The Gilded Cage

Voracious- Yes, well, Severus likes them, and there's no accounting for taste there.
Rini- I already had big plans to find someone nice for Jake. Thanks for getting Istanbul in my head too. You're a real friend...grrrr...
thewickedsister- Updating once a week isn't too bad may I point out.
DarklessVasion- Almost there.
neelix- Yep, you've got to get your smut-fix. *grins*
Anathema- Oh yes, the SSHG is always the best part. UST has it's time and place.
Heidi191976- Thank you my dear.
Terpsichore- Jazz hands was Christev's favorite too.
Alina- You're very welcome, it's my pleasure.
Draco_Lover- Yep, so derned stubborn. Idiots. Well, Jake will sort them out.
Jelly- Why thank you. I'm so pleased this has caught your imagination and attention. That's very kind.

Chapter 58 - Di! Ecce Hora! Uxor Mea Me Necabit!


Jake kept disappearing on her when she needed him the most. Nobody but nobody could tame her hair like he could. Honestly, she was an utter wreck, and he kept disappearing into the cellar.


Below ground Severus paced and glanced occasionally to the spot where dust was falling from Hermione’s above ground pacing.


“Where’s Jake?” he growled to Tink.


She shot him a disgusted look in return and flipped back to her gardening magazine. Severus had no clue if the little bugger could read, but knowing Hermione, she had probably taught them all through primary school levels.


Jake bustled through the cellar door and practically bounced down the stairs. “Ugh. All this drama!” he announced. “I can’t stand it. I’ll be so happy once all of this nonsense is over,” he said in a voice that conveyed quite the opposite.


“How is she?” Severus snapped.


“Yes, well, hello to you, too. Princess is just fine. She’ll be beautiful, of course. Even in that hideous frock. I mean, honestly, why do brides insist on their maids wearing the same uniform dress? They’re usually chosen to flatter any body shape, but instead look ghastly on all of them.”


“Jacob,” Severus warned.


“I know, I know. No more ‘ooh shiny.’ Stay focused on Hermione. You’re a real kill-joy, you know that? She’s only dropped your name every third word.”


“Is that good?” he asked, looking completely stricken.


Jake shrugged in a maddening way that provoked Severus into fantasies of choking the life out of the Hufflepuff clown.


“Relax,” Jake said. “Easy, tiger. She wants to see you. She’s a nervous wreck about it, but I think that’s a positive sign. Yeah?”


“Yes,” Severus quietly echoed, unconvinced.


She was willing to see him. That had to be better than the last confrontation. But Severus had learned his lesson well. And he understood that in dealing with Hermione, a little humility on his part was in order.


“Gotta run. Don’t worry, peanut. You’ll do just fine.”


*****


“Where were you?” Hermione cried frantically, and Jake sent a wand-swish towards her to reinforce his handiwork.


Waterworks at this point would be disastrous to all his hard work. Each eyelash was perfectly separated, curled, extended, plumped and darkened. And he would not allow her to bollocks it all up. Especially not over Severus Sodding Snape.


“My hair’s not half done, and I have no idea how I’m going to wrangle this… this… thing into my hair!”


Jake winced as her voice nearly hit the ‘breaking glass’ pitch. In her hand she held the crumpled spray of pine needles and red tea roses. The Weasley-Mulciber wedding had a Christmas theme, given the holiday was nearly a week away. And Christmas colors encompassed both of their respective Houses. Not that Jake was impressed. Winter weddings with clashing Christmas colors were so gauche and unimaginative.


At least Ginny had the foresight to make the bridesmaids’ dresses evergreen. Red-headed Weasleys dumped in red dresses – ack! - a fashion ‘don’t.’


“Gimme here, beautiful.”


Hermione gratefully handed over the blooms and took a seat at the dressing table.


“It’s supposed to be in a French twist,” she stated for the fifth time that morning, “but not too high or too tight. I don’t want it to pull on my scalp all day. It’ll just give me a killer headache, and honestly I don’t think –”


“Hush!” Jake ordered gently, pulling her head back with sure fingers. He massaged her scalp and ran a soft brush through her tresses, coaxing Hermione into a restful state.


“I had really vivid dreams last night,” Jake stated, switching the topic to a non-wedding issue as he manipulated pressure points. “I was some secret-agent, very badass. But I worked undercover in Hollywood as an actor. So during the pauses in production, instead of being in my trailer, I was fighting crime and looking fabulous. I was really really good at it, too. Don't believe me? Just ask anyone in my dream and they'll tell you how amazing I was.”


