The Gilded Cage

There were so many reviews for Ch 48 that I placed your review reponses into the reviews page so that it didn't overwhelm this chapter.

Chapter 49 - Ira Furor Brevis Est

If Severus was worried that he’d never hear the precise tapping of Hermione’s sensible shoes in his corridor again he was quite mistaken. She woke him early the next morning looking refreshed and resolute, her untamed hair pulled back tight against her scalp and wrangled into a horrid bun. And she wore a positively dreadful business frock. He hoped for her sake and the future of her company it wasn’t the sort of suit she wore to meetings, but suspected it was.


“I don’t know where your cot is,” she began primly, without a proper greeting. “It wasn’t something I thought about when I got rid of it, but Billy assures me he’ll have a new one installed today.”


“Pardon?”


“Cot,” she enunciated, roundly pronouncing the ‘O’s as she was wont to do. The single syllable word hung between them as Severus blinked.


Her wand was out within seconds and Severus’ eyes widened as she pointed it at his things. He stood dumbly as she reduced books, knick-knacks and articles of clothing, sending them tumbling back into the expandable white boxes. Hermione was rapid in her movements and entirely proficient.


“You’re leaving,” Severus said dumbly.


“I’m giving you your penance back. This place isn’t suitable for a proper penance.”


“You’re trying to hurt me because I refused to join you?”


“No, I’m moving on because I refuse to live like this anymore. I suppose you can interpret this as a petty act of hurting you, but it’s not meant to be. You were right: we’re not suited and this marriage won’t work. You were right: I’m an idiot and self-deluded. You were right. And I’m giving you what you want. You can have all the fucking peace and quiet you crave. Satisfied?”


She wasn’t thinking straight. No, certainly not at all. She felt small and burned out inside, and it gave her a need to consume everything around her. The itch to break and damage whatever was in reach was real and she tasted her own blood on her lip. Peace and quiet? If he wanted peace and quiet she’d give him so much of it she hoped he’d choke on it.


Foolish, stupid, infantile fantasies of children and a happy domestic home life. What had she been thinking? Stupidly, she had let down her guard, turned her back on a fucking Death Eater who probably would not hesitate to Avada her.


Severus believed in an unmerciful God. A wrathful and vengeful God who ‘smote’ lots of things, and damned if she didn’t hope he got all the hellfire and brimstone he had coming to him.


“You’re divorcing me?” Severus whispered.


“No, of course not. I’m having the marriage annulled. You should be free of me no later than close of business tomorrow.”


“How?” he choked.


“Remarkably easy. Kingsley is appealing our marriage right now on the grounds that it’s never been consummated. The kiss that sealed our contract was symbolic and ceremonial, but not legally binding. I’ll thank you for pointing out that legal avenue to me. I've been assured that once the committee reviews the terms of your incarceration they'll destroy our marriage contract and license like it never even happened.”


Last night’s panic-fueled Floo call to Kingsley was met with assurances that he would do all he could to make the process as simple and painless as possible for her. When she had asked for a divorce, Kingsley regretfully informed her that it was impossible. When Hermione asked about the potential of an annulment, citing an unconsummated marriage, he informed her she was in luck. Although she conveniently forgot to mention their one failed attempt at intercourse - one case of limp dick did not a marriage make. How fortuitous, indeed. And since they hadn't finalized the union, the binding charms that held her Full Fidelity Charm together had never taken effect. Hermione was completely free. Had she wanted to fuck Donald Browne, or any wizard in her path, Hermione could have done so at any time. It was liberating.


As a personal favor, he was also arguing that she was unaware of the terms of the incarceration at the time she was married and begging for leniency on her behalf. Kingsley didn’t expect they’d prosecute her for the so-called blunder, mostly because the understaffed and over-tasked sub-department that governed the Marriage Act was up to its gills in work and howlers. And the Wizengamot had stopped ruling on anything to do with the Marriage Act, as they were in the middle of examining whether it was actually constitutional. Still, she had the distinct feeling that the Ministry stooge who’d been sent to approve their marriage would likely get fired.


“But you’ll be in the same position, Hermione. The Ministry will force you to marry.”


“Then I’ll just have to suck it up and deal with whatever the Ministry decides.”


“But that’s not…”


“What? Fair?” Hermione rounded on him, the lines around her mouth as tight as her words. “Please don’t lecture me on what is and is not fair, Severus Snape.”


