The Gilded Cage

Again, your review responses from last chapter, have been left in the reviews

Chapter 51 - Amor Est Vitae Essentia


Over several days, Billy spent his time slowly coaxing the Professor to eat, and managed to get him to eat a few spoonfuls before he mutely turned his head away. At first, he had his best girl Ginny bring him the food he knew the Professor loved. But at the first whiff of lamb korma, the Professor wretched horribly without any bit other than bile coming up. The only thing the Professor would tolerate was some of the pasty, tasteless porridge the prison served for breakfast. Not that his stomach could handle the over-ripe half orange, but the porridge was enough to keep him living a shadow of a life. The will was there to live, but only so far as to punish the body further for the sin of drawing breath.


Ginny looked on, eyes wide as Billy coaxed measured spoonfuls of lukewarm porridge into the barely responsive Professor. He ate, but only when Billy forced the spoon into his chapped hands. Ginny didn’t know what to think of it, but was in awe of Billy’s gentle touch. Her heart felt full and warm watching her wizard work.


Every time she worried because she had fallen instantly crazy-head-over-heels in love with Billy, her wonderful wizard, he would reveal something new about himself to her, and Ginny would love him all the more.


“What’s wrong with him?” Ginny whispered. “I thought he’d be happy Hermione had left him.”


Billy turned his crystal blue eyes on his love. “She was still his wife.”


For a moment Billy studied her earnest face, committing to memory the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her cute button nose and her guileless brown eyes. He knew if he ever lost her, he’d be a poor miserable sod just like the Professor. He couldn’t wait to make her his. He wanted to give Ginny a proper wedding, with everything she could possibly want. He wanted to buy the house she wanted, with all the drapes and furnishings of her choice. Place roses at her feet. Compose sonnets to her beauty. And take her out drinking again, because the witch could put down some pints.


Witches liked that sort of thing, and he’d do whatever he could to make sure that she knew she was wanted, desired, loved. He would never ever make the sort of mistake that the Professor had. No wizard should make his witch feel like anything less than the goddesses she was.


Billy would spend every last Galleon of his family’s measly fortune to make her happy, because she made him feel like warm liquid every time she smiled. And best of all, she wanted babies. Even his babies. Billy had never expected such love in his life time.


“It’s like he’s punishing himself,” Ginny whispered again. The Professor looked so fragile, as if a loudly spoken word could shatter him to pieces.


Billy nodded solemnly. “I’ve seen him and other prisoners do something like this before. Never this dramatic or extreme, but I know he’s trying to be penitent.”


“By starving himself?” Ginny exclaimed.


Billy shrugged. “Saint Catherine of Siena fasted for extended periods, her only nourishment coming from the blessed sacraments. By denying himself and feeling pain, he’s atoning. Probably. Maybe?” Billy scratched his head vigorously. “I don’t know what he's been reading, but most people gave up mortification of the flesh and flagellation in the Middle Ages. Or maybe he's just had a psychotic break from losing her. I dunno, but I’ll be certain to keep praying for him.”


Stunned, Ginny looked at her beloved fiancee with a mixture of wonder and revulsion. Billy continually amazed her.


*****


Checking into a hotel was pointless. She’d have to go to Gringotts to get gold or cash for it. That was not an option. Gringotts was located in town. Town was populated with people. And people stared because they knew. They knew everything.


A glance was all she had given to the headline, weeks prior, but Hermione didn’t need to read the offending article. The headline said it all, SUFFERING WAR-HERO SNAPE CALLOUSLY CAST ASIDE!


She hadn’t looked at a Prophet since. Hermione was all too familiar with Skeeter’s particular brand of muckraking journalism, only this time Hermione believed she deserved it.


Still, she needed a roof over her head. None of the Weasleys were a viable option. Although he hadn’t actually betrayed her, the pain Harry had caused her still smarted. No, it was best to avoid Harry. The Homestead was not an option, either. Hermione would have normally been indignant at the idea of throwing herself upon the tender mercies of friends, but now hadn’t the self respect to care. Her list of friends was small. Her list of friends willing to help her was even smaller.


She wasn’t certain of the reaction she’d get when she trudged up to the well-manicured Victorian-revival house, but she did because she had to. Because she honestly hadn’t any place left to go.


She knocked tentatively on the brass badger knocker and held her breath.


The door flung open, “Oh, thank God you’re here!” Jake exclaimed, grabbing her leather satchel from her fingers.


Jake sped down the hallway without a backwards glance, leaving Hermione on the stoop, utterly bewildered. It took her a few moments to collect her thoughts before trailing the excitable wizard. She followed the sounds of her file cabinets being violently opened and shut into a formal dining room.