Hermione sleepily agreed.


“Pin,” he muttered. Hermione began to hand him pins on command, and as the knot twisted on her head, the knot between her shoulders began to unwind.


“That’s it. You’re done.”


“Hm?” Hermione gazed drowsily at her reflection and noted her hair was up. Her spray of blossoms was in, and she had run out of reasons to avoid going to the wedding. Severus would be there, and the feelings of dread and anticipation settled in her stomach. It was wrong that she was neglecting her Maid of Honor duties because of him, but it was the truth.


Hermione sighed deeply and glanced at her watch. She still had an hour before Ginny really needed her, but she had to get going. It was time to hurry up and wait.


“Jake? Do you think Severus will–”


“Yes,” Jake answered emphatically.


“But–”


“Yes,” he restated just as definitively as before.


“We haven’t even–”


“Yes,” Jake repeated, rolling his eyes. “Now get your butt in gear, girly. You look lovely. A vision of beauty. Trust me; just watch Severus drop his jaw when he sees you. You’ll be fine.”


Jake hastily ushered her out of the house, and she barely had a moment to wonder when Jake had begun calling him Severus, like they were old school chums, before she arrived at the chapel. Actually, the last words she uttered before Portkeying was, “Jake, why is there a house-elf in your home?”


“She’s a garden-elf, Hermione. She doesn’t ‘do’ housework.” Jake said to empty air as the feisty elf shot him a nasty look.


Once Hermione was gone, Jake crumpled against the kitchen counter to catch his breath. He gave a death glare to Tink, who was rummaging through utensil drawers.


“Looking for these?” Jake asked with a mischievous grin, holding up a pack of cigarettes.


Tink slowly put down the stack of potholders she had just pulled from a drawer, her eyes riveted to Jake’s hand. She scowled back and tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for her fag.


“Na-ah, Missie. You’ve had enough of these. No more smoking for a while.” Jake took one out for himself. He was replacing the pack into his shirt pocket when Tink ran up and kicked him hard in the shins. Quick as lightning, she scrabbled up his trouser leg and absconded with all the cigarettes.


Limping, Jake turned towards the cellar, muttering, “Damned house-elves aren’t supposed to do that.”


“Tink is garden-elf!” she screamed hysterically from the direction of the garden.


*****


Hermione arrived at the chapel on time and was able to assist getting Ginny into her dress, along with the whole horde of clucking Weasley witches. Ron’s new wife Becky was glowing with the disgusting radiance afforded by a perfect Weasley pregnancy. And Hermione only winced twice as she and Ginny shared plans for repopulating Wizarding Britain.


‘And good luck to them,’ Hermione thought.


Really, her own dashed plans for children were one, maybe two at the most. Even if Severus did want kids, she didn’t think she could handle much more than that. Hermione mentally paused and she chided herself for making obviously delusional assumptions.


‘I still think of you as my wife’ did not mean their problems would go ‘poof’ with the wave of a magic wand. Such thinking was disastrous and unrealistic. Really, she was just begging to get her heart trampled on again, which wasn’t healthy at all but… she couldn’t help herself. Since receiving his painfully short note, Hermione’s heart had swollen, filled near to bursting with hope. Stupid love-sick hope. And as the mercilessly slow clock ticked closer to ‘magic time’ her eagerness only grew.


Risking her heart again, she was ready to see him and giddy with anticipation for her man when the processional music began to play. She’d seen him when he’d interrupted her ‘date,’ and yet it seemed like it had been years since she laid eyes on her wizard.


It was not her wedding, she had to tell herself firmly. But when she stepped out into the aisle, clutching her nosegay, and Severus turned to see her, it felt like it was.


Severus stood next to Billy, whose eyes were riveted on his slowly traveling bride, and Severus’ eyes were locked onto Hermione’s.


The air between them shifted, growing still in the space. Her feet moved to the slow cadence of the organ music, propelled forward by necessity, but for Hermione, she was simply drawn to her man who stood with regal bearing, waiting to receive her. If her feet had wings she would have flown, as they did not touch the earth.


The monstrosity of a fir green sateen gown rustled around her limbs, awkwardly constructed, and pinching in several places, but to Severus' gaze she was glorious. Hermione knew that she was beautiful to him, confident in her knowledge, as he appraised her in unspoken glimmering eyes and slight approving tilts of his chin. She could read him, his look, so well, and rejoiced within herself. Her wizard found her beautiful.