He stared at her, his mind processing the rigid lines of her features and demeanor. There was no softness to be had, only sharp angles and bitterness. Her unyielding brown eyes also held a slight glossiness, and for the first time in months Severus honestly feared she’d gone back to ‘Liquid Sunshine.’ In fact, he was willing to stake his last Galleon on it, and it kicked the wind out of his lungs.


So he watched in muted horror as she turned back to her chore of mopping up his life and placing all of it in little white cartons. Even the stupid Slinky disappeared into its container. Golden paint evaporated from the walls, revealing blackening stone. She didn’t rip the robes off his back, but a calculating glimmer in her eye showed she considered it.


He ground one fist into his palm concealing the thin circle of gold that sat upon the third digit. Surely, she wouldn’t take that, too?


It didn’t take long to reduce his world with Hermione’s efficient wand strokes. And had they been speaking under better terms he would have jokingly taunted her for showing off.


Severus spoke up, “I wasn’t going to say fair, I was going to say, 'that wasn't what I wanted.'” He met her gaze steadily but feeling quite tipped over inside. "You don't have to leave, not like this, Hermione," he begged. "I may have acted inconsiderately, and perhaps foolishly, but aren't you being a bit impulsive? I don't recall asking for a ...divorce." The word curdled sour on his lips. "Annulment," he bitterly amended. "Take a moment to think about this, please."


He waited for her to respond; that was how conversations worked, but Hermione was nearly finished, and she hadn’t come for conversation. She came to burn and destroy.


Hermione’s lips were pressed in a tight disapproving scowl that she must have picked up from Minerva. With a final pass of her eyes around the near barren room, Hermione nodded to herself, satisfied with her work, and pocketed a dozen miniaturized boxes. She paused briefly upon exiting, and Severus held his breath for her parting shot, but she only aimed her wand at his plush leather armchair and it fell to the floor as an old wash rag.


Pivoting quickly, Hermione left him in empty silence slumped against the wall where their bed once stood.


Severus’ eyes traced over the pattern of stones he had counted an infinite number of times over the years. His gaze roved blankly over the space, as he tried with limited success to blot out all thoughts. He had spent years numbly looking at that wall making shapes out of the uneven bricks. Obviously there was a daisy as plain as day stamped in the center of the wall. And if he stood in the corner the daisy shifted into the shape of distended lark entrails before it was minced and prepared for burn paste. And sometimes if he was crossing his eyes slightly it looked like… nothing.


Later as the sun set, Billy silently shuffled in and installed a cot, so Severus scooted over, but found he had neither the energy nor the will to get up.


*****


She paced. She’d been pacing all night.


She couldn’t think. She needed a level head for this and she couldn’t fucking think. The initial hurt had been replaced with anger. Anger had driven her to Floo the Minister, calling in a personal favor from Shacklebolt, which she hated doing. She hated the idea that if she wanted to swing power, she could. It nauseated her that individuals with prestige had the ability to make demands average citizens did not have the ability to voice. But needs must be met, and during last night’s frantic fire call, she was willing to pull with whatever political capital she still had. It also helped that Kingsley couldn't handle sobbing witches.


The fire was still cold in the hearth, and so was she. Whatever pang of remorse she felt when she had discarded their marriage had to go away, because she couldn’t afford it now. Her marriage was annulled. Like it had never happened, and she needed to keep moving onward. If she stopped for a moment to second-guess herself or regret her choice, she’d be the bigger fool. And Severus would never take her back. Hermione collapsed into the fluffy large bed in the Master’s chambers that were no longer hers. How long could she stay before she was evicted? Hermione would not speculate about Severus’ mind on the matter. It was best if she left quickly and be done with it.


The pillowy bed was always soft and cloud-like. It made burrowing into the layers of sheets such a comfort. Once she had wondered if the elves made beds just that way because it resembled their fluffy woolen nests. She inhaled the calming lilac scent the elves had taken to washing all of her linens in since moving to the Homestead. No, the bed was one of the small ways they expressed their love and devotion to the child of mud and filth. Hermione felt the name apt. She was a child of mud and filth, but she’d be damned if she turned her ship around. Wallowing in self pity could come later. Now she had to muster the energy to get up and get on with things.