“Jake,” Hermione called nervously, her eyes roving over seven heavy-duty filing cabinets resized from her satchel and mountains of haphazard paperwork that littered his dining room table. Jake was bent over her satchel, pulling out more filing cabinets.


“Jake?”


He had found one that must have seemed promising, and was flipping through it like a demon.


"I’ll, um,” Hermione floundered, “I’ll go put the kettle on.” Jake didn’t respond; he was engrossed in pulling thick blue folders out from within the treasure trove he'd found.


She picked her way down the wainscoted hallway, peering into a salon and library, until she found the kitchen at the back. Bright gleaming copper ware hung from the ceiling, and Hermione was easily able to find the tea service and plenty of extra Fortnum’s. In the pantry, she found the wafer-thin orange spice biscuits that Severus favored and jars of pickled walnuts. She reached for the biscuits and kept her eyes averted from looking elsewhere.


Warily, Hermione rejoined Jake in the dining room, holding out the fine china like a maidservant, and stifled the urge to curtsy. He used his hip to close another drawer, but his eyes didn’t lift from the parchments in his arms, nor did he acknowledge her presence.


“That’s it,” Hermione growled, dropping the tea service with a clatter onto the paper strewn table, “what on earth is going on here, Jake? I want answers, now!”


“Oh, so Princess finally decided to join us?” Jake tossed back. “I was wondering where you had gone off to.”


“I went to the kitchen,” Hermione defended.


Jake rolled his eyes. “Sit, Sugar. We’ve got business to discuss. You look like hell, by the way.”


“I…” Hermione touched her newly washed hair. It was clean. Her jeans and Mugglicious shirt were clean, too. Her face, well, she hadn’t looked at that, but knew it was scrubbed. She didn’t protest any further, and sat numbly in the chair Jake indicated.


He rounded the table, grabbed the seat next to her, spun it to face her and flopped into it. He pulled off a ratty converse shoe and began kneading at his arch. Hermione made a disgusted face, but declined to comment. He still hadn’t said anything about agreeing to take her in.


“I can’t believe you left me to deal with the distributors by myself,” Jake whined. “They’re such tossers, the whole lot of them.”


Hermione could only blink for several seconds. “What the hell do you mean? I’ve killed all their contracts!”


“Leaving me to renegotiate them,” he huffed. “And you know I’m no good at contracts. Bitch, you can’t just up and close a company like Granger Industries. It’s bigger than just your sorry little arse.”


Hermione was gobsmacked. Absolutely, beyond all comprehension, gobsmacked.


“You’re trying to run it,” she said dumbly. Not that her files upended everywhere wasn’t proof enough.


Jake rolled his eyes.


“I closed the factory. I sent everybody home, severance packages and all. There isn’t a Granger Industries.”


“Stop being so melodramatic,” he huffed, “that’s my job.”


“Was,” Hermione deadpanned. “Was your job. I stopped paying you weeks ago, remember?”


Jake looked nervous and twitched in his chair. “Yeah, about that…”


Hermione’s head jerked up, her eyes wide and livid. She was certain whatever he was about to say, she wasn’t going to like it. “What about it? Jake, so help me, you had better start talking, or I’ll whip out my wand and begin the gender reassignment process.”


He sighed dramatically and pulled at the loose strands of hair in his eyes. “I couldn’t exactly start forging your name and drafting from Gringotts. They can detect things like that, nasty buggers. So I forged your name and hired an accountancy firm to do payroll. They can draft all day long from Gringotts. And well, that was that.”


“That was certainly not that!” Hermione railed.


“You once signed a Power of Attorney for me; it’s all perfectly legal,” he defended with outstretched arms. “I think. I’m sure it’s legal. It’s gotta be.”


As much as her blood was boiling, she also honestly didn’t care. Hermione slumped, her rage not as strong as her will.


“Why are you doing this?” Hermione moaned. “I just wanted a fresh start.”


“Yeah,” Jake said sarcastically, perusing her body and evidently not liking what he saw, “fresh start. I can see that. Because hating yourself is sooo much healthier.”


“I don’t hate myself,” she retorted weakly. “I just need some time away.”

'And some Liquid Sunshine,' she thought... but no. She was done with the potion, which incidentally was why she both looked and felt like right shit. After doing immeasurable damage to her life, career, and marriage on the golden brew, she had finally had enough.


“Right, well. Good luck with that.”


“Wait. Why are you doing this again?”


“Because,” he said dramatically, “have you ever once looked at what you pay me, Girly? Like I could get another job answering phones and running errands that pays nearly as much as you pay me!”