When she reached her position on the side of the altar, Hermione recovered the breath she’d unwittingly been holding.


Billy and Ginny were married in a service of mixed traditions, and for them their binding ceremony was perfect. Their Ministry-appointed stooge only interrupted once to perform the insipid marriage law vows, and hastily retreated under the stern gaze of the officiant who gently gathered their hands and knotted their silver binding cords. Hushed words were spoken between them, too quiet for the audience to hear, but Hermione and Severus, gathered into their intimate circle, were honored to share in their joining.


For Severus and Hermione, the intense moment of wistful longing they shared as the bride and groom recited vows of faith, devotion and love was also perfect. Held in the soft spell of his obsidian eyes, she was transfixed by her love standing so close. He was watching her, mirroring the love her heart felt for him. Rejection, abandonment, their issues were forgotten.


When the couple at the altar turned to kiss, Hermione shook her head slightly, realizing that she had been slowly reciting her vow responses to Severus. She glanced at him and noticed him nodding in approval at the newlyweds.


*****


Their reception was well attended and, unlike at the chapel where the bride’s side of the aisle was packed to capacity and the groom’s side was politely attended by a handful, the reception was a jovial mix of well-wishers and dancing couples. The alcohol flowed freely and the food was excellent. There was even a surprise guest. Hermione gasped when she spotted a frail, but familiar, figure hugging the shadows of the ballroom.


Draco Malfoy almost never ventured out past the gates of the Manor where he lived as a recluse, a prisoner in his own cage.


Harry had launched a very agressive public campaign after the war on his behalf, throwing all of his political clout behind the Slytherin. And that was the only reason the wizard wasn’t laying in an Azkaban cell, Kissed like the rest of his family. But he’d become a social pariah and hermit ever since. Amongst the mix of happy wedding attendees, the pale blond faded into the wall tapestries, and Hermione was pleased to see him in attendance.


As the wedding guests chatted and dined, enjoying the excellent reception, Hermione had a hard time getting in the mood, even though she tried to put on a good show of it for her friends. The Best Man was just too much of a distraction. At the head table, Hermione sat on Ginny’s right, and the bridal couple acted as a barrier between her and Severus. That did not stop her eyes from glancing in his direction every other minute. They were drawn to him, even though only the back of his ink-spill hair or his porcelain white hands were visible.


It made tackling her salmon difficult. Severus was so painfully close.


Hermione closed her eyes fighting the unaccountably giddy feeling, like a silly schoolgirl crush, that crept up on her at the most unwelcome of times.


The din hushed and Hermione looked up to see Severus standing, his glass pinched between his fingers to toast the wedded couple. Hermione’s world narrowed entirely on the wizard who commanded the room by his presence.


Severus did not have to clear his throat to garner their attention, though a few swooning witches appeared to
have the vapors. He turned and addressed Billy and Ginny, and in doing so caught the eye of his wife.


“To William and Ginevra,” he began, his smooth voice rich, full with heartfelt emotion.


“I stand here today, honored to toast you. To celebrate your union and to wish you–” Severus paused, choking slightly before recovering, “–a happily ever after together. I first met William – Billy – as his Head of House at Hogwarts, where I often thought – given his warm generosity, abundant kindness and forgiving nature – he should have been sorted a Hufflepuff. But then, all too late, I discovered that the innocent boy was quite the scheming prankster. In fact, would you believe that he is single-handedly responsible for the 'Great Treacle Fart Debacle of 1992?' I do believe that one was blamed on the Bride's twin brothers, and earned Slytherin House 30 points.”


Light titters broke out from the audience and Severus grinned briefly. It wasn’t big enough to show off his dimple, Hermione fondly noted, but the tell-tale flashbulb meant some enterprising witch had captured her shot for Witch Weekly and would earn a fortune.


“Billy, despite the many challenges of your youth, you’ve grown into a wizard that any witch and any family would be proud to call their own. Your bride is quite a catch, and I know you're equally proud to have her by your side.


"Ladies and gentlemen, when I ask you to raise your goblets with me to toast our newlyweds, please do so with gladened hearts. For here before you is love. These souls have found the blessing of true joy within one another. And anyone who has looked upon them cannot help but note their devotion. I am so happy for the both of you."


Severus beamed again at the jubilant couple, and Hermione's lips spread into a smile when she spotted the dimple on his cheek. She could spend her life watching for that dimple if it were meant for her.


