The Gilded Cage

Again, I've posted responses to your reviews of Ch 49 in the review section, rather than fill the top half of the page.

Chapter 50 - Aegri Somnia


Parvati towered over her imperiously, her lips in a pout and her nose slightly wrinkled.


“Geez, Hermione, are you going to get up today?” Parvati’s voice reflected her waning sympathy as she looked at her friend, wrapped up in blankets with only her bushy head peeking out.


“My front yard is littered with owls. They’re not going away until you take delivery. Do you think you could possibly manage to drag yourself into the vertical position? My neighbors are complaining, and I’ve got bird shit all over my porch. And let me not forget, you’ve got these phone messages. Makes me damn unhappy I got a phone in the first place.” Parvati threw at least three dozen slips of paper in the air like confetti.


Hermione mumbled something indistinct into the fluffy duvet in response. Not having the time or inclination to mother a grown witch, Parvati left for work with a dramatic swish of lime green robes.


Some time in the late afternoon, four o'clock, if she had to guess, Hermione managed to stumble out of bed. Hunger propelled her forward. She found Niles in the kitchen staring aimlessly at a soft boiled egg in his egg cup. Hermione frowned before turning to the larder to find herself a slice of pie, some turkey breast, a bag of salt and vinegar crisps, and half a bunch of red grapes. When she returned, Niles was still looking at his… lunch?


Hermione automatically spied the problem, retrieved his dentures, cracked the egg with the back of a spoon and watched the ancient wizard dig in with all the vigor of a child at Fortescue's. Together they munched in silence. Hermione found the crisps were stale, and Niles found most of the egg collected on his beard.


“Come here,” Hermione whispered, gently sweeping a wet flannel across his wrinkled lips. “Well,” she said loudly, to herself more than anyone, “What are we going to do now? Parvati will be home in another hour. We probably should make it look like we were productive today.”


Just then Niles loudly broke wind and blinked several times.


Twenty seconds later the stench reached her, and she covered her nose in alarm . “Good idea,” Hermione choked, “a shower sounds perfect.”


Hastily, she made her escape.


Parvati had mentioned something about her smelling ripe. Shutting herself firmly in the guest bathroom, Hermione turned on the tap in the shower cabinet and only turned towards the sink once the mirror had fogged over. She slumped over inside the shower. Niles could have been her husband. Had she thought of it, she could have married as Parvati had. The geriatric wizard was probably listed as ‘able to breed’ by the Ministry, but Hermione doubted his little soldiers could muster or march. It appeared the ceremonial kiss helped many couples other than herself.


That’s exactly what she should have done.


What she should do.


She was still at the mercy of the Ministry.


She was still required to find a husband. Why on earth had she ever thought that Severus Snape was an acceptable solution? She was stupid. Stupid, foolishly silly little know-it-all chit who had to be so fucking special. She just had to prove to the Ministry that she could beat them at their own game. She should have just shut up and colored in the lines, chosen a Ministry-approved asshole and accepted her fate. Some old wizard with one foot in the grave had to be better than Severus Snape.


Hermione doubled over and sat on the floor allowing the hot stinging shower rain on top of her, not caring how pink her skin became.


She pulled herself out when the hot water ran out, and since Hermione couldn't remain locked away in the shower cabinet shivering forever, she dragged herself out to face a seriously pissed-off Parvati.


“You didn’t answer the mail,” she said flatly.


“I know. I meant to.”


“If your distributors come to the house, I’m going to hand you over to them and they can deal with you.”


Hermione’s eyes fluttered shut. She couldn’t deal with them on a good day. Now she couldn’t find the energy to give a damn.


Parvati cleared her throat. “Actually, I want you out by the end of the week.” She held up a bright yellow ticket that Hermione instantly recognized as a Ministry citation. “Go answer your post.”


Hermione trudged towards the front door like a hangman to a noose. Peaking outside the door she shut it quickly.


“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!”


There had to be three hundred fucking owls hopping about the yard. Two days into Hermione’s stay, Parvati had placed anti-owl wards on her windows out of necessity. She was kind enough to accept mail and Howlers on Hermione’s behalf for the first forty odd owls before putting her foot down. Besides, most owls were given explicit instructions to only deliver to Hermione.


