The Gilded Cage

keripandya -Thank you, I’m so glad you like it.
HarryGinny4eva - Thanks so much, your support really means a lot to me. *hugs*
PDamiani - Nope, not abandoned, but thank you.
Lauriurix - Just the epilogue is left.
katiekrm - Oh, I didn’t read it that way at all.
Voracious - *grins* Rewriting the contract was fun.
DawnEB - I could only advance the plot so far, it’s essentially done and the story winding down. I’m glad the lemons worked.
neelix - Thank you for your support. *kisses*
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Rini - Thank you m’dear. Everything will work out.
Tenar10r - Boiling hot lemonade? Awesome! I’m so glad.
Heidi191976 - You’re not the only one. So am I.
Liagiba84 - Oh good. I’m so pleased.
War Lioness - *blushes* Thank you, that’s very sweet of you to say. And he married her…twice.
alientheet - I’m always pleased when people find humor in the same things I do.
Alina - You are so welcome m’dear.
Draco_Lover - It’s been a long time coming (I know) but I hope this chapter makes you fall off your chair again.
Danie - I hope it is worth the wait.
x_crystal_dragon_x - Goodness! I’m so thrilled.
Vixsin - Yes, things are well, thank you.

*

Chapter 61- Hic Habitat Felicitas


A thought, so deep and disturbing that it roused him from a very deep sleep, jolted Severus awake. Pushing up from the bed, panting, he scrubbed at his eyes for several moments before turning to the witch at his side. Reflexively, he clenched the hand that lay on her lush hip, feeling the warm skin and firm body beneath his palm, and took in a ragged breath. Hermione was still there, in their bed, and their marriage could not be annulled. No legal loopholes, no traps. Possessive, yes, but Severus had never denied being a possessive bastard. That thought, however, was not the one that had interrupted his rest.


Critically viewing his slumbering bride in the thin firelight, he peered closely for some indication that something had changed about her person. Her chest rose rhythmically, her hair lay around her and even annoyingly around him, through her eyelids he could see her eyes rapidly moving while she dreamed. Nothing he could discern was amiss. Not that one could see pregnancy, Severus rationally chided himself. Not when his spunk still painted her thighs, he added proudly.


Perhaps it was the arrogance of men that the duty of family planning frequently fell to the woman, but Severus realized with a racing heartbeat that he hadn’t a clue what method of birth control she was using. And with even wider alarm, he recognized that it probably hadn’t been a concern of hers for over a year – the likelihood that Hermione was on ‘the Potion,’ was slim. It was entirely possible that, caught up in the moment as she was, she had forgotten that small detail.


Hermione licked her lips in her sleep and turned over to him, seeking out the source of comfort that had moved away from her. Sweet witch that she was, she pressed her icy toes against his.


Settling back down and cradling her again, lest he disturb her sleep and be forced into starting a conversation he was certain that neither of them was prepared to have, Severus tried to fall asleep again. An exercise in futility, as fear clutched his chest.


It was a problem that wouldn’t go away until he rationally thought it all out.


Swallowing thickly, he tried to attack it with logic using the ‘worst case scenario’ model he had employed for so many years while on bended knee before both of his Masters.


The worst thing that could happen was she was currently pregnant, with triplets. With his shit luck, it would be triplets. And all girls. Gryffindors to boot. And really, how bad was that?


Severus grumbled, not loud enough to disturb her sleep, but grumbled just a bit before admitting with an arched eyebrow at her unresponsive form, “Not very.”


At least they wouldn’t be dunderheads. The triplets would be very well educated Gryffindor princesses.


Severus paused briefly to consider if adding bars to bedroom windows – this weekend if possible – was being a bit premature.


A deep sigh escaped him as Severus gave up. It didn’t bloody well matter if Hermione was currently carrying the soiled fruit of his loins. It just wasn’t the worst that could happen to either of them. The worst was separation. They’d been through all that heartache before. And it wasn’t likely to ever happen again. So long as there was breath within him, he’d do everything in his power to make their marriage work.


And children were… entirely up to her.


A strange feeling of acceptance washed over him, and it lifted the heaviness that hung about his heart. It wasn’t his choice. So much of his life was dictated by the whims of the Fates, that really it was out of his hands. If it happened, it was because it was meant to be.


