These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.
Chapter 9: To the Manor Born
After a month into their marriage, Hermione accompanied her husband on a visit to his ancestral home on the Cornish coast. Snape Manor was an impressive old mansion, venerable and ivy covered, both formidably beautiful, and bleakly mysterious, planted like a sentinel on a promontory of bluffs overlooking the ocean. Severus aparated with her to the walkway leading to the front of the house, possibly to show her its setting before bringing her inside. The tang of salt on the bracing cool breeze lent a sense of wildness to the antiquity of the place. Hermione took in deep breaths of this crisp primordial air. She had always loved being near the sea.
It was odd, she mused. This wasn't the sort of place she would have ever pictured Snape's house to be. Hermione had once imagined him living amidst a sinister ocean of moor or fen, a scene from The Hound of the Baskervilles, or Wuthering Heights. This romantic looking place was like a setting from a Daphne Dumaurier novel, dashingly dark but hauntingly beautiful. She paused soberly in her thinking. The settings of most of those stories were haunted by ghosts of past heartbreak and evil. Perhaps Snape belonged here after all.
The front door opened automatically as if the house were expecting them. Perhaps it had been. The interior of the house seemed to match her impression of its exterior. It was beautifully elegant in an austere sort of way, understatedly grand, and sparely, tastefully decorated. Hermione had quick impressions of polished furniture, velvet draperies, and sparkling chandeliers amid the simplicity of plain, shiny hardwood floors and ascetically near-empty walls. It was a no nonsense sort of elegance--rather like her dour husband, she thought.
In a Muggle house of this size there would have been servants in immediate attendance, a butler, a housekeeper, or at least a parlormaid. But there was no one here to greet them. The house seemed completely empty. Yet somebody had obviously been keeping it up, very recently in fact. The wood surfaces gleamed with the absence of dust. Neatly trimmed candles filled the torchiers, and cheery fires burned brightly in the grates of every room. The house was almost squeaky clean, yet this was the only visible evidence of any sort of domestic staff.
Of course Hermione knew who, or what, that staff had to be, and she quickly got the impression that she and Severus were far from alone. She had a definite sense of being observed. At first it was just the eerie feeling of unseen eyes on her back, but as her perceptions quickened, she thought she noticed fleeting little glimpses of those observers. Furtive movements flickered in the shadows of every room. Secret eyes, curious eyes, watching her, following her...
She had never had these sorts of impressions at Hogwarts, where she knew the same sort of servants labored, and she supposed this odd awareness should have scared her a little. But it didn't. Hermione could sense no malice in her hidden watchers. The curious eyes that followed her were extremely shy, almost frightened, but they were also eager and welcoming, not menacing. How she knew that, she wasn't sure, but Hermione understood instinctively that the mysterious denizens of Snape Manor were friendly.
Hermione had never been in a wizard mansion before, having only seen more humble magical dwellings, and was surprised by how normal everything looked. Nothing in Snape's house would have looked out of place in any Muggle estate. She had supposed, now that she came to think of it, that the Snape ancestral home would be something like the Black Family house, with sinister artifacts, mounted elf heads on the walls, and screaming portraits. But there seemed to be no portraits here whatsoever, no genealogical tapestries, no suits of armor. There was only room after richly furnished room, spare of decoration, shiningly clean, with a warm, happy fire burning comfortably in the grate. There was nothing here to inspire alarm.
"It's so beautiful," she said, looking out of the windows of an plainly elegant sitting room at the silver expanse of the sea. Even from here she could hear the faint roar and suck of the waves that pounded the rocks of the shore. The crashing breakers sent geysers of foamy spray cascading into the air. Hermione found the wild, regular earthy rhythm of those breakers mesmerizing.
"What is beautiful, the house or the view?" her husband asked quietly. She hadn't noticed him come to stand next to her at the window and his voice surprised her a little. They hadn't spoken very much so far into the tour of the house. Of course they didn't say a great deal as it was. Severus was a man of few words generally, and while Hermione had been known to be a chatterbox with her friends, she was far less voluble with him.
"Both, actually," she said, tearing her gaze reluctantly away from the hypnotic boom and crash of the waves. Snape's face was pensive as he looked out at the sea.
