn't very good at being discrete though, and Severus knew her eyes were trained on him.


Arranging himself comfortably in the plush leather armchair, Severus settled down and waited for the witch to speak. The shiny new calendar clock duo mocked the crawling passage of time in cheery red numbers. Hermione placed herself in front of him, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands nervously in her lap. Though it was obvious she was trying hard not to fidget, the fact that she found her fingers so damned interesting betrayed her nervousness.


Hermione steeled herself with a gulped breath and tried to remember her resolve. Some of the parchments with her bullet-point arguments were tucked into a pocket and she fought with her impulse to primly begin with the opening speech she had written. Another glance up from her lashes revealed Severus considering her with a slightly cocked head, so obviously he knew she wanted to address him with something important, and he was waiting patiently. Hermione decided to take it as a good sign and began with only a slightly quavering voice.


"Severus," she began with what she hoped was a conversational tone. Her strategy centered around a calm, rational discussion that neither provoked nor sounded preachy. "I'd like to reengage with you in a discussion of your... penance." There, she congratulated herself. That sounded fairly non-confrontational, well, about as non-confrontational as it was going to get. Take emotion out of the equation, her Self-Help books had advised.


"My penance?" he sardonically asked with a wry smirk.


"Your choice to remain in Azkaban," she clarified. "Which is to say, um... I believe that penance, if that's what you truly seek, could be served anywhere."


"Perhaps," he accepted, tracing his thin lips with two thoughtful fingers.


Under other circumstances, Hermione might have found the unconscious gesture sexy, but at the moment she was more than a bit unnerved by it. He seemed to be deconstructing her; moreover, he seemed entirely unsurprised by the conversation. Well, she had just left him the night before to think about what he'd said. Hopefully he'd given his incarceration a lot more thought as well, and they could come to an accord, and he would come home with her without a fight and they could live happily ever after. And maybe she had a head wound, a lasting effect from an old hex... or a slow acting jinx... or maybe she was stalling again.


"Yes, well, I'm glad you're willing to consider it." Showering with praise was another good technique. Emphasize where the middle ground or agreements, downplay disagreements and reach towards resolution, she reaffirmed. "If you're willing to accept that penance and acts of contrition can be performed anywhere, then perhaps you can discuss with me, um... performing them elsewhere. Say, at the Homestead? I have a list of very worthy causes that could really utilize your talents, and if you're not interested in those, well, maybe then we could work on an original project together?"


The tick in Severus' cheek was not reassuring.


Hermione steeled herself for a rebuttal, but none was forthcoming, so mentally she clicked over to the next item on her list. Droning on and on about worthy causes was not going to endear him to her, so it was time to switch tactics.


"And as for staying in Azkaban so that you won't injure others, I... I have a hard time believing that is true." His eyebrow lifted, but Severus remained silent, and Hermione's stomach took that moment to make a large burbling sound. No doubt she'd have indigestion and heartburn later on.


"Well, honestly, I can understand your willingness to assist me with my..." she grasped for a word that was appropriate and delicate, "...difficulties with Mr. Hopper. But I don't honestly believe you would have murdered him because he threatened a lawsuit. You just wouldn't have."


"Hm," he grunted noncommittally, and Hermione watched desperately for a sign she was on the right track. "You're familiar with my Sectumsempra," Severus announced slowly. "Do you honestly think that's the only curse I’ve invented? And you’ve seen how sweet that one is. It requires finesse and skill, and has none of the tackiness of an Entrails Expelling Curse. How does one go about crafting such a perfect curse, I wonder? Any thoughts, Hermione? Any at all?"


"Yes, well," Hermione fluttered her hands in a helpless gesture. "It's not like I expect you to run about the countryside eviscerating hapless townsfolk, Severus. You may have killed, but I don't believe you're truly a killer. If you were, you wouldn't care about keeping away from the public at all. You'd be out there...killing," she finished weakly.


Severus' eyes were closed and he laid his head back. She hadn't understood a word he'd said. The stupid bint still believed there was 'good' within him, and the Gods fucking help her if she fucking offered to give him a hug.


"You wouldn't, would you?" she questioned, this time a little less certain of her own self.


His eyelashes fluttered as Severus considered her words, and when he spoke again his voice sounded dry and choked. "No, I've put all that behind me Hermione. I'd only intervene on your behalf if you wished it. I no longer have any urge to hurt others... those days are behind me."