When he had still been teaching, he hadn't been able to see the connections in his life, but looking back it was clear.


As he examined his life, the milestones that lead him to where he was – curled up contentedly with his wife in his arms – were best viewed as a history. If he hadn’t called Lily a Mudblood, he wouldn’t have trashed their friendship. Meaning he wouldn’t have hung out with his Slytherin friends and gotten pulled into their world… All the dots connected to bring him to the place where he was.


For whatever reason, life had set him on this path. Divine intervention. Fate. Personal choices and consequences. Whatever.


Severus ruefully had to admit, he liked it.


The release came from letting go.


Resting his cheek for a moment on her brow, Severus let go. Whatever would be, would be. If tonight they had made a child, Severus would accept it. If six months down the road they made a child, Severus would accept that, too. Hermione slumbered on, a thin trickle of drool leaking from the corner of her lips.


He acknowledged that his confidence in his ability to be a father wasn’t exactly solid, but he’d learn. All parents made mistakes, and Severus had several good examples from his own childhood on what not to do. That, and he intrinsically knew any child of theirs would be loved and cared for. His Hermione would be an excellent mother.


The urge to thrust his fingers into her pile of messy curls and greedily kiss her lips was strong and insistent, but he restrained himself. It was the sort of soft, silly notion that lesser wizards would indulge in. Despite Hermione having had several glimpses into his innermost unguarded feelings, it was best not to scare her all at once. Particularly when he was feeling quite maudlin and apt to confess his love again. A soft crack from the dying fire in the grate reminded Severus that soon his early-rising wife would wake. It simply would not do for her to catch him having wholly inappropriate and disturbingly poetic thoughts about her hair, her drool, and their unborn children.


Satisfied, Severus drifted easily back to sleep.


As daylight edged around the heavy draperies and tugged on his eyelids, Severus awoke and rolled his shoulder, wincing as it popped beneath the weight of the bushy head that used him as a pillow. Not that he’d complain; Hermione was free to abuse and molest his body as she saw fit. It was a fine Saturday morning. He could tell. Not because he had any idea whether somewhere birds were twittering and cheerful woodland creatures gathered together to sing as in his Mum’s ridiculous cartoon movies, but because Hermione was still laying next to him. And he rather suspected she’d stay there for the rest of their years.


“Good morning,” she mumbled sleepily, tossing a wayward curl from her face.


Severus returned the greeting and leaned in for a good morning kiss and, if he was lucky, a good morning tussle in bed.


“Ack!” she shrieked, clamping her hand over her mouth. “I haven’t brushed.”


“Don’t care,” he muttered, nuzzling her neck. He’d feast elsewhere if need be.


“But I have morning breath,” she whined petulantly and made a half-hearted attempt to get up.


Well, that was uncalled for. Severus gently pulled her back into bed and cradled her face between his hands. “You, Vixen, worry far too much,” he chided before sampling her lips, morning breath and all.


“I suppose this makes us an old married couple,” Hermione remarked, after being thoroughly snogged to both of their satisfaction. “Before you know it you’ll be leaving the door to the bathroom open and breaking wind at the dinner table.”


Severus raised an eyebrow at her. “I don’t break wind.”


“Oh, so one day you’ll just explode, is that it? Everyone breaks wind.”


“Vixen, don’t test me before I’ve had my morning coffee,” he shot her a significant look which he hoped translated as him needing her or the elves to bring some of her perfectly brewed French roast. He grumbled a bit before muttering, “I don’t break wind. I may occasionally pass gas, but I don’t break wind, and never at the dinner table. I may have been raised common, but I’m as uncommon as they come.”


Hermione snorted.


“Find that funny do you? Just for that I’ll now leave the bathroom door open, as you put it.” Severus hastened off the bed, strode to the loo and relieved himself without a backward glance, even though he could hear her giggling like a school girl. Old married couple indeed!


Stifling her giggle into a plump pillow, Hermione enjoyed a positively giddy moment of girlish glee. They were home, happily married – completely and utterly for real this time – and her beloved husband was relieving himself in the other room. Absurdity had never been so much of a delight.


In the loo he was infinitely pleased to find the shower cabinet Hermione had installed during her renovation of the Homestead. After attending to his personal needs, Severus approached the new toy with all the enthusiasm of a small child exploring his world.