"I suppose that it is," he murmured, his eyes on the pounding surf. "Beautiful and dangerous both."
"Dangerous?"
He turned to look at her unreadably. "This was an evil house once, Hermione. There is darkness that clings to it still, memories of evil mostly." He pointed to the waves assaulting the craggy rocks.
"That is one of the most deadly stretches of coastline in Britain. I don't know if anyone's ever counted the number of shipwrecks that have happened there. My family used to profit by them, an easy business for wizards. A storm summoned, a tidal surge conjured, false beacons on the wrong cliffs, and a ship would end up ground to bits on the rocks. I suppose it was a simple matter to fly down on a broomstick and salvage the cargo...and whatever useful survivors could be found. The ones that lived I'm sure wound up indentured somewhere in the New World. The lucky ones, that is." He turned his back on the scene as if to shut out the picture of past treachery and death.
"That was a long time ago," Hermione ventured.
"Yes, it was," he said simply, and ushered her away from the window. "Come, I'll show you the library."
Snape led her through a long, wide hall that Hermione was sure, in any other mansion, would have been a gallery, but there were very few pictures on the walls. Those that were there were still-lives or landscapes-- wizard art, the kind that moved. Bees buzzed in painted flower arrangements, deer bent their necks gracefully to drink from woodland streams, and ships in full sail plowed through pounding waves. Any human subjects in these paintings were usually shown as tiny figures in the distance, little sailors climbing the rigging of ships, mounted hunters in red coats following after hounds. There was one exception.
Hermione did come across a painting of children in a rather gloomy wizard style nursery. A curly haired boy of about five was playing with a golden snitch, chasing after it, jumping into the air, crowing with triumph when he caught it, only to let it go again, while a pale, black haired girl read a book. The boy whooped and waved at Hermione, grinning impudently at her, but the girl only rolled her dark eyes toward her brother in a long-suffering sort of way, nodded curtly at her viewer, and went pack to her book. It was a gesture so like her husband that Hermione looked at him inquiringly.
Severus merely raised an eyebrow and beckoned her away from the picture, turning to lead her on to the next room. Hermione couldn't help wondering who the Snape children in the picture were and why her husband didn't want to talk about them. She would ask him one day, but today obviously wasn't that day.
When Snape opened the next door, Hermione almost squealed in delight. This was the Snape family library and in one glance, she could tell it was one of the best she had ever seen. Hermione had spent most of her waking life in libraries. As young as she was, she considered herself a connoisseur of them. She had poured through school book rooms and local public libraries from the days when she could first hold a book. Her first taste of the Wizarding world had come from her perusal of the big London libraries, and the discovery of their secret sections of magical books--books that she somehow had access to. The Library at Hogwarts was very extensive, and Snape's private collection there was intriguing, but this room was a bibliophile's dream.
It reminded her forcefully of the library in Disney's Beauty and the Beast, with books stacked up to the tall ceilings and rolling ladders to make the volumes accessible. It was a huge room, a veritable sea of books, and the warm sunlight pouring through the tall windows gave the place a comfortable, inviting feeling. There was nothing gloomy about this room, nothing stark or austere. Far more decorations existed here than in any other room Hermione had yet seen in this house. Curiosities rested on shelves and adorned the mantelpiece: strange gadgets, globes of various types, stuffed birds and other animals, crystals, jars full of preserved oddities. A large framed map of the magical world hung over the fireplace. The Order of Merlin that Severus had won for his services as a spy was also displayed there.
The furniture, too, was comfortable: plush leather armchairs and divans, footstools, polished wood tables and settees, thick luxurious oriental carpet. As in everywhere else in the house, everything was scrupulously clean, but in spite of that, the room had a slightly used feel to it. This was obviously the place Severus spent most of his time when he was at home, the room he "lived in," and as Hermione explored deeper, she discovered that it was actually more than one room. Snape Manor had a library wing.
The smirk her husband favored her with was teasingly ironic. "I thought you'd enjoy this area of the house. It will probably take some very strong magic to get you out of it."