Whether proven innocent or not, Severus would have enjoyed wrenching the last breath from Black's body. Passing peacefully through a fucking shroud had not been what the mongrel deserved. Black had deserved to die screaming. But those urges for retribution no longer haunted him as they had before.


Of course there had been a time when it had been sweet. When he was young, stupid, and weak. The feeling of power and divinity that bloodshed gave him was a fleeting high that left him more wretched and miserable the next morning, but sometimes, sometimes, being a Death Eater wasn't all bad. It had been a feeling he hadn't relished, but it was also as satisfying in his belly as the addictive cream-like hallucinogenic potion he had once been chained to. The potion, like the blood lust, simply soured when it became too much.


"Then I hardly see why it's an issue that you remain here. Already a fan club of yours is petitioning the Wizengamot for your release. There's plenty of exonerating evidence that should clear your name. I propose that we do just that. Go home, start a life together. A real one. And as you want to continue on with your quest for whatever form of redemption you feel you need or whatever that means, well, we can work on that too." Hermione bit her lip for a moment and wondered if this were the right moment to announce she had deep feelings for him, bright-eyed dreams of waking up next to him every morning.


"Fuck the witches. I don't want those meddlesome harpies petitioning the Wizengamot."


"But it would help us to get you released sooner," she offered quickly.


"You're still operating on the premise that I want to be released."


Hermione's mouth flew open, aghast. "I thought we agreed! You could come home. You're not a threat to others." Her fingers scrabbled into the pockets of her robes reaching for the scraps of parchment. She needed a solid bullet-point, a good argument on why he needed to return with her. Hadn't she shown him all of his requirements could be satisfied at home, with her?


Reading the first heading underneath the Affective list Hermione took a fortifying breath and tried not to squirm. According to her research he should have a need to be needed, a want to be wanted.


Severus flicked a crumb from the bedcovering, "I don't recall making any concessions other than... how did you phrase it, 'running about the countryside eviscerating townsfolk?'"


Her well considered dispassionate arguments were getting her nowhere. Logic couldn't rule the heart's domain she belatedly realized.


"I want you home," she blurted. "I want you with me. I want to be your wife. I want us to be together, and I think, well, it won't always be perfect or easy, but I think what we'd have could be very special. Severus, I think we could make an honest go at having a real future together. The Homestead is perfect, it's ready and waiting for you to move in. I'm a horrid cook, you already know that, but the elves are very sweet. Foul-mouthed little beasties, but so dear. But they run the Homestead, so you could help me run Granger Industries, or do whatever projects you want. Headmistress McGonagall would probably trip over her tartan robes to get you back at Hogwarts if that's what you wanted..."


"Teaching does not appeal to me, Hermione, you should know this."


Hermione furrowed her brow. "Yes, but what about any of the other suggestions? I mean, I really don't mind what you do," she said in an eager rush. "If you wanted to write more books or paint, or destroy more clocks, I'd support you - in whatever you wanted to do. I just want you home, with me."


Severus wasn't sure what else he had to say, he'd made it abundantly clear where his home was. "Hermione," he said impatiently, "Only children make wishes. And they pout when they don't get what they want. You are not a child - don't act like one."


"I'm not being childish!" Hermione declared. Her lower lip might have protruded just a bit, but she wasn't pouting.


“You signed up for this life, Hermione. It’s what you asked for. You even wrote part of the Marriage Contract. I suggest you get used to it," Severus enumerated in a growling voice. "How many times and in how many combinations do I have to repeat myself before you’ll get it through that thick bushy head of yours, I’m not leaving. I’m staying right where I am. I don’t care if the Muggle Queen offers me a piggy back ride out of here; I don’t want to leave!”


The red carpet leading out of the prison was practically rolled out before him - and he didn't want it?
Hermione felt lightheaded and a bit more than dizzy as she gripped the foot board of the bed for strength and balance. She had opened herself up and confessed she wanted him home with her - and they had all the ability to do so. Such confessions weren't easy for her to make. For all the bravery she wore as a mask, Hermione was deeply insecure and fearful of rejection.


She didn't want to fight about this. She wanted to go home...with her husband. And as he so adroitly pointed out, she had signed up for this for life. The visions she had spun in her head of a real life together, happy and in love, were fantasies of her self-delusion. Severus would grow ancient within the prison walls, and she'd be trapped alongside him forever. The carefully organized bullet points were useless. He didn't care one whit about her well planned research or therapeutic ideas, Severus was an immovable rock.