Hermione took a deep breath and darted outside. She shivered instantly. Summer was at its last dregs and Autumn was impatiently coming early. Autumn. She had been married at the end of Autumn, but before the leaves had gone brown and crispy from Winter’s murdering touch. The wizarding street was lined with trees in green, orange, and golden splendor. A year. She would have been married to Severus Snape a year.


Her thin grey sweats felt insubstantial to the chill. The owls, spotting their prey, descended.


Two hours later a scratched and dented Hermione returned inside, her arms laden with packages, letters and bills. Her fingers singed by aggressive Howlers. And her hair decorated in feathers.


“I checked the post,” she announced needlessly.


“So I see. I still want you moved out by the end of the week, Hermione. You can’t stay here. It’s not healthy for you and I think you’re starting to scare Niles.”


Hermione bit back a snort. “Really, how can you tell?”


Parvati glared at her before picking up her fine evening cloak. “You don’t have to stay here tonight,” she warned, picking up her thin beaded clutch. “I’m out,” she declared. “I have a date. Don’t wait up. Oh, and should you really do something with your hair; I have a bottle of Good Hair Day around here someplace.”


She found Niles sitting naked in the living room chewing on the end of his beard. Dear God, she needed her husband. Damn that man. Why? Why had he rejected her? Why? Why had she pushed him to join her? Couldn’t she respect his wishes? His faith? God, she was so fucking alone.


Desolate, Hermione covered herself in the duvet and blotted everything out but her misery.


*****


“Hey Professor. How yer feeling today?”


Severus blinked twice and turned towards the voice, his neck popping at the movement. His deadened dark eyes took in the sparkling and feminine eyes of Billy Mulciber before turning back to the abstract pattern on the stone wall.


Brown eyes. He was only interested in brown eyes today.


Severus nearly choked out a half-hearted ‘Go away,’ but hadn’t the care to do so.


“I was reading again, Professor,” Billy merrily continued. “It was this fellow Whitman. Not really much of a storyteller, but real pretty words that make you think peaceful thoughts,” he supplied. “I suspect you’d like him.”


Severus’ heavy eyelids fell, but Billy knew he was awake. The Professor hadn’t been sleeping either. Unless he could sleep sitting straight up with his eyes wide open.


“I’m done with it, and I bet Ginny wouldn’t mind if you borrow it. I actually borrowed it from her. She doesn’t have lots of Muggle books like you like, but she does have a lot of books. Uh, Sir… if there’s a title you’re interested in, I betcha we can get it for you.” Billy scratched the back of his neck and waited, examining closely for signs of life and finding none. He opened the cell door and came a foot away from the
catatonic man.


“Well, I’ll just leave the book here for you, in case you change your mind. Um, Hermione wrote a dedication on the title page.”


As he shut and re-warded the cell door, he watched the haunted wizard trace a finger over her precise curly handwriting and shook his head. He needed to do something about the Professor and fast.


Warden Blotts had the only Floo connection in Azkaban, and it was only supposed to be used for emergencies. When Billy Mulciber gently knocked on his boss’ door, it was with that thought in mind. The whey-faced thin wizard behind the desk looked like a boy who had tugged on his father’s robes and decided to play dress up for the day. Billy hated to bother Warden Blotts. It always made him feel twitchy, like he’d done something wrong,
but had no clue what.


“What is it, Security Specialist Mulciber?”


Billy shuffled from foot to foot looking intently at his shoelaces. Ginny was brave and had nerve. Billy had learned long ago that risks were to be calculated and measured. Slytherin House had a way of sucking bold courage out of some of its members. He drew on Ginny’s spirit as a source of encouragement to speak up.


“It’s Prisoner 11652, Sir.”


“Oh?” Warden Blotts said impassively. “Well, tell him he can’t use Azkaban resources to reply to his damned fan mail.”


He wasn't keen on helping the prisoner with much of anything, given the headache he was putting him through. The entire situation though was rapidly spinning out of hand. For the first time in Azkaban's long and infamous history, witches were attempting to break into the fortress, not out. Warden Blotts was utterly confused as to why anyone would behave in such a manner, especially for Prisoner 11652. Had they any idea how much work they were creating for him?


It was thoroughly inconsiderate, and he dearly hoped it would all go away, but as the days and weeks dragged on, the inventiveness of desperate witches and a few very odd wizards grew along with their numbers. Prisoner 11652 had appalling groupies. He had heard a rumor that they were appealing his case to the Wizengamot for retrial, and were circulating petitions on the prisoner's behalf.