Severus' tone dropped, changed, and anyone who'd spent any time at all with him in his lab shifted uncomfortably in automatic response to that tone. His mellifluous voice, a caress, could turn into a hard-edged weapon, and cause a shudder of fear to race up any spine.


"Despite the Marriage Law, you've found something uniquely special in each other, and I am glad for your good fortune. Not all are so fortunate. The law has, by its inherent nature, turned a generation of virtuous young witches to acts of desperation to find husbands, suitable or not, wherever they can. It has thankfully left you unscarred. But I ask the esteemed Ministry employees and Wizengamot members I see in attendance here tonight, was this what we wanted? To remove witches' free will? Their right to choose a mate? Their consent in childbirth? To force them to bind themselves in haste? What kind of society legislates the the whoring of its daughters? And I ask those who speak ill of witches placed in the unenviable position of finding a spouse or suffering banishment from our world: Where is your compassion?"


Everyone in the hall sat unnaturally still.


"I am sickened by those who've slandered my own wife. Pardon me, my ex-wife. But wife or no, if anyone attacks my Hermione or causes her harm in any way, they will have a Death Eater at their door. Not a misunderstood poet, or an anti-hero. Not a reformed prisoner, or a spy for the light. Make no mistake, I will not tolerate it."


The collective gasp in the room was both audible and palpable as 200 guests gaped at the foreboding wizard. The newest Mulciber family smiled proudly at their Best Man. And a few witches stared intently at Hermione, consideringly, as if they'd never before seen her as a person outside of newsprint. Hermione was robbed of breath again as she slowly processed his impassioned defense of her honor. Closing her mouth, Hermione realized that gawking with a hanging jaw wasn't the photo she wanted for the Prophet.


Severus began again, placidly, as though he hadn't just accused the Ministry of whoring young witches. "Billy, Ginny, I congratulate you. Your marriage is built upon the solid foundation of your love, companionship, and equality. I wish you many years of happiness together. Will everyone please join me in toasting the Mulcibers. Brought together by Ministry coersion, but married in love. To Billy and Ginny."


'To Billy and Ginny,' the startled crowd mumbled quietly.


"To Billy and Ginny," Hermione repeated belatedly.


Her dinner was too much and it was pushed away as the reception resumed. The clatter over the Best Man's speech a dull hum within the hall.


Sighing and trying to appear the happy Maid of Honor, Hermione counted down the hours that she'd have to sit next to the bride and put on a brave face. No man would approach her to dance. Even if they might have been interested before, they certainly wouldn't be after Severus had marked her as his territory, and the chance that Severus would come for her seemed unlikely. She glanced down the table and found his seat empty. She felt both wistful and morose as she sipped slowly on the wine, as she'd sworn off alcohol for the foreseeable future.


Someone tapped her shoulder.


“Dance with me, Hermione," he rumbled behind her ear.


He held his arm out solicitously. She looked skittish for a moment, her lower lip turning inward on her teeth.
“It would be bad form not to, considering the occasion.”


Scanning the room and noting the curious expressions directed their way, she nodded once, taking his offered arm.


A waltz struck up and he turned her into his arms, holding her delicately and swaying until stepping out on the beat. Hermione seamlessly followed like an extension of his body, as if they’d been dancing together for years.


After a quiet circuit around the floor, Severus politely inquired, “How is your boyfriend? I don’t see him here tonight.”


“My...?” Hermione asked rattled as her foot skipped on the descending beat. “Oh. Aristotle. We, uh, broke up.”


“Trouble in paradise?” Severus asked, just barely managing to keep the snort out of his voice.


“Ha!” Hermione returned. “That’s what the headlines call us.”


Severus’ sneer marred his features before he schooled them back into a more sociable look for the reception.


“And how did he take the disappointing news?”


She was biting on her lower lip and Severus felt her balance slightly shift over the balls of her feet. Steadying her with a guiding hand at her shoulder blade, Severus waited patiently.


“I… haven’t told him.”


“Oh?”


“I was rather hoping he’d forget about the whole thing,” Hermione sheepishly admitted.


“Yes, well, there is that,” Severus drawled nastily. It didn’t matter that the old codger hadn’t been after his witch; he’d been with her. Sharing her time and attention while he lazed in a cold and dusty cellar. Severus conveniently forgot that he liked the cellar.


“Be nice,” Hermione chided. “The wizard is 130.”


“Really?” Severus asked surprise. “Humph. And he doesn’t look a day over 99.”


Hermione tried not to grin and failed.