They truly were at an impasse.


"You said you'd consider leaving," she moaned weakly.


"I have considered it, and it's not something I'm interested in, not until I've completed my penance. Do not attempt to separate me from my penance," he whispered in a cold tone that pricked the skin on her arms up.


"Penance? You'll never leave!" She finally truly realized for the first time he'd never abandon his self-imposed penance. "You'll lie here and rotting and waiting for deliverance, and some sign of forgiveness that will never come. Even if your Olympian Gods descended and ordered you to get on with life, you'd probably think you're hallucinating. Severus Snape, you will never accept that you have paid your dues."


He'd never been forgiven before. Never once had anyone accepted his contrition, so he had nothing to which he could compare his struggle for redemption. He was blind and aimlessly attempting something he knew nothing about, because as far as Hermione was aware, Severus did not easily forgive others, so he had no idea how to forgive himself.


Menacing glittering eyes devoured her, held her in the moment, and Hermione's ragged breathing hitched. Perhaps she had crossed a line, but he had to understand. She could not leave without securing her future, their future.


"You made this bargain witch," he whispered. "Let's not forget, you approached me. I was the murdering Death Eater bastard not worthy of your time, unless you wanted something from me. Nothing has changed Hermione, I am still a murdering Death Eater bastard, and you're still using me to get what you want. How inconvenient for you that you've changed your mind. How terribly tragic that you fancy us together in some nightmarish vision of a life together. I've made my choice, and so have you. Live with the consequences of marrying me Hermione."


She felt trapped again, the walls of the prison closing in on her like a tomb, and she gripped the bed, digging her fingernails painfully into the grain of the wood. Severus needed so much. He needed real help and real redemption. He needed to feel forgiven, and that wasn't likely to happen shuttered away. Who was there to say 'thank you' to him? Nameless prisoners in another cell block, for not hording the bilge rats?


The only way for him to move forward was to move out.


The thought was clear, it shone like a beacon in her mind, and held hope like the green light at the end of Daisy's dock.


"You can leave here at any time Severus; we both know that the Wizengamot will release you," she said clearly, her eyes scrunched up and her wet lips feeling cold. "And...and if you don't leave... Azkaban, I will leave you. I cannot remain here. I cannot continue to do this. I'm sorry, but I can't. I admit I was self-deluded to think I could make it work. But... but I can’t. There’s no way I can endure another month of this, much less decades."


“That sounds a lot like an ultimatum, Hermione," He said tersely with fists clenched. "Are you certain you want to do that?”


Muggles made deals with handshakes and by giving their word. Wizards made oaths on their wands or to the death. An ultimatum wasn't the same as an oath. And Severus didn't have a wand to swear on either, but being placed in a corner galled him all the same. Hermione dared hit him with an ultimatum. He could strangle her for the suggestion.


Her Gryffindor courage was kicking into overdrive and Hermione barely hesitated, even as her stomach trembled. She was willing to throw everything on a roll of dice. But the odds were in her favor, and Hermione knew Severus wanted her - she couldn't lose. They hadn’t gone through all of this together to walk away now. He was her husband, and she was his wife; the marriage of convenience had turned into a real relationship. He just needed this nudge to let go.


And it was time to end the status quo. They couldn’t keep living half lives. She couldn’t be married to a martyr. Saint Severus of Azkaban. Patron saint of lost Slytherin souls.


“Yes, I suppose I am. So what’s it going to be Severus? Me or Azkaban?”


She held her breath.


Vixen. She had revealed herself finally to him. The angel of mercy, gift from the Gods for his devotion. Temptress, sent to lure him away as a test of his faith and piety. He knew. Her demands. The time had come for her to make false promises. Trade pleasures of the flesh and momentary gratification for an eternity in Hades. His Vixen had revealed herself, and Severus knew this was the test of his faith he'd been waiting for.


“You can leave any time Vixen, the door is there.”


Hermione's knees nearly gave way. She shook upon the foundation of her legs and found the foot board of the bed was not nearly enough to keep her standing. She had lost, and she had lost him. Her Severus had chosen, and rejected her. She was numb and unable to fight the pain. 'No, no, no, no, no...' she repeated to herself. She must have misheard, must have misunderstood. Her Severus would not have tossed their marriage aside. He was supposed to choose her. They were supposed to live together and make their marriage work. Hermione wouldn't have made the ultimatum if she believed he would choose Azkaban. It was absurd. He loved her. Severus... had to love her.