The glass door pushed aside at his touch and Severus stared, head cocked to the side, at the incomprehensible amount of dials and knobs affixed to the marble tiled wall. Whereas the scientist might have paused to test each button and dial, Severus happily twisted and pulled everything in reach. Jets of wash sprung from the walls, blasting his body with a vicious torrent of water and pink vanilla-scented foam. A rich laugh bellowed from his chest, and echoed merrily in the steaming room.


Several twists of a dial washed away the pink, and he caught on quickly to adjust the temperature and force of the sprays. As he moved away from the controls, the jets angled to follow his progress, and Severus darted back and forth, playfully attempting to evade the wash.


“My Gods this is glorious,” he announced, stretching his lean body and working out muscle strain under the kneading fist of spray.


In truth, there was nothing better than a good hot shower. And his marvelous wife had done well. Nothing had been looked forward to as eagerly in his Hogwarts days than coming home to a good shower and rinsing off blood and potions. The cool trickling wash at Spinners End could never compare to his bathroom at Hogwarts. Jake’s borrowed bathroom was satisfactory, but his new shower at the Homestead was by far the best.


A sober reminder of the bucket hit him in the sternum with a coldness that spread across his chest.


Wash days at the prison had been a bucket of cold saltwater and a rag. And he’d been too damn grateful to wash off the caked grime to mumble anything other than ‘Thank you,’ to his indifferent guards. Hermione’s self-warming teapot and access to a real hot bath, even cobbled together, had been a blessing.


Hermione had been a blessing.


Sinking against the tile, Severus allowed the beating torrent to wash his body clean as he lost himself in thought. He searched his heart, expecting to find the gnawing feeling of guilt that always accompanied the choice to turn his back on Azkaban, and was unable conjure the emotion. The Homestead was not a place for honest contrition and he had – beyond comprehension – everything he hadn’t ever realized he had wanted. And in the same breath, there was no guilt. No shame.


Lifting eyes skyward as if to accuse the Gods themselves of playing with him, Severus felt considerably ambivalent about where he stood.


It was a strange feeling. Incomplete. Had he put away his quest for peace? No, certainly not. Some of the things Hermione had said about works of kindness and charity still resonated. The joint potion he had perfected in Azkaban could be gifted to the wizarding world. It was only one of many therapeutic potions that he could give away in atonement. Life had offered him a way out of the desolate cell. Another path to make amends, beyond self flagellation.


“Take it, you fool,” he muttered. “Take it and be grateful. Something in your miserable life has worked out.” Left unspoken was the ingrained belief that by the next day all of the goodness would be washed down the drain, but that too was out of his hands.


His voice echoed nicely off the tile, and as he soaped and lathered a washcloth, Severus smirked. Clearing his voice he said, “Turn to page 394.”


A wolfish grin split his face.


It had been years since he’d sung in such a nice shower.


When the sound of twisting taps and a rushing showerhead hit her ears, Hermione’s head instantly pricked up. Her satisfied grin broadened into a full smile that spread across her cheeks. Severus was in her shower. The shower she had designed solely with him in mind when it had been renovated and transformed from the gloomy, paint-peeling space.


Tiptoeing into the bathroom, she spared a glance at the purposefully uncharmed mirror, and was appalled. The spellwork that had held the wedding makeup in place had failed. Standing in front of her reflection, she traced the thick raccoon smudges beneath her eyes and reached for a flannel before thinking better of it. Severus must have one in the shower. With him.


Naked.


Lingering long enough to give a wistful sigh to the toothbrush that sat on the vanity, Hermione ran her tongue briefly over her teeth and mentally shrugged. She really had no idea how long he took in his morning shower. If she wanted to join him, she’d have to move on it.


Apprehension briefly niggled at the back of her mind. He wouldn’t kick her out, would he? She honestly didn’t know. It wasn’t as if they had really ever lived together. Not properly. But there was only one way to find out.


“You’re not a coward,” she whispered.


Hermione held her breath and listened as a faint muffled sound bounced off the cream marble along with the cascading sounds of the showerheads. Stepping closer, she pressed her ear against the cold tile and heard, “Take a look at the Lawman beating up the wrong guy. Oh man!”


She giggled and snorted into her palm. She opened the glass door just in time to add her voice to the refrain, “He’s in the best selling show!” warbling horridly off tune.


