The Gilded Cage

PersephoneBlck, Heidi191976, geeklee, anncee, ginnylovesharry07, Alina, Jo666, rox4787, Severusbabymomma, baesters, roseredautumn, Draco_Lover, Momento_Mori, Andalusia - I hear your Squees ladies. Actually, I’m still kinda missing the hearing out of one ear from all the squeezing. Thank you. It was bound to happen. Next chapter will be devoted to leaving Azkaban.
Voracious - His reason for leaving prison had to be noble, but I couldn’t resolve the penance debate. I don’t think there’s a right/wrong answer, so I had to find a solution that would satisfy the story, but not pass judgment. His hero complex allows him to leave to ‘save’ her.
Hoosiergirl53093 - Let them stare. I’m humbled that it provoked such a reaction.
katiekrm - *raises eyebrow* Have you met Billy Mulciber? I believe he’s straight and a good guy. And I’ve never mentioned Jake’s sexual orientation. I’m just sayin’…
EleanorRigby - *blushes* Thank you.
wudelfin - Yep, and I’m delaying the agony in this chapter as well.
Olwen - Funny that. But you make a great point. Sev does need a strong hand. I’ll volunteer.
Rini - Only you read the chapter titles and anticipate what’s coming. Jake’s so fun for me to write. And you will eventually get an update on the Weasley question.
randc - next chapter. Sorry, not this one.
Clairvoyant - I’ll give you the same answer I gave Voracious Reader who asked something very similar: His reason for leaving prison had to be noble, but I couldn’t resolve the penance debate. I don’t think there’s a right/wrong answer, so I had to find a solution that would satisfy the story, but not pass judgment. His hero complex allows him to leave to ‘save’ her.
DawnEB - You’re just not satisfied, are you? You’ve got to ask all these follow up questions. Your answer is: Perhaps.
Phoenix - We’re getting there. I refuse to write this for the next year and a half, but I won’t change the pacing or rush this either.

*

Chapter 52 - Locus Poenitentiae

She knew she needed forgiveness. For all the things that she had done, and all the things she had left undone – and it was the latter that had always given her over-achieving nature the most trouble. Regrets of a life led astray.


Often she had wondered how infinitely different her life would have been had she not paused as a child to spill a few hurt tears in the girls' bathroom. Would that Hermione have sat her N.E.W.T.s and gone on to university? Made important scientific and lifesaving discoveries, instead of holding claim as the inventor of the wizarding world’s first automatic air freshener? Would that witch have even taken the field in defense of Hogwarts?


Probably.


Maybe not as an Order member, but her foundation was built upon the value of freedom and that was worth raising her wand to protect. The other Hermione, the perfect one who was not a colossal disappointment, would spend her Sundays at her parents’ house with her own family instead of the odd holiday or weekend at the Burrow, where under Molly’s reproving gaze, Hermione felt all her inadequacies laid bare.


As she curled up underneath the heavy damask comforter in Jake’s guest room, it seemed all her inadequacies weighed heavily upon her.


She had failed as a student when she sacrificed her academic achievement for a war victory. Not that she would complain of missing her final year. Only lament its passing.


She had failed miserably as a daughter by moving her memory-modified parents out of the hemisphere and then leaving them there. Not that they would remember a daughter; they were blissfully unaware of her existence, magic, the war, and much of the last two decades of their lives. She sometimes wished she could be rid of her memories, too.


She had failed as a wife. Was there anything more to be said about that?


Apparently, the Daily Prophet felt there was. Hermione had been blessed by the rare fortune that the Prophet had not done a story on her unfortunate marriage. When she had wed, the Prophet had salacious scandals and Marriage Law fiascoes aplenty to report upon. There was so much news fodder, it had temporarily suspended its sensational tradition of muckraking, yellow journalism. Her own wedding announcement to Severus had gone unpublished.


The Prophet was making up for lost time now. She had been demonized nearly as much as Severus Snape had been deified. They hailed him as the prodigal son, though he had never been favored, and romanticized his life-threatening espionage. He’d been recreated into a sexy and stylish James Bond of the new millennium.


Hermione, of course, was the inconsiderate tart, and they went to great lengths to play up her cruelty.


They did their best to dig up the absolute worst photograph of her on record, and it did not disappoint. Identification card photographers could have studied the photograph for creative inspiration. It was an old enough shot that her bucked teeth were still highly visible and over-sized. The unflattering dumpy Weasley pullover concealed not even the faintest hint of a budding chest. She had obviously only just nibbled on a quill and had it explode on her, for her mouth and spotty cheeks were smeared with ink, and her hair… there was no reason to talk about her hair. It sufficed to say that puberty had been mightily unkind.


The article accompanying the photograph, however, had been slanderous. Or would have been slanderous if the truth hadn’t been so frighteningly awful.