"The door is there, Hermione. Don't come back," he repeated.


Severus was feeling a momentary triumph, and enjoyed her look of anguish. The way her knees and entire body trembled was satisfying to watch. He could destroy this girl, and in the cruel predatory recesses of his darkened heart, the part that took satisfaction in breaking others, Severus felt a thrill from her pain. Lily had made him tremble. Lily had wrenched his heart out with nary a second glance. The perverse joy of doing onto others made his spirit dance. He had promised himself he would not break her, but Hermione had set herself up for failure. She had offered him an ultimatum.


“I need you, Severus. You are my life, and my life’s out there,” she cried, aiming a flailing arm weakly out towards the unforgiving black sea. “Will you join me, then?”


"I clearly recall telling you to leave."


Her lungs gasped and panted for air, but she held still, trembling on the inside like a field mouse who knows he’s been spotted by the hawk.


“Please, Severus, we could be so happy,” her voice cracked.


He studied her intently, but gave nothing. Nothing, not the twitch of his lips or crinkling of his eyes betrayed in the slightest his mind on the matter, and Hermione felt cold seep under her skin.


“Please,” she begged again, the hurt pleading rising with her pitch. He had to understand. The cold taciturn man was the hope and light in her chest. Without Severus she was so alone. He couldn’t imprison her here with him, this was not a life by any definition. He had to join her. He couldn't send her away. Hermione dizzily realized he wasn't sending her away for now. He was sending her away for always. It was either her or Azkaban, and she hollowly realized she was being dismissed from his life.


“You expect me to compromise who I am and what I believe. You would have me betray my principles because you’ve finally realized this sham of half a marriage does not suit your needs,” he said in clipped tones.


“No,” she hastened. That wasn’t it. Not at all. Their needs. They needed to be together. They belonged together. She was finally ready to open her heart to him, confess the L-word she harbored for him, but Hermione could never utter those dangerous three words. He'd crush her. Laugh at her stupidity. Any last ditch attempt at reconciliation died when he cut her off.


“Oh, so you would have me betray my principles for your new fantasies and grand delusions of some sunny happy life. You see us brewing potions together and inventing new products at the Homestead. Let me guess, and maybe some dark curly-headed children pattering about. Isn’t that what you want? It is. I can read it all plainly in your eyes. Wake up Hermione; children don’t make for a happy marriage. Children can’t make you happy. They make a bad marriage worse. Spare me your simple minded delusions. They turn my stomach.”


“I just want us to be happy," she whispered, her mind still belatedly processing the fact that he had chosen Azkaban over her. He had chosen to eject her from his life.


“I am happy, you selfish twat!” he roared. “I have everything I could possibly want within these four walls, except for some fucking peace and quiet. And I can’t make you happy. The only person who is responsible for your happiness is you.”


“Peace and quiet,” she repeated stunned. The words seemed strange and foreign in her ears and had to be sounded out, tried on her lips as the concept trickled through her consciousness. He wanted her out. She wanted… everything. Everything he had enumerated before callously casting her dreams aside, calling them delusions. Rejecting her hopes and plans for the future, rejecting her.


“Go away, Hermione. I have no patience for your dramatics, and so help me, if you begin to tear up…”


“You’ll what?” Hermione asked with a trembling lip.


Severus was silent.


“You’ll what, Severus? What more can you do to me that you haven’t already just done? Why don’t you tell me some more about how unwanted I am? Get it off your chest and finish the job so I can leave you to your peace and quiet and never return.”


“Why would I want to do that,” he sneered, “to feed your perverse sense of victimization? Don’t provoke me, Hermione. I know you want me to play the bad guy to justify the horrible things you’ll no doubt say about me to all your sympathetic little friends.”


He sighed, bone weary and drained. “I’m not the bad guy, Hermione. I’m just not the guy you want me to be. Now leave me to my solitude.” His hand raised dismissively as he lay back on top of the bed, spindly pale fingers rubbing the bridge between his eyebrows.


“I’ll go,” she whispered, gathering the tatters of her self-respect around her as if it could protect her from the cold shivers wracking her frame.


The wards on his door shimmered and Hermione left quietly. Balling up on himself Severus wrapped his arms around his knees and listened to her familiar footfalls echo down his corridor as she trudged away. He could even hear her leaning heavily against the stone walls for support, gasping for breath - trying to hold herself together and not wail, as she walked out of his life.