“It’s not that, Sir.”


The warden was silent and Billy felt buoyed to continue with his mission, “The prisoner isn’t eating, Sir. Well, he isn’t doing much of anything, really.”


“Sounds like a model inmate then. Offer him our congratulations on taking the righteous road to rehabilitation, but make sure he understands we cannot testify at parole hearings. Not that he qualifies for a parole hearing, but still, let him know that he won’t earn any perks for it. That sort of thing isn’t in the budget.”


Billy was ready to give up when the low fire behind the warden’s desk shot a gleaming red and gold ember, and he remembered his purpose. The warden was already dismissing him when Billy spoke up again hearing the strengthening conviction in his own voice.


“Sir, I'd like to request the use of the Floo connection to contact his Guardian.”


“Miss Granger is no longer his Guardian.”


Billy shrugged, “Paperwork hasn’t been updated. According to my roster, she is.” Score ten points for Slytherin House.


Warden Blotts sighed deeply as if it were a great personal cost to himself to make the Floo call.


“Do it, but if she won’t take responsibility for him, then let it go.”


“Yes Sir!” Billy nodded, heartened. He hated that the Professor and Ms. Hermione had dissolved their marriage. It didn’t sit well with him at all, and not just because he missed her visits. They were well matched for each other. Any wizard could see it plain as day.


It took a bit of doing to track the enigmatic witch down, and the warden watched every granule of Floo powder slip through Billy’s fingers like a goblin counting stacks of gold, but he found her through the Hogwarts' alumni grapevine at Parvati’s house.


“Ms. Hermione,” Billy called as he reached head and shoulders through, nearly stretching himself completely to see her seated at a dining table hunched over stacks of yellowing parchment.


“Billy?” Hermione gasped. He wondered why she always looked so flummoxed every time he Floo called, like she never expected him to call her. Who’d she think it would be, Bono?


“Yeah, Ma'am. Look, I need you to come down to Azkaban. The Professor is in a bad way.”


“I can’t,” she remarked dryly, walking over to the fireplace.


Even through the hot glaze of the Floo connection, he could plainly see she wasn’t in much better shape than the Professor. Hermione’s face was pink and puffy and she had the look of someone who only just dragged themselves from bed, but there were dark smudges under her eyes that looked like cried-out mascara. But no, he could tell she hadn’t slept in a long while. Someone needed to fix this.


“Ms. Hermione, he’s not eating.”


“So?” she questioned blankly.


“He’s not doing anything. He’s miserable.”


Hermione blinked, not understanding.


“Ms. Hermione, he looks like he’s been Kissed. He can’t keep this up. I’m so afraid he’s going to kill himself or starve himself to death. I’ve seen it before, you know.”


“I fail to see how this is my concern.”


Warden Blotts cleared his throat and spoke up, “That’s enough now, Mulciber. Let the Miss go.”


“Ms. Hermione,” he pleaded. “You don’t want him to be miserable, do you?”


“What about me, Billy?” she whispered before closing the Floo connection on him.


“That’s it, Mulciber, you heard the witch. Let the prisoner be. If he dies, we can move one of the bilge-level prisoners up. That’s the most well-kept cell we have. The sink doesn’t back up. My sink doesn’t even do that.”


Billy Mulciber stumbled out of the warden’s office, shaking his head. He didn’t understand any of it, mumbling, “She looks like right shit,” under his breath.


Just as quickly as Security Specialist Mulciber left, Warden Blotts re-warded the Floo, banning outsiders. Just as soon as he was done, the fireplace sparked green with a thwarted incoming call. As the fireplace sparked green a second time, he opened his desk drawer, now filled with bottles of wine and spirits from the Prisoner 11652's gift packages. He selected a nice homemade scuppernog and poured a healthy measure. As he took a fortifying slug, Warden Blotts thought the witches could have the prisoner. He just wanted his orderly prison back.

*

A/N:
Chapter title: Aegri Somnia - A sick man's dreams (Horace)

Many thanks to Christev20 for beta'ing this chapter, with this small request. Please... no more knock-knock jokes, not even TGC knock-knock jokes.

Thank you for reading and reviewing. AV