Fact: Hermione had connived Severus Snape into marrying her. She amended that they had both been using each other to their mutual benefit. The Prophet had no reason to add that piece of personal information, and it wasn’t likely that Severus would give them an interview to clarify, either. The newspaper theorized he would never have consorted with such a homely and unattractive witch, had he not been rotting alone and abused in Azkaban. Hermione couldn’t fault their logic.


Fact: They had been hastily wed in the prison. The Prophet said it was because Severus had desperately bargained with her to have access to cleaning charms to keep his body and cell disease-free, and she had charitably agreed. Well, that was technically true and part of their marriage contract stipulations, which were embarrassingly a matter of public records. The paper had even pointed out that Hermione had disgustingly spat after the obligatory wedding kiss.


Fact: She had forced him to labor for her, using him as a clerical sweatshop worker to set her failing business to rights, and paid him not a single Knut, nor put him on a single patent. And she hadn't. He never earned a thing for his work at Granger Industries. Oh, he'd made Galleons hand-over-fist on the nasty lichen thingies she had managed for him, and his book royalties, but those all belonged to him in the first place. It was embarrassingly true. She hadn't paid him a damned thing for any of his help.


Fact: Hermione had been spotted sharing a laugh and drinking Pixie Dusts with Donald Browne. Browne declined to comment on the nature of their relationship, fuelling speculation of a hot, sweaty, and tempestuous relationship. It was also public record that the full fidelity charm she had been bound to Severus under had never been activated. Ex-dalliances of Browne were quoted as saying he favored kinky water sports and elaborate role playing. The Prophet believed the witch who had been reported lover to both Harry Potter and Viktor Krum at the tender age of 15 before working her way through all the eligible Weasley bachelors, had a preference for rough, humiliating sex. They went on to conclude she had left Severus Snape, newly dubbed hero of the Light, because he was forbidden by prison legislation from giving in to her perverse carnal demands.


Fact: She had left him rotting in an empty cell, a broken wizard.


True. True. True. It was all bloody true, or at least there was a shred of truth to everything written.


Written as such, Hermione wanted to beg for death, but before that could come, she had to set her life to rights.


There was nothing she could do for Severus. That darkening shadow could not be so easily mended, and any one of the witches vying to replace her would certainly do a lot better by him than she had done.


The anger, resentment, and rejection she had felt that that pushed her to reject him in kind had burned up.


Replaced by shame and self doubt, Hermione could not bear to visit him.


For one, she no longer had spouse’s privilege, and would have to petition the Ministry alongside the hordes of more honorable witches bidding for the opportunity. And even if the Ministry could be convinced to allow the visitation, Severus would not likely want to see her.


She had Gryffindor courage… somewhere, but was feeling pretty cowardly. Escaping to Australia sounded wonderful.


From Severus she had learned about the redemptive process. He had forced her to really consider its true meaning as a practical matter, and not in vague spiritual terms, as couched by her faith. For that, she supposed, she ought to be grateful; it was good preparation for what she had in mind.


A person could fuck up in life, she had learned. Everyone fucked up in life. It happened whether attributable to destiny, free will, or Eve’s fall from grace. It was expected that nobody was perfect. Magical or not, we were all human. But it was how ‘oopsies’ and messes are handled that defined character. Being able to honestly say, ‘You know what? I fucked up, and I’m going to fix it,’ was so important. From miserable sods who bounce their bosses off towers to foolish wives who drink lurid pink, fizzy cocktails with random men.


Jake practically threw her out of his house when she mentioned her desire to set things to rights with her parents in Australia. He very affectionately told her that he loved her to pieces, but could not have her in the house one moment longer. Apparently she sucked up all the chi and it was very bad for his yang and social scene. He also miraculously arranged for the first available International Portkey with only three layovers that same day. She was quite sure she should be insulted, but couldn’t quite muster the energy to snark back, after catching the Daily Prophet’s front page in the International Portkey Terminal.


Severus Snape, dark wizarding hero extraordinaire, was scheduled to have a retrial on the grounds of overwhelming new evidence and surprise star testimonies. It was expected that he would be acquitted and walk away a free man that day, and if not, a grassroots effort to petition his freedom had already garnered thousands of signatures.


Another headline proclaimed he had unseated Ronald Weasley as Number Two best-looking wizard. Harry was still in the Number One slot, no surprise there. Shockingly, Witch Weekly was offering twenty five hundred Galleons for anyone with a photograph of Severus Snape smiling for their annual competition, where he was already heavily favored to win. Thus far no takers had come forth bearing a smiling Snape. Hermione smiled to herself, thinking of those adorable dimples.