Hermione smirked back at him and ignored his raised eyebrows. She couldn't help it if this wonderful place represented paradise. Imagine having a library like this in one's house! She began to examine the books, scanning the titles, running fingers along spines, peering up at the ledges of volumes above her. There were massive sections on Herbology and Potions, and entire case devoted to magical history, and countless shelves of spell manuals and Arithmancy formulas. She found biographies of Merlin and other famous sorcerers. She discovered books written in Runic, Sanskrit, and Sumerian. There were even tomes written in Chinese, Egyptian, and in a pictograph language she was sure was Aztec.
"How many languages do you know?" she asked, a little awestruck.
"I'm only fluent in seven but I can read a further five, providing I have a decent dictionary."
"Wow! And Hogwarts only teaches Runic! It's a good thing I studied French and Latin in the primary grades. I'll never catch up!"
"Be patient child. That's what University is for."
"What College teaches Sumerian?"
Severus chuckled. "I did have a private tutor for that."
Hermione found it odd to see Snape laughing. He was usually so grave and pensive, so full of bitter disapproval. Maybe, she mused, this was the one place he could relax and allow himself the indulgence of humor--even though it was still a guarded mirth. The laughter never really reached his eyes.
As Hermione moved on, the neat rows of volumes left the realm of magic and branched into Muggle writings. There was every kind of Muggle literature she could imagine. She found reams of philosophy, religious writings of all kinds, ancient histories and historical commentary, scientific treatises, and piles of classical works in Greek and Latin. Caesar shared space with Voltaire and Macciaveli. Davinci's notes rested near to those of Newton. There were no Encyclopedias, nothing condensed or abridged.
And there was art here as well as science. Hermione found Shakespeare's plays and a wide range of poetry. Novels of all sorts filled the shelves. She found classics by Charles Dickens, and modern works by Susan Howatch. Gone With the Wind shared a shelf with The Complete Adventures of Sherlock Holms. There were even Sci-Fi classics by Heinlein, and Fantasy works by C.S.Lewis and Anne McCaffrey. Hermione picked up a leather-bound copy of The Fellowship of the Ring and looked inquiringly at her husband.
"Tolkein nearly ended up in Azkeban for writing that," he commented dryly. " The Wizengamot debated for days whether or not he actually violated the Clause of Secrecy. Of course they let him off when they realized no one in the Muggle world was taking him seriously. After all, who, today, actually believes in magic?"
Hermione looked at the book, looked back up at Severus, and laughed.
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Snape watched his wife explore his library with proud bemusement. It had taken him years to amass this collection, and if there was one person who could truly appreciate what he had built here, it would have to be Hermione. She was obviously delighted. Perhaps books had been her escape as much as they had been his, although what she had to escape from, he had no idea. He was very glad to see that here, at least, was one other aspect of marriage to him that she could find tolerable.
Severus had been apprehensive about bringing his bride to the Manor. His house held only evil memories for him. Each room, however much he had altered it, was the site of some past heinous cruelty that he had either endured himself, or had been forced to watch. How odd it was, he mused, as he mentally tiptoed around those dark memories, that he was the one victim who had managed to prevail in the end. He was the one who had survived, and he had eradicated from his house every trace of it's former masters that he could find.
As he looked carefully through the rooms he led Hermione through, he was glad to see that his purges seemed to have the desired effect on him. These chambers, the scenes of his former misery, appeared so empty and nondescript now, so tame and harmless. The memories of his life here only teased and hovered in the background instead of rushing screamingly into his mind. Part of him wanted to explain the changes he had made, to show her his victories, but he knew he couldn't do that. There were things it was far better to leave secret.
In spite of that, he found that he enjoyed showing Hermione his house. Her presence seemed to bless it, as if, by the act of bringing someone sweet and good into these rooms, he was further purging them from the long history of evil that still seemed to touch them. Hermione knew nothing of the horrors that had once lived here. Her eyes seemed to see possibilities of goodness in every chamber, however curious and perplexed she seemed to be with some of the things she saw, or perhaps, failed to see.
Severus could imagine her leaving her mark upon this place, presiding as mistress over a now changed estate. She would redecorate it with her warmth and brightness, and her own brand of peculiar, quirky enthusiasm, perhaps bringing children here to stabilize these changes. Snape stopped suddenly in his thinking. There weren't going to be any children. This blessing would of short duration. His marriage was only temporary.