Her energy drained, Hermione reached for the hurt, the scorched earth inside her heart, and blew at the embers. He had rejected her. It was fucking Potions class all over again. He had an entire population of fawning witches screaming for his release. Several witches had tried to break into Azkaban, and he wouldn’t leave because he’d then be married to her. Hermione remembered that sneer vividly. ‘Hold on to that,’ she whispered to herself. She knew if she could remember the look of revulsion and disgust he wore while saying those vile hurtful things she’d never regret her decision. Severus loathed her, of that she had no doubt.


He wanted her to reconsider, but spared no words of kindness or affection to her, only remorse that she was leaving. Selfish. He was probably only concerned with where his next meal of beer and pizza would come from. And if he was shocked or upset, it was likely because he wanted to keep that damned Slinky. Poor Severus. Poor Azkaban prisoner. Such a pity that a Death Eater had to serve a life sentence in the same manner as everyone else. She bet the short-term inmates that feasted on bilge rats and the big-titted witches clamoring for his immediate release sympathized with him. What would the other prisoners on his cell block say about that? Oh that’s right, they were all Kissed.


“You had a good thing,” Hermione said aloud in a breaking voice. “You had a good thing, Severus Snape, and you blew it. All because you couldn’t bear the thought of fathering our children.”


She violently swiped at a tear trickling down her face, but she couldn’t bother with that. The anger was building again and this was a rage she could use. She needed it. She knew she needed the rage to fuel what she was about to do.


“Daisy, you are summoned.”


Daisy arrived instantly with a small thunderclap of sound. Sensing her Mistress’ conflict, Daisy nervously wrung her new pink gingham apron her Mistress had given all the girls.


Mistress Hermione, whore who lies with beasts, had demanded that they trade their ill-fitting and stained tea towels and cloth nappies for the smart looking aprons. They were not a gift of clothes. They were a trade. Hermione had learned well a thing or two from S.P.E.W.


Daisy clutched the gingham in her fists, trembling as she felt the overwhelming waves of hatred roll off the Mistress. The blessedly beautiful House of Prince had often let this hatred build up in their hearts. Those were scary times when little elf fingers had been lost. Daisy bowed lowly on shaking knees.


“Gather up everyone,” Hermione snapped. “I need all hands on deck to dismantle the labs and production line. Have the young elfkins start on my personal items. I want to be out of here within the day.”


Daisy nodded vigorously and Disapparated. Hermione bit the insides of her cheeks. This anger wasn’t entirely what she needed. Something was missing. Clarity of thought? Rest for the turbulent mind? Her emotions lulled and pitched like a raft caught up in a waterspout. She needed something more to feel than only the pain. Something that would take her into the calm center of the storm.


Her decision was made in a mere moment. She just needed this once more. One more dosage to get through the day. After this she could deal with the consequences. Her feet led her to the bathroom vanity and she pulled the amber-hued vial of momentary salvation out of the medicine cabinet. She just needed this one. Just today. And it wasn't as if Severus was there any longer to tell her 'no.'


‘Lord, let me make it through this day,’ she chanted as she tipped the Liquid Sunshine back.


It was sweet going down as it settled in the pit of her empty stomach. Warmth emanated out, tingling her fingers and toes. Hermione smiled as she opened her eyes to a bright and sunny day. It was as if all the cold and ugliness had been chased away. So good.


Confidently, she knew she could accomplish her task and set to it. With the detachment of someone looking at her situation from a distant perspective, this was easy. She was just moving out. People moved on with their lives all the time. This was a good thing indeed. Maybe the elves could be convinced to sing along and make it into a game.


First, she just needed to make a list. A list would set everything to rights. With proper planning, anything could be achieved. Archimedes had once remarked, "Give me a lever big enough and I can move the world." Hermione fully believed with a well thought out list, she could do the same.


- She needed to bring the moving wizards back. They were fast and efficient last time, and the elves would need help. Hermione would not stay a moment longer than she needed.


- Shelter for the evening was a must. After that... she could worry about such trivialities later.


- A storage unit for her lab needed procuring. Even her Holds-All satchel wouldn't carry the entire lab.


- Letters and checks for her employees needed to be drafted. It was impersonal to do by owl, but there was no helping that. She needed to kindly thank them for their service and devotion to the company, but Granger Industries was folding. There was no way she could go to work the next morning, or the morning after that, or ever.