“Paid. Past tense.”


“Whatever. Look, you can’t run Granger Industries. It’s obvious you need some time away, or soul searching, or... even a proper hairdresser at this point would be a thousand times better than what you’ve got going on right now. But Sweets, leave this to me. I’ve got this… I think. Well, now that I’ve got the files, I’ll have it… I think. Anyway, what I mean to say is: Go off and do whatever you need to do, and Granger Industries will be here when you return.”


“Just like that?”


“Just like that.”


“Hm… not buying it, Jake. When’s the other shoe going to drop? And I don’t mean those smelly trainers. For the love of all that’s Light in the world, put that damn thing back on! Ugh, smelly boy shoes.”


“Well, I do have some changes I want approved.”


“Oh, like those accountants that you approved,” she smirked.


Jake held his hands up in a helpless gesture. “You see what you left me to work with.”


“Forgery, and a sketchy Power of Attorney? As I recall, the only Power of Attorney I left was limited to the company, and should have dissolved when the company dissolved. And I believe it was limited to a six month term.”


“Witch, will you listen to me? I’m keeping your arse afloat! When you halted production out of the blue, you backed out of literally hundreds of contracts from suppliers and retailers. Half of them still want to drag your bony arse into court.”


Hermione allowed the thunderous silence to stretch between them, as she pondered Jake's intentions. What he had said was true. All of it. And she didn’t care. Let them haul her off to Azkaban. She didn’t care.


“What changes do you want to make?” she said defeated. Hermione already knew he would get whatever he wanted.


“I want Lee back. There’s no way he’ll work for you, but he’ll work for me, Sweets.”


“You can get Lee?” she asked with wide-eyed respect.


Jake nodded sadly. “Honey, I could have gotten him back the same day he walked out, but he’d never work for you again. You can’t expect everyone who works for you to work like you. That’s bad business. And you’re a micro-manager. Not everybody loves you the way I do, Sugar. And I’m keeping the accountants. They do a good job of the payroll, and they can handle all of our books.”


Hermione nodded. She knew it was a decision that was long overdue. When she had run the company out of the Weasley shed, it was too easy to do everything herself. She thought that just because the numbers got larger the workload really wasn’t that different. She could handle it. And when she couldn’t, well, she just handled it then, too.


“I’m bringing on more people to handle office work. More people to handle Research. And more people to work the line.”


“So, basically you’re hiring in every sector.”


“Bingo! I knew you would catch on. Everyone says you’re a smart witch. But we've got to do it like, yesterday, because we're almost completely out of back stock, and I've... uh, already sorta committed us to more shipments. But I hear a scare on the market drove the price of Good Hair Day up by thirty Knuts, so that's positive!” Hermione and Jake both winced. Market fluctuations didn't mean extra profit for them, only their distributors and retailers, but increased demand did mean production would have to stay weekends.


"Jake," she said in a warning voice, "Just how much of a commitment are we talking here?"


Jake sifted through paperwork slowly to buy time, as if he didn't know the answer already.


"Jake?" Hermione's belly soured as he continued to put off her question.


"Ah! Here it is," he announced and slowly unfurled at least a twenty foot roll of parchment. He studied it for several seconds before Hermione snatched it out of his hand. She skimmed through the tables and delivery deadlines, her eyes widening at each calculation.


"Shit!" she shrieked. "We're screwed."


"Relax, Mama. I'm working on it."


Hermione could only stare dumbly at him, scads of parchment held loosely in her fingertips. Was he fucking insane?


Jake swiped a few messy bangs out of his eyes and sighed dramatically under her stare. "I've set up a tent in the backyard. It expands to nearly the size we need for our production line, without interfering with the house. I have it wired for wi-fi, you know. I am not giving up my Playstation just to have more magic in the house. And as soon as you tell me where the storage locker holding our production equipment is, we can get started. Two thirds of our line employees have already agreed to return. This is easy, I've got this... I just, uh, really really need to know where that storage locker is."


Hermione fished in her pocket, not knowing why she was handing over her keys, but doing it, just the same. She pulled the brass key, labeled 14, off the ring and supplied the address in Hogsmeade.


Jake shifted nervously. Hermione read him so well - it was time for the other shoe.


“And I’m bringing in a new business partner.”


“A business partner,” Hermione repeated. She had never had a business partner. Granger Industries was always a one-witch show. Always.


“Yeah. Me,” he twitched.


“You?”


“Fifty percent controlling interest?” he asked with a hopeful eye.


“Not a chance.”


“On a company you dissolved,” he reminded her.