Severus spun instantly, skidding slightly on the soapy tile, and dropped the white washcloth at his feet. She took a mental picture for posterity. Severus’ jaw hanging open while bubbles ran indecently down his lean, wet, and very naked body was a thought to hang on to. Hermione shivered standing in the doorway, the juxtaposition of the cold of the bathroom behind her and the steam from his shower sensitizing nerve endings and tightening her nipples.


He recovered first, with a smirk, and bent down – unabashed and unashamed – for the wash cloth. Hermione supposed she really didn’t need a mental picture for all posterity now. Since he hadn’t automatically ordered her out, Severus obviously didn’t mind sharing his shower, and that held delightful promises for the future. Hastily, and before he muttered something snarky about letting all the hot steam out, Hermione closed the glass door behind her.


New jets of water, sensing her presence, turned on and followed her path as she joined her husband under the central waterfall.


“You didn’t have to stop singing,” Hermione said with a smile, pausing briefly to plant a brief kiss at his lips. “You have a very nice voice.”


The reproachable look he shot her plainly read that he was not about to start singing again. Not for an audience, and Hermione sighed. Perhaps one day, once they really were an old married couple, he’d drop his defenses and sing for her; until then Hermione plucked the wet washcloth out of his fingers.


She leaned past him, brushing her breasts along the musculature of his shoulder to reach a bottle of bodywash she had left behind. It was her own scent, an energizing green tea and ginger, that she was sure would smell odd on him, but it would do in a pinch. Severus stood stock still as she reached around him, relathering the white cloth, humming the rest of the song, and liberally rubbing her body against him. It was a small production that created the response Hermione was hoping for – stepping back she noted with a small smirk of triumph that he was beginning to sport an erection.


“Do you mind washing my back?” Hermione asked, handing him back the towel and lifting the drenched curls from the nape of her neck and pulling them over her shoulder. She asked knowing damn well he was unable to refuse, and rather enjoyed playing the coquette, even if he was already aware of her game.


One hand came to rest on her side, gently squeezing beneath the circle of her breast as the cotton cloth made relaxing circles along her shoulders. Drowsily closing her eyes, Hermione drifted in a peaceful relaxed state, as his careful ministrations and the cloudy fragrant steam of the chamber soothed her. His touch was divine, soft and probing, and she sighed when he found a small knot of tension and worked it out with his kneading fingers. Soap bubbles traversed lazily down her body, pooling at her feet before draining away. It felt like all the weight of their problems and issues were simply washing away with yesterday’s grime.


Clasping his hand over the swell of her hip, Severus pulled her back against his lean body, the heat of his engorged erection resting hotly on her bum, bringing her out of her faraway trance. Sliding back and forth, slipping against his chest, Hermione giggled and shared the lather on her back with him.


“Witch,” Severus warned in a voice that lacked all bite. He halted her movements with a steadying hand and delved the cloth between her parted legs. “You asked me to wash you.”


“Yes, but It’s more fun to share?”


Her lush, witchly curves pressed into him and Severus groaned, stroking soapy fingers along the sweetness of her figure. The shower poured overhead sending cascading rivulets of water down their joined bodies. Between her parted thighs, Severus discovered a slicker wetness and pressed his palm into her curls. Fingers gently questing, Hermione’s soft, gasping moans echoed off the tiled walls.


The trace of soap prickled his tongue as she bared the column of her neck to his lips. He was still unable to help himself from kissing the smooth skin, just as his hips thrust rhythmically between her wet thighs without coherent thought. Hermione slowly twisted in his arms, slipping against his wiry chest hair and taut muscles to touch her lips to his. Taking great pleasure in their passion, he guided her back to the tiled wall.


With a slight adjustment that prompted a furious tangle of sliding limbs and sharp moans, Hermione wrapped her legs about him. Her damp heat was more satisfying than any shower.


He lost himself to the shared bliss of their lovemaking, his wife clutched in his arms, firm, real, divine. Knees trembling, Severus held her body to his; it felt like home. It felt like redemption.


*****


Severus exited the shower cabinet first, overcome by the sudden rush of humbling emotion. His soul felt laid bare. As if he only just realized he was naked and had no clue what to do with his hands. Or how to face Hermione. He needed to busy himself with a distracting task before he blubbered to his wife every fragile emotion that seemed to want to pour out of him.