- Mr. Tattings would have to break contracts with suppliers and distributors.


The penalties would be heavy, but Hermione couldn't think on such things, and she couldn't be arsed to care. It was only money. And her business? Deep inside Hermione knew that the way she had spent herself so entirely on her business had put her on the path to wreck and ruin. Every terrible desperate choice she had made had always been with Granger Industries in mind. And what did she have to show for it? Money. When Hermione had tinkered around in the back of Arthur's shed, looking for a way to tame her atrocious hair, her success hadn't been about money. Her passion had never been about money, and it was a poor balm for her sacrifice. Hermione paused for a moment of self reflection and wondered how the hell she had gotten here. She didn't recognize herself, and she had no idea where 'here' was.


*****


Severus was still motionless on the floor, his butt completely frozen and asleep, with discordant thoughts circling like buzzards around his head, when Hermione achieved her coup de gras. The wards to the Homestead dropped. He felt her in his very marrow as she savagely tore into the home without mercy, he felt the collective wail of piteous house elves as they scurried in her wake, and he shuddered as the marching army of packers pillaged.


The pain was indescribable. Nothing. Absolutely nothing had ever prepared him for this sort of pain. Lily stung. Decades later losing Lily still felt like a bruised limb that he needed to cradle and nurse. The wretched sharp tang of losing his wife was agony.


The soul sickening guilt of feeling her hurt as his own through the Homestead’s wards made the dull ache of Lily feel juvenile in comparison. His loss was total. And he was responsible for pushing her away.


*****


Crooks hissed and batted at Huey. He wasn’t getting into the cat carrier. It had taken ages to find the pansy-nosed Tom; he was the last item left to be packed away. And he wasn’t happy to be found.


The old Homestead had delicious field mice. Succulent rabbits peacefully chewed on clover on the Green, unaware of the danger from the skilled ginger warrior that stalked them. Baby birds of all kinds flitted around the distant tree line, learning to fly on uncertain wings. And arrogantly colorful songbirds chased each other across the field, not realizing they were a paw-swipe away from death. It was only his good humor that allowed the faster birds to fly freely. Though at any point he could kill them. If he wanted to.


But not all was well in his Manor house. His familiar was acting spectacularly stupidly. If she just waited for evening he’d sit on top of her chest and knead her with his paws until she calmed. He’d even allow her to pet him.


Throwing him into a blasted cat carrier to destinations unknown was not a good idea. Especially when she smelled of that stuff. It made her go all squirrel-brained and hare-footed. Crooks was having none of it and told his familiar so. Then she Stunned him.


She had never done that. Threatened him, yes. Stunned him, no. Into the cat carrier he was dropped, falling and landing painfully on the base of his tail. There was a reason why Kneazles always landed on their feet. Stubbing a tail hurt.


That was it.


The yellow-eyed monster of birdy doom fumed silently. No more field mice left in her bed after this. He wasn’t in the mood to share any more. She could catch her own. The cat carrier jostled, sending the immobile cat into a wall.


‘Insult me?’ Crooks fumed. ‘Don’t think this won’t go unpunished; I will start marking again!’ he warned. ‘And I’m already working on the mother-of-all hairballs. It will be my finest achievement yet. You’ll find it in your favorite paw covers, familiar!’


If she thought she could get away with this abuse of one's person, she was sorely mistaken.


Hours later as the spell had worn off, Crooks sat on his front paws like the Half-Kneazle and Half-Familiar Sphinx of his forbearers. He was flicking his tale and hungry for ankle, when she finally remembered him.


“Hey Crooksy,” she cooed reaching a finger through the metal grate to stroke him. Crooks ignored the cheap attempt to make amends. Nothing short of Horntail pate would supplicate him. “We’re staying at Parvati’s house for a few days, but her cat Lola hasn’t been fixed either, so you’ve got to stay out of the house. Parvati will kill me if you impregnate her familiar.”


‘Damn!’ Crooks swore. ‘Chased out of the house and cut off from pussy.’

*
A/N:
Chapter title: Ira furor brevis est - Anger is a brief insanity. (Horace)

Tequila, salt, and limes to Christev20 for her uber-beta skills. She deserves it, especially with these past chapters and the upcoming ones.

Big love and happiness to my readers. You're the best. And wow, so many reviews! Thank you. AV