She followed him out of the library only with great reluctance. Snape could imagine her sleeping in there, as he often had, except that the library really wasn't equipped to comfortably accommodate the sort of bedroom activity he was interested in. There was one very good way in which his lovely bride could further bless his house.
He was leading her, of course, to the master bedroom. It had been days since they had been intimate, and Snape was conscious of a pounding physical desire. He wanted to take her in his house, in that very room, and he wanted to do so very thoroughly. Too many screams of agony had echoed through these walls, and in that chamber, for longer than he cared to think. It would take countless cries of rapture to dispel those phantoms of despair. Today's effort would only be a drop in the proverbial bucket, but one drop was at least a start.
The two of them wandered casually through the conservatory, the laboratory, and the music room. They walked through the old Grand Ballroom, where Severus was sure his wife was picturing Regency Balls, debutante Cotillions, and sumptuous masquerade parties. There had been dances here, but this place had also been the site of depraved rituals no human eye should see. The Dark lord had visited here often. Of course it looked far different now...as did the room that was their destination.
Severus led her up the stairs and eventually into the master suite. Hermione looked about her in joyful appreciation. She took in the carved four-poster with it's romantic chintz and velvet hangings. She looked at the matching cherry wood armoire, the gilded mirrors, the vases of flowers, and the candlesticks. The sun beaming golden through the diamond paned windows lent a softness to the scene that was almost contradictory to the severe, formal elegance of the rest of the house. It was like a benediction in a room that had never known a beneficent kiss.
"Why, this is the prettiest room yet!" Hermione exclaimed happily, moving over to touch the fabric of the hangings and run her fingers over the shiny wood of the armoire.
"This is the Master Bedroom..our bedroom." He came up close behind her as she stood in front of the mirror and observed her reflected features prick up sharply, like an animal sensing a predator. Not frightened, though, he noted with satisfaction, simply startled. "I do think we should make use of it."
She turned to face him doubtfully. "Now? In the middle of the afternoon?"
Severus couldn't help a little smirk. Hermione looked positively scandalized. Some of the bits of innocence that still clung to her were engagingly amusing. That somehow made the anticipation of today's ravishment all the more poignant. He ran his fingers ticklingly through her hair. Her quickly dilating brown eyes looked enticingly vulnerable. He savored the moment.
"Of course, Hermione, what better time? Think of the decadence of it." He took her face in his hands and kissed her gently. Her resistant fingertips grazed his arms as his thumbs caressed her cheekbones. He let his lips play with hers for a moment before he murmured in the most seductive voice he could manage, "Don't tell me you don't want to."
Either his voice or his touch did the trick. She seemed to soften and yield as if preparing to surrender, and her eyes met his in a combination of awkward hesitancy and appealing hunger.
"Well...it isn't that I wouldn't want to..." Of course she wouldn't say no to him. She never did. She took her obligations dead seriously. If only he could be more than an obligation to her. "I rather would like to...actually...yes..I suppose we could..." Great Merlin, he hoped she would never loose that depth of sweetness in her eyes, no matter what else happened to her. He drew her closer to him.
"Well then, "he whispered, his voice dusky with rising heat, "give yourself to me."
He gathered her into a deep penetrating kiss, felt her tense for only a second, and then reveled in the sensation of her relaxing against him, as though her form was melting deliciously into his. Her arms slid around him, fingers probing questioningly into his back, and her mouth opened to kiss him back with soft, tentative passion. The rising heat in him became a consuming flame, and he pulled her to the bed to let it engulf them both.
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The waning sun was making bright shadows through the lace fringed curtains as Hermione drowsily donned her robes. What in the world had come over Severus that he should have been so passionate today? Were men more amorous in the afternoon? Or was it the house, somehow? Not that she minded much. She liked sex, actually, and it really wouldn't bother her if they did it more often. Today's experience, however, had been a little unnerving. Her husband had seemed insatiable. He had wanted so much of her, and had given her the impression that he was watching intently for her responses. She had responded, of course. She hadn't been able to help it, but his passion had almost overwhelmed her.