Jumping from the shower with a skidding step, as Hermione mentally added ‘buy bathmat’ to her to-do list, Severus resolved to busy himself. At least until his feet could find some traction.


In the shower she didn’t want to pout; pouting was for children and high strung teenage witches, but he’d left her, and she was uncertain of protocol. Sex was so much easier to navigate when one could just roll over and fall asleep or gather clothing and Apparate. This was the morning after. And tomorrow was. And the day after that was too.


Hermione now understood why every fairy tale ended with a kiss. It was a simple, perfect ending that did nothing to explain the dynamics of how a new couple should act. The romance of the moment wasn’t marred by reality in any way.


Her hand on the glass door, she pushed it open to meet her fate and greet what came next.


Severus stood, white towel slung low over his hips, brushing his teeth briskly at the sink. At her appearance, he set his toothbrush down, picked up another fluffy white towel and held it timidly out to her.


Hermione breathed in relief.


She could do this.


While his witch puttered about in the bathroom, flossing of all damned things, Severus was calmly falling to pieces. He dressed with a swift wand flick, full of nervous energy.


A word to Daisy sent the elves scrambling to set out breakfast.


How was he supposed to act around her now?


It was too new. Too fast. Faster than he could process.


It wasn’t as if they had ever honestly discussed the future together. Miserably, Severus reflected he couldn’t slink off to Azkaban if he failed. Perhaps when the weather turned warm enough not to kill him, he could find a decent corner to transform into his Animagus shape and hide from her, but that was just as cowardly.


For better or worse, they were bound. Permanently. Fool that he was, he'd married her - twice.


It wasn’t something he regretted, per se, he honestly loved the hag-haired tyrant, but now it was real. No longer a far-off and dreamy fantasy of some blissful and unobtainable life together that he certainly didn’t deserve.


Sobering.


He’d actually have to be a real husband. And a real father for the Gryffindor triplets he’d irrationally convinced himself that she was carrying.


Severus had no idea what this new identity looked like. Severus Snape, Husband. Severus Snape, Father.


He’d have to wing it. Do the best he could and hope it was enough.


For a wizard accustomed to orderly schedules and routine, panic fueled his chest, even as he poured himself coffee and picked up the morning paper.


Hogwarts had been orderly. The school had a cadence of children and lectures, grading and meals. Brewing was methodical, from preparation times to number of stirs. Systematic. Predictable. Azkaban had its own schedule -from Fish Nights to Delousing Days to the monthly wash bucket, and it was all set to the ceaseless rhythm of the tides. Years could pass without exception. Even the Dark Lord’s presence had been arranged and ritualized, with rules of conduct and guidelines of behavior. One always knew where in his favor they stood by how he held court.


How on earth was he to know where he stood with her? Certainly not by the banquet chair at which she placed him.


Irrational? Yes. But it still set him on edge. Was it left to him to set some kind of schedule? Rise at seven and eat at seven thirty? If need be, he would. For her, the elves, and even their well-behaved triplets.


Hermione felt a surreal moment of unexpected normalcy that she found to be downright creepy when she emerged hesitantly from their shared bedroom.


Severus sat stiffly in his restrictive robes at the breakfast table, a steaming cup of aromatic coffee in one hand, the morning’s Prophet in the other. With care, Hermione took the only seat available to her at the small table, and wordlessly Severus passed her the editorial section.


It was just so damned normal.


She idly wondered, while plating a cup of fruit and some yogurt, if this was to be her future. In twenty years would Severus be handing her the editorials and passing her the butter? In fifty? One hundred?


It was possible.


Severus snorted, breaking the quiet.


“You’ll love the front page. They trotted out everyone they could find at short notice who’d give an interview on why we remarried. Apparently it’s quite the hot topic. You may be interested to know that several witches now claim you’ve poisoned me.”


“Front page?” Hermione said, her face a visage of complete shock. Sure, their marriage might have been ‘news-worthy,’ but front page? It wasn’t that big of a deal. “Must have been some kind of a slow news day.”


And Hermione was unwilling to spare another thought for what some jealous witches were claiming.