No. She couldn’t face that now. She wasn’t sure if she could face that ever. Her nausea was growing, either from whirling across continents or an imagination rife with thoughts of a single wizard indulging in just-got-out-of-prison sex with a line of witches a city block long, Hermione wasn’t sure. When she arrived in Brisbane hours later she tried to put those thoughts all behind her, and was quite successful until she spotted a prominently displayed Daily Prophet in the Australian terminal newsstand.


In an over-sized photograph, Misters Andrew Ffoulkes and William Mulciber held back reporters as Severus appeared for a millisecond on film, before Side-Along Apparating with Warden Blotts.


She felt sick again, but turned her attention to locating her parents.


She found the house where she had left them easily enough. Hermione had been relieved at the time that they had met the minimum age requirement for the ‘Active Living Village.’ It had meant that even if she had died in battle, they would be looked after and always receive the care they'd need. The specialized housing development was predominantly full of healthy retirees, but it also had a nursing and hospice program for the residents as they aged.


As she walked up to the small immaculate house she heard loud music coming from the backyard and wondered if her parents hadn’t moved off someplace else. That would be disastrous, and filled her with more fear than removing the memory modification charm and explaining her reprehensible behavior.


Swallowing down the gnawing fear, Hermione pressed the buzzer. The wait before she heard footsteps coming to the door made a sheen of sweat spread out across her brow, despite the day’s pleasant temperature.


The door swung open and her mum blinked.


“Harmony!” she cheered. “Oh fantastic, darling!” She threw the door open wide and held out her arms for a crushing hug, and yet still managed to keep her frozen drink from spilling. “You’re father’s going to be so happy to see you, dear. Come on in!”


Stunned, Hermione mutely followed her mother through the open floor plan house to the back terrace where her father was studiously working on a game of pyramids.


“Randall,” her mum shrieked, “look who I found at the door. Harmony!”


Her dad grinned broadly and set down his cards and cigar. Hermione scowled. Her father never smoked. It led to oral cancer, gum disease, and stained teeth, and yet, he plainly was her dad.


“Baby, look at you all grown up. Last time I remember you were just a wee thing.”


“I, uh…” thrown for a loop, Hermione sat on the tall bar stool her mum had indicated and accepted the margarita pressed into her hand.


“So tell us, Harmony,” her mum began, “how’ve ya been? Did you win your little war?”


“Uh,” she cleared her throat and set down the drink. “It’s Hermione, actually.”


Her mum and dad looked to each other, communicating in the Legilimency that existed between all old married couples, before her mum shrugged.


“Oh, I think I like Harmony better, but no worries.”


Hermione didn’t know what to think. This lady, who was her mother, looked like her mother, sounded like her mother, but was obviously not her mother. She had never seen her mother so lively or tanned, or wearing shorts. Her father hadn’t changed much, other than a bit more distinguished grey hairs and new glasses. Australia seemed to agree with them, but something was desperately wrong.


Wendell and Monica Wilkins, or Randall and Veronica Granger, should never have recognized her.


“Oh, well. We won,’ she said meekly. “The Light triumphed and Harry lives.”


Her mum clapped, “That’s fabulous,” as her dad added a “Bravo!”


“We were beginning to believe we weren’t going to see you again, Cricket,” her dad piped up.


“You’ve missed me,” she said stupidly.


“Of course,” her mum interjected laying a fond kiss on her cheek and running her fingers through Hermione’s frizzing mane. “You don’t think we’d forget our only daughter?”


“Well, we had for about the first two years,” her dad added stretching his legs to come over and give her a squeeze. “But then as the memory charm started lifting, we realized all the oddly similar dreams we were both having had far too many similarities. Then we just pieced it all together.”


“A bit like a good whodunit story,” her mum threw in.


“Good thing you programmed those spells to slowly dissolve,” her dad remarked grinning. “I can’t imagine what a shock it would have been to get all my memories at once. I don’t think my heart could have taken it.”


“Yes,” she replied absently, “That would have been a great shock.”


He studied her intently. Randall had always been able to read his girl, and nodded to himself. It was just as he expected. The memory-whatevers weren’t originally set to fail. Ah well. No sense worrying Veronica about it. She could turn into a right shrew if not handled properly. He’d have to talk to Harmony about it privately.


“Well, what say you reverse it, Cricket, and we can hear about everything we missed, eh?”


Hours later an exhausted, bone weary, and brow beaten Harmony Wilkins… rather Hermione Granger crawled up on the futon in the den, the sound of her parents arguing still audible from their bedroom.


She planned to spend the week, and doubted she’d get any peace.


So this was the pain that came with penance?


She didn’t like it one bit.


A/N:
Chapter Title: Locus poenitentiae - A place for repentance

My gratitude to Christev20 for her brilliant and diligent work as my Beta. And congratulations on the success of your first fic. I'm so happy for you.

Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, and rated this fic. I appreciate your support. AV