“Oh, not so satisfying to take advantage of the old and infirm,” Severus winced as the words tripped out before censoring them and Hermione drew a sharp gasp. “I apologize,” he amended quickly.


“No. No, you’re right, and that was what you were getting at with your toast, wasn’t it? I mean, after all, what’s the difference between using a wizard who last changed his own underpants in the Thatcher years, and a prison inmate too needful for food and blankets to say, ‘No.’ I’m a horrible person.”


Severus shot her a withering look. “I’ll have you know I changed my own underwear this morning, thank you very much.”


Hermione giggled in his arms and Severus wanted to bury his face in her neck, nuzzle her and make her giggle again.


“I meant…” She laughed. “I meant… oh you bloody well know what I meant.”


Their waltz was on its finishing strains and he drew her closer. “I know what you meant, Hermione,” he murmured close to her ear.


She recovered and grinned. “I seem to recall a certain fondness on your part for going without underpants.”


Severus cocked an amused eyebrow at his bride. The perfect response was to afford her the opportunity to investigate, but Severus couldn’t risk getting slapped in front of the camera-ready crowd. His lips quirked, “I believe you’ve caught me in a lie, Vixen.”


Vixen. Hermione felt unaccountably lightheaded. The waltz had ended and if he let go, surely she’d fall. Vixen. The word, spoken in his soft rumbling purr made Hermione tingle. She couldn’t bear him pulling away from her.


She imagined Severus leading her from the dance floor and ending the sublime moment, and she found the thought unbearable. Both hands clenched furiously on his body. Fingertips pressing into his bicep, possibly leaving a mark, the strains of the next song started up and Hermione made it obvious she would not step away. Had she the voice to say so, Hermione might have said something utterly stupid, like she was never walking away.


Severus obliged her as her favorite Sinatra song began, and he lead her again to the wholly appropriate foxtrot ‘Witchcraft.’ Eyes drawn entirely to the fine detail of buttons starting at his Adam’s apple, Hermione entirely missed the small smirk of triumph.


“Vixen,” he hushed quietly, bending slightly to nuzzle her ear as he’d longed to. “You know this song will end, too.”


She did not want to sound childish by pouting, but in a voice more morose than she intended, Hermione acknowledged, “I know.”


“Unless…”


“Unless?” she asked optimistically, her warm hopeful eyes meeting his and seeing tenderness there.


“Unless we go someplace quiet. To talk, perhaps?”


Fear, cold and forbidding, gripped her chest. Talk was an evil, horrible word.


Severus’ glittering black eyes, dancing merrily as he negotiated the dance floor with his wife in his arms, surveyed the hall again. They were garnering quite a bit of unwanted attention, and he noted with a slight bit of anxiety that there was a growing queue of witches waiting for his next dance. Generally, it was considered socially unacceptable for the Best Man to hex the bridesmaids.


His lips thinned into a line of distaste as he noted Jake Edwards, idiot extraordinaire, being quite animated and standing far too close to Draco. Moreover, the Pureblood wizard appeared to return his affections. Whatever viper-tongued comment he intended to make of their …chumminess… died on his lips as he saw Hermione’s distress.


“Just talk, my Vixen, like we are doing now. It might be a bit of a scandal to leave before the bride and groom, but I suspect that they’ll approve, given their excessive level of meddling. Shall we Apparate?”


“I…” she replied, not quite her most intelligent thought, but her eyes also drifted around the room and her ears noted that it was only a matter of time before the song ended. And really, it wasn’t as if they actually could dance all night. Eventually they’d need to run to the loo. The band was bound to take a break. And Hermione wasn’t willing to let him go. Not yet.


She hastily nodded her affirmative and allowed him to pull her more securely into the bower of his embrace. Dancing couples swirled about them and with a ‘pop’ they were gone.


The witches in line spouted various cusswords, none of them very ladylike.


“That’s another ten Galleons you owe me,” Ginny said with a note of triumph, her head resting on her beloved’s shoulder.


Billy, still smiling a stupid grin that hadn’t faded all day, affectionately squeezed her. “Yes, my love.” He couldn’t have been happier to lose a bet either.


A/N:
Chapter title: Di! Ecce Hora! Uxor Mea Me Necabit! - God, look at the time! My wife will kill me!

We're almost done. Can you believe it? I cannot. Thank you to all my loyal readers. You've given me such wonderful feedback and encouragement. I cannot thank you enough. And to Christev, my megafantastical beta, my heartfelt thanks and praise, and an autographed copy of Severus’ book. Schmootches! AV