With any luck, Severus fiercely hoped, she'd come to her senses in a few days, and shower him with affection and curry take-away. He comforted himself that he'd bought a few more months of silence before she took to nagging again.


******


Hermione Apparated only once, and scrambled for breath. Her shaky fingers reached out to grip the carved back of the weathered Victorian sofa to steady her. Apparating across the UK to Azkaban was tasking on the body and lungs, so Hermione made the trip in segments. But this time she'd done only one jump, her mind latched onto a single place of comfort. Her wobbly knees gave out and she sank painfully onto the thin dusty rug. Panting great heaving breaths of dry moldy air, Hermione sat dumbfounded, her heart beating erratically in her chest.


She couldn’t fucking breathe. She curled up on herself, pushing her head between her knees instinctively and without thought. Her skin prickled up with gooseflesh as she shuddered. For a moment she ordered herself, get a grip. Get off the floor. Finish the Apparation. Go home. Deal with it later.


A loud keening wail split the air in the dark Black library, dismissing all thought to the contrary as she curled further up on herself, mixing her thick salty tears with the accumulated dirt of the abandoned house. Her abandoned world.


Hermione wept, her heartache pushing out her chest as she surrounded herself with the misery of knowing that Severus had made his choice and it wasn't her. He preferred his cold cell to the warmth of her love. Her heart meant nothing to him.


She was means to an end, the bringer of beer and pizza. She was the witch who spread her thighs and opened her mouth to welcome his cock, but not to love. She felt so meaningless. And Hermione knew she had deluded herself into thinking that she mattered to him.


She laid on the floor growing stiff and cold, her runaway thoughts mocking her for playing the fool. Memories of their time together twisted in her head as she relived them in pain, not looking back in fondness, but dwelling on how cruel and manipulative he’d been to string her along. Severus Snape, the snake in the grass, had struck.


Once the hysterical sobbing subsided and Hermione sniffled to clear her nose and look at how far she’d been reduced, she slowly raised herself. Her neck and shoulders protested as they lengthened and straightened out, but gripping the furniture for strength, she hobbled to the fireplace. She upturned the Floo powder box and shook the last pinch from the bottom before sinking to her knees before the grate.


From her hand she poured the fine dust onto the coals, watching as they weakly sparked green in the absence of a fire, calling out, “Kingsley Shacklebolt’s residence” before pushing her head through.


It took nearly ten minutes of yelling herself hoarse before Kingsley appeared, running towards the Floo, his bedjacket hastily pulled on and hanging open, but his wand was drawn and his eyes were scanning for trouble. Hermione swallowed thickly and briefly thanked her lucky stars that the former Order Headquarters was still privately connected to his residence.


“Hermione? What’s wrong? What’s going on,” he rapidly questioned, Kingsley’s Auror intuition coming to the fore.


“I need help,” she panted desperately. “I need a divorce.”


******


Fuck.


He'd run her off.


What had he been thinking? Clearly he hadn't.


Shit.


He probably would have to apologize for real this time.


Hours later she arrived at the Homestead. And through the wards Severus felt her heartache. The pain in his
chest doubled up. He'd anticipated a weepy, miserable witch, but not this. Had he been so cruel? Surely she knew... she had to know... he didn't actually want her gone forever - not really.


All he wanted was an end to the childishness. Hermione was... well, she was currently the lacing pain in his chest, but she was...everything.


He cursed himself for rising to the bait of her ultimatum.


She had to know he wanted her.


She had to return. Hermione couldn't be gone forever.


As his coal-dusted lashes closed, his last coherent thought was whether he’d ever hear her footfalls in his corridor again.


*


A/N:
Chapter title: Vos Vestros Servate, Meos Mihi Linquite Mores - You cling to your own ways and leave mine to me. (Petrarch)

Several people need to be thanked. This chapter has held up most of the fic because it needed to be 'perfect.' The dynamic duo of Christev20 and mischevious_t have helped get it sorted to rights, and for that I am grateful to them both. And I've possibly been cajoled into creating a chain smoking house-elf named Tink for mischevious...

The magnificent Hypnobarb coined the phrase Saint Severus of Azkaban, Patron Martyr Saint of Slytherin, and for that I will be forever grateful. Thank you love!

And thank you to all the readers who've kept with the fic even as it's switched to 1x/week posting. Your loyalty, love, and support makes me squee like a teenage fangurrrl. Hugs, hankies, and chocolate for everyone. -AV