She threw a few curious looks around the room as she dressed. There were things about this house that didn't make any sense. The bedroom furniture, for instance, was obviously antique, but it looked brand new. Shiningly new. Hermione, who had suffered years of her Aunt and Uncle's fascination with antiques, knew they weren't reproductions, yet they gleamed as though they had just been finished. Or restored. Hermione ran her fingers along the glassy smooth surface of the armoire. Most people who bought antiques didn't restore them to this level of perfection. That lessened their value. Snape obviously didn't care about that sort of value.
Severus was waiting at the doorway. "Come, Hermione. It's time you met the staff. Downstairs in the drawing room would probably be the best."
Hermione brushed her hair quickly, sighed at how messy it always was, peered at her reflection in the perfect shine of the ancient gilded mirror, and turned to follow her husband. She gave the room a few more inquisitive glances before she left. Was that really a Ming vase on the corner settee? Incredible!
Following Snape silently out into the landing, Hermione felt awkward at the lack of conversation between them. How could they have been so incredibly intimate just a short while ago, and now have so little to say? She knew it shouldn't bother her, but it did. Even though she was in a marriage of convenience, it would be nice if they became friends. But then, Snape didn't seem to be friends with anyone and he wasn't likely to change that for her. It saddened Hermione that the man who demanded her body didn't seem to want to talk to her afterwards. If only she could know what to say to him.
As they descended the stairs, Hermione couldn't help running her hands along the banisters and the smooth, almost empty walls. She touched places where pictures should have been but were now blank and clean. There were not even traces of nail holes. If she were to name the impression she got from this house she would have said "scrubbed." There was almost a fanatical cleanliness to the whole place, and something beyond that. It was as though layers and layers had been scrubbed off everything. She could almost feel traces of scour marks on the walls and moldings, as though the entire house had been skinned and flayed, before being painted and polished. It was definitely weird. She eyed the back of Snape's enigmatic head and pondered. Questions hovered on the edge of her tongue, but she didn't ask them.
Once in the front drawing room, Snape called out a curt summons, and about six house elves popped immediately into the room. Two of the elves were very elderly, one looked middle-aged, two others appeared in their prime, and there was one elf child. All of them looked happily, eagerly expectant. Hermione couldn't help but compare them to Serius Black's Kreacher. It was a night and day difference.
Snape put a hand behind her back, guided her forward, and addressed the elves. "This is Hermione Snape. She is my wife and she is your new mistress."
The instant change in the elves was electrifying. They lit up like Christmas trees. Where their expressions had been cheerfully servile, they now appeared ecstatic. Each one beamed in joyful, exuberant adoration at Hermione as though she were an angel, a goddess, or some sort of hero/savior. Hermione was a little taken back. She hadn't expected a reaction like this. They were gazing at her as though she was the greatest thing that had ever happened to them.
"Hold out your hand, Hermione. They have to swear fealty to you."
Hermione reached out a tentative hand, and each elf took it and told her it's name. They bowed over her fingers reverently as though they were kissing an icon. After they had all completed this ritual, they bowed as a group and made their exit, giving her worshipful backward glances like little pilgrims who had just seen a vision. Snape had a bemused, yet rather unreadable expression. Very soon after that, she and her husband returned to Hogwarts.
The suite of dungeon rooms that was the Snape home at Hogwarts seemed dim and gloomy after the day spent at the Manor. Hermione couldn't understand why they didn't stay there overnight. It was a Saturday and neither had classes in the morning, and, after all, they had already used the bed! It was almost as if her husband disliked the place and only went there when he had to. Perhaps he had only gone there today to show it to her, but why? Was it simply for that bizarre elf ritual? Hermione didn't like the idea of owning those elves. Their worshipful attitude towards her, while flattering, was unnatural.
And what about that weird impression she had gotten from the Manor, the feeling that there were secrets that had been scoured, even gouged out of the house, secrets that had been purged so completely that there was nothing left of them but empty, bare walls? Severus Snape seemed the embodiment of secrets. She looked covertly over at him.
"Oh, by the way. Don't even think about freeing my elves," he said, as he scratched his quill across some poor student's essay. She could only imagine what scathing comments were appearing there in his spidery handwriting. "They are obviously happy. Freeing them would not be kind."