“Hardly,” Severus grimaced, pulling apart the leaves of the paper to hand her the cover stories. “Warden Blotts was just sentenced by the Wizengamot. One hundred and thirty years in Azkaban, to be served in bilge level two with the general population. Though I give that spineless wizard a year at most. The Ministry is, as always, promising real prison reform, which will never happen.


“And we still made top billing. They barely spared a quarter of a page for the Kissed.”


“I don’t know why I still subscribe,” Hermione mused, pulling a frown.


“Because the Quibbler insists on publishing unintelligible nonsense. And unlike most of the wizarding world, you’re actually interested enough in what’s going on to keep holding out hope for some shred of real news.”


“Oh, well, there is that.”


They fell silent, pouring over their shared newspaper, and hunting amongst the gossip and fear-mongering for anything that could be termed ‘real news.’ It was peaceful and strangely comfortable for Severus, who’d never actually shared his breakfast table with another witch, much less his wife. When he’d been a boy his only ambition was to gulp his hot porridge as fast as he could and be gone. At Hogwarts, as a student and as a faculty member, breakfast was a solitary occasion of clattering dishes and yammering voices.


Hermione tucked a stray curl behind her ear and life was deliciously perfect.


After several quiet moments though, Severus got the strong impression that something was worrying her. His natural inclination was to let her stew until she was ready to bring whatever was on her mind to him in her own time. Hermione liked to internally process her thoughts and problems before she was ready to share. But she’d been methodically slathering butter on her ginger scone for the better part of two minutes, and most of it had crumbled away.


Severus cleared his throat for her attention. “Is there something on your mind?”


Hermione looked up, startled, and carefully put down her knife and scone. “It’s nothing.”


Severus took in her uncomfortable stance and wondered with a lifted eyebrow if now was the moment she’d bridge the issue of family planning. Not that he minded. Just the way she had said, ‘it’s nothing,’ clearly meant that it was ‘something.’


His mind dipping into the Homestead’s wards, Severus was instantly assaulted by how strong those feelings were.


When he’d been in the prison, he had to concentrate hard on her presence to be able to vaguely read her emotions. Here, now, in the Homestead, the power was raw and overwhelming. Intrusive. He felt how unsettled and uncomfortable she was with whatever subject she had to broach.


Without hesitation Severus determined a need to switch off that warding function. It was wrong to dip into her psyche at his whim, without her having the ability to reciprocate.


That, and if she ever discovered he’d been hiding the ability from her, she’d castrate him and give his balls to Crookshanks to bat around as cat toys.


Folding his newspaper neatly, Severus turned to give his wife his full and complete attention, faintly disconcerted by how anxious she still appeared. Was it possible she knew she was pregnant with the triplets already? No, Severus assured himself, the thought was absurd.


“Hermione,” he said, trying to sound supportive. “Something is on your mind. Please tell me,” he internally winced at the unnatural concern lacing his voice. “I’d like to know how you’re feeling.”


Meeting his gaze just for a flickering moment, Hermione swallowed and spoke to the serviette in her lap. “Ginny has been working on a care facility.”


“What?” he interrupted, completely nonplussed. What did Ginevra Mulciber and a care facility have to do with their children?


“Well, the Kissed wizards and witches have to go somewhere,” she hastily explained. “Azkaban is no sort of place for all those people.”


“Oh.” Dumbfounded, Severus sat back. He’d been so certain of the direction of their conversation, he’d rehearsed it in his head twice. “Of course, that makes sense. They never belonged there in the first place.”


Hopefully his wife didn’t cotton on to his confusion or his embarrassing reason for it. Perhaps marriage dulled the wits and addled the brain. He’d heard other wizards speaking of it. Severus knew the moment he began saying ‘yes, dear’ as a standard response, he was done for it.


“Go on then,” he said encouragingly as Hermione gave him another tight, nervous smile.


She fidgeted with her teacup for a moment. “She’s going to need help. A lot of help. They’re setting it up for all the people who will be left unclaimed. And given how there are entire families Kissed, with nobody to care for them, the center is expected to be quite full.”


Severus arched an eyebrow, waiting for Hermione to summon her obnoxious inner-Gryffindor and get to whatever was bothering her.


“I was thinking… the elves don’t have quite so much to do, now that we’ve cut back on the lichen farms, and what if…”


“What if we gave the elves to the center as care takers,” he finished for her.