“On a company you’re illegally drafting funds from,” she reminded him.


“Forty percent?”


“Thirty,” Hermione acquiesced.


Jake wriggled in his chair and proffered a handshake.


“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Hermione muttered.


Later that night over Chinese take-away and inventory reports, Hermione realized she had never asked him if she could crash on his couch.


“Third door on your left,” Jake said without looking up from his orange chicken or parchments.


“Pardon?”


“You look beat. The guest bedroom’s the third door to your left.”


“Oh, thanks.”


“No problem, partner.”


*****


Ginny sat on his fetid cot one late afternoon, pulling a wide-toothed comb through his snarled and grease-slicked hair as she contemplated braiding his lengthening beard. It was a look that sometimes worked for Professor Dumbledore, but she wasn't too certain if he could pull it off. No, it wasn't the right fashion statement for the dark wizard.


Severus hadn’t the regard to chase her away, but closed his eyes to the chatter and baby-talk cooing that was supposed to be a comfort.


“And Parvati’s about to kick her out. She says she stinks worse than a rotting Grindlylow carcass rolled in Troll piss. My parents won’t take her; you know Mum still hasn’t forgiven her for the whole Ron and Charlie thing. I’d take her, but I’m moving out of my flat. Billy and I found the most perfect cottage.


“Oops! Caught a snag. Sorry about that, Sir.


“Anyway, Billy isn’t so keen on having her move in, I mean, we will be newlyweds soon enough,” Ginny gave a very girlish giggle. Severus didn’t react.


“But still, I’d take her in. But she said something to Billy, and he’s still in such a snit over it. I don’t know what’s she going to do, though. I don’t even think she’s looking for something. She wouldn’t even glance at the adverts. Oops! Another snag. Sorry!


“What was I saying? Oh yeah, so she needs to make a decision fast. She’s run out of product for the distributors. And ever since the factory closed, she hasn’t done anything but stare at her crumbly old Time-Turner research.”


“Who?” Severus choked turning his head to address the witch yanking his hair out, strand by strand.


“Hermione, of course,” Ginny responded genuinely surprised she had an audience. The Professor seemed to be a candidate for the Thickey ward.


Severus’ eyes roved back and forth, as if he was reading from a nonexistent page, and Ginny hesitantly continued, watching the wizard with a suspicious frown.


“I don’t know what she hopes to accomplish with her research. Everybody knows all Time-Turners are Goblin-wrought. And, well, that’s a problem isn’t it? The Goblins have put a moratorium on metal crafting since the war. Personally, I think it’s to create a black market and drive up the price of…”


“What of Hermione, you stupid twit?” Severus interjected.


Startled, Ginny got up and began walking backwards towards the cell door, her hands up in a placating manner. “Just that she’s miserable and losing her business, Sir. She doesn't really look any better than, uh, well... you. And I think she's being sued.”


Severus held the trembling girl still, pinning her beneath the intensity of his gaze.


“Get me Ffoulkes!” he snapped before blankly turning back to face the familiar stone wall.


The frightened redhead skittered off, the sound of her heels madly pounding the stone flooring as she ran off, no doubt to be comforted by her swain. Severus slowly shook his head as he listened to her exit. He had wasted too much time in his misery. Too much time rotting away.


To the cold stones he murmured, “It is too late for me. My own soul is forfeit. I will surely rot in Hades for my crimes, but I have one more soul to save.”


Hermione. He could give her this. Give her all of himself. She was crying for him. He knew with his callously cast words he had rent her soul. He’d seen her heart break. He’d done it himself. Severus knew he was responsible for her pain. Puppet of the Gods or not, they had cast her into his life and allowed her to be used. He was responsible for her.


Annulment or not, she was his wife. He was responsible for her. His life had never been about his own needs, but those of others. And delivering himself into Hermione’s hands was a much more pleasant task than standing in front of James Potter’s spawn and a werewolf.


She was broken, and he’d fix her if he could, but he couldn’t do it here.


Not from the cell.


The Gods forgive him, but he had someone more important to worry about than Towering Beings who never left their golden perches.


Hermione’s soul was more important than his own.


If it wasn't too late.


And maybe - if there was any mercy left in the world - maybe, he could win her back. Hope dangled from a frail thread, and he clung to it.



A/N:
Chapter title: Amor Est Vitae Essentia - Love is the essence of life. Fitting words, eh?

Schmootches to Christev20 for her mad beta skills. Love ya, chica - even if you're leaving me high and dry this week for Drabblin' night.

And more kisses to my lovely readers who keep me feeling all warm and fuzzy with your kind words of encouragement. Thank you all, AV