Hermione found her tongue. Elf rights was familiar ground. "That's only because they don't understand, "she said reasonably. "They've been brainwashed all their lives to think they're happy."
Snape put the quill down and looked at her. "Actually, Hermione, it is you who do not understand."
"I'm surprised at you, Severus, really, I am! You have all those books on Philosophy, higher thinking, and enlightenment. I don't know why you still condone the enslavement of our fellow creatures! It's criminal to enslave an entire race of beings, to treat them as if their lives and feelings didn't matter, to treat them as inferiors just because they are different from us. One doesn't have to be human to have human rights!
"Listen to yourself, Hermione. That doesn't make sense."
"Yes, it does!"
"Human rights pertain to humans. Elf rights pertain to elves, and they are not the same. Elves do not want the same things that humans do. They do not think and feel as we do because they are different. No matter how much you try, you cannot change them from what they are. You cannot make them something they are not. A dog cannot reason like a cat, nor the other way around. Elves do not wish freedom."
"What about Dobby? He was glad to be freed!"
"I would be too, if Malfoy owned me," growled Snape. "And look what he's doing with his freedom. He's still working. And have you noticed Winkie? After three years of freedom, she's still pining. She won't last another three years, believe me. The kindest thing you could do for her, Hermione, would be to find her a new master to swear to, not lecture her on how much she should love freedom. She cannot change any more than a cat can become a herd animal, or a dog an antisocial one."
"But surely you can see that Dobby represents an evolutionary change." she almost pleaded.
"Evolution happens very slowly. Very few elves are unhappy in their servitude. Yes, there are wizards who abuse them. I do not. The wizard-elf relationship is a symbiosis, not a tyranny."
"How do you know that if you haven't even given them a choice!" she countered righteously.
"Would it interest you to know that I've done that?" He looked at her startled expression levelly. "I did, Hermione. When I inherited the Manor, I gave each elf the choice of freedom, or complete loyalty to me and my policies. Now, I didn't do this out of any misguided ideas of elf rights. I simply wanted to ensure complete, unwavering cooperation. None of them chose freedom. They are HAPPY."
"Well, they seem almost too happy. It's not natural," was her mutinous reply.
"That is the way house elves are. Forget the idea of tyranny and think symbiosis. They need us as much as we need them. We give them purpose and they take care of us. They often feel they own us, by the way." Snape's dark gaze was ironic.
Hermione felt a little disgruntled that she wasn't getting anywhere in this argument. Not that anyone ever seemed to listen to her when it came to house-elves, but it irritated her that Snape's reasoning was so damnably logical. She suddenly felt a tiny bit confused.
"Think about it, Hermione."
That was a good idea. She'd think about it, and then she'd have just the right logical arguments for him later. Right now she felt too tired to spar anymore with him. All that grand passion in the middle of the day was taking it's toll. She did feel curious, however.
"How come they were so extra happy to meet me? They seemed gladder to see me than they were to see you."
Her husband's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Oh, that. That should be obvious, Hermione. They are hoping for increase. Marriage means babies and they can hardly wait for you to become pregnant. In fact, they've been watching for me to bring home a bride for years. Since I'm rarely ever at the Manor, they have little to do. A bunch of little Snape children running about the place would seem like paradise to them."
Hermione gaped and he smirked harder. "It's a good thing my elves know nothing of Muggle contraception, or I'd advise you to carefully guard your supply of pills. If they knew what those pills did, they might substitute with some artful little lumps of colored sugar, and they'd actually feel they were acting in your best interest."
Her best interest indeed! Hermione shook her head silently. So they had been waiting and watching for him to bring home a wife. She remembered the sensation of being watched as she moved through the house. The elves had been wondering if she was the bride they were waiting for. Then, suddenly, a horrific idea came to her.
"Severus! You don't think they were watching us when we were..."
Snape's face froze in startled amazement. He made a grimace of suppressed mirth and rolled his eyes as if praying for patience."Merlin's Wand, Hermione! Elves don't do that, child. Their strict code of etiquette forbids that sort of trespass."Then his eyes gleamed mockingly at her sigh of relief. "But I'm sure they had their eager little ears pressed tight to the walls...and the keyhole as well."
Her sputter of outrage only earned her another smirk.