“On lend,” she amended.


“I don’t see why they should be on lend. I swear each time I’m here I trip over a new elf.”


Hermione breathed easily and smiled gratefully since he was amenable to the idea. Then again, she had no clue how strongly Severus favored it. Ruddy elves were crawling everywhere. A sly smile crept towards his lips, but Severus held it back with a measure of self control. He’d just found the perfect wedding present and it took care of his elf problem quite nicely.


“Well, I wouldn’t want to displace an elf who doesn’t want to go. That’s such a nasty thought – trading elves like they’re possessions or property.”


Shrewdly, Severus bit back that they were property. The statement wasn’t likely to go over well with her. It was a small reminder that his wife was a Muggleborn. Hermione blended in so well that he often forgot.


Severus shrugged. “Talk to Daisy; she runs the household. She’ll gather and prepare any volunteers.”


He’d also make certain there were plenty of volunteers. Damned elves.


The look on her face was priceless. The shining glimmer in her eyes, her triumphant grin – all bespoke that he’d done right as a husband. Maybe the whole equal-partnership marriage wasn’t as difficult as it sounded. If he could just maintain the deep look of adoration in her eyes, he’d be fine. Or as long as he didn’t cock things up too badly.


Hermione picked up the crumbling ginger scone again, swiping excess butter off before devouring it with gusto. “Thank you Severus,” she said after a couple of minutes. “It’s a very good thing you’re doing. I know how hard it is for some wizards to give up their help. And the center will really need it. The Kissed will need ‘round the clock care, feeding, and medical attention.”


Honestly, he didn’t care. She’d tried to make him care, months and months ago. She had stomped her foot and demanded that he make use of his life because others hadn’t been given the choice, and he’d been unable to understand her then. Oh, he got the point now. He just still didn’t care.


Marriage hadn’t made him any less of a bastard – thank the gods for that.


Paper finished, the tripe masquerading as ‘news’ dutifully read, Severus stretched languidly. Muscles unaccustomed to strenuous exercise rolled as stress was relieved.


“So, what would you like to do today?” he asked, his fingertips ghosting up her bare arm suggestively.


Hermione drew her wand, surprising Severus, and summoned a thick tablet from the other room. Sorting papers out, Hermione began reading from a well-bulleted tablet full of notes with the kind of satisfaction she could only achieve when composing organization timetables and to-do lists.


“Oh, well first I suppose I need to ring Mum and Dad. They probably ought to know their little girl got married…again. Mum will most likely be thrilled that all those frilly things she bought me will finally see the light of day. And they’ll need to know to set another place at the table for Christmas because I already committed myself to be there – and for Daddy’s birthday.”


She didn’t notice the harsh grimace Severus wore.


“Speaking of, I should owl Ginny too. That is, if she’s taking post on her honeymoon. But hearing about our wedding from me is much better than finding out about it secondhand from the Prophet. And we need to pick up our stuff from Jake’s house. I mean, I assume you’ll want to get properly moved in as soon as possible. I even saved your Slinky. And I was thinking that…”


“Hermione,” Severus rumbled, spreading his hand over hers to still her nonstop chatter.


“Hmm?”


“Forget the Mulcibers."


“But,” she began to protest, gesturing to her perfectly laid out bullet points.


"But nothing. This is our honeymoon. Let the list go.”


Abruptly, Severus stood, and in a single fluid motion lifted Hermione out of her seat and hefted her over his shoulder. Rump high in the air, Hermione squealed in delight, pounding his back all the way to the bedroom.


The End.


A/N:
Chapter title: Hic Habitat Felicitas - Here dwells happiness

Ya'll deserve an explanation of what took so long. I was wibbling. This chapter was agonized over and rewritten enough times that Christev (beta extraordinaire) was going to thump me over the head with her cast. (Her wrist is broken and she beta'd this typing on one hand - amazing) It had to be perfect. I'm still wibbling that it's not perfect, but I just have to let it go and post. Or else some fangurls *cough* *cough* will send the Aurors out looking for me. I assure you I am alive. Just had a momentary lack of confidence.

Thank you so much to my lovely reviewers who've kept my spirits up and enthusiasm high about this fic. It's been a wild ride, and I appreciate you following me along.

There will be an Epilogue.

Schmootches! AV