Lord Snape's Dilemma – Lady Hermione's World

It all belongs to Rowling, except what you don't recognize

 "Custom, from the earliest periods of antiquity, has endeavoured to place the female mind in the subordinate ranks of intellectual sociability.  WOMAN has ever been considered as a lovely and fascinating part of the creation, but her claims to mental equality have not only been questioned, by envious and interested skeptics; but, by a barbarous policy in the other sex, considerably depressed, for want of liberal and classical cultivation.  I will not expatiate largely on the doctrines of certain philosophical sensualists, who have aided in this destructive oppression, because an illustrious British female, (whose death has not be sufficiently lamented, but to whose genius posterity will render justice) has already written volumes in vindication of "The Rights of Woman." But I shall endeavour to prove that, under the present state of mental subordination, universal knowledge is not only benumbed and blighted, but true happiness, originating in enlightened manners, retarded in its progress. Let WOMAN once assert her proper sphere, unshackled by prejudice, and unsophisticated by vanity; and pride, (the noblest species of pride,) will establish her claims to the participation of power, both mentally and corporeally.

"Take that Jean Jacque Rousseau," and Hermione snapped her fingers as she put down her copy of Mary Robinson's Letter to the Women of England, which she found still carried a message as vital now as it had been when first written in 1799.  Her greatest solace, her greatest friends were all found between the leather covers of her books!  She would never have survived the indignities of being married to the brooding and intense man that was Severus Snape had it not been for these very noble and loyal friends.  Hermione found herself again quite moved by the passage written in defense of Mary Wollstonecraft, a great mind that was lost when she died from childbirth. 

Hermione paced her room, still fuming over the injustices put upon women in general and on herself in particular!

Surely the entire household was mad!  Her husband leaving her to help the local minister-- What sort of mooncalf did they take her for?  And what were they all hiding?

Hermione had nothing if not a creative and inquisitive mind.  Up until then all her mental acuity had been spent on her correspondences with long distance (and now that she was in London much closer) acquaintances.  But now she began to conjure up images of where her husband had really gone.

The first conjecture she dismissed as simply too base, that he had a Cytherian and that she was raising a breeze over his marriage.  No, no, she thought, much too prosaic.  That left family problems.  A frail sister who was never spoken of because she had been disowned.  Good.  A mad sister who was kept in the attic of some old and decrepit castle, hmm, it had been done to death in several novels, but that didn't mean that life couldn't imitate art.  Yes, much, much better.  Could he be a spy for Napoleon?  Possibly.  What about his being a spy for the Regency? Impossible.  He made it quite clear that he thought the rulers of Great Britain were a bunch of Muttonheads.  He'd never support the Regent.  He'd spoken his mind over and over in a rather treasonous manner of how the government, especially Parliament was getting in over their heads in the war.  Let Nappy cross the channel and then fight him on our own soil, he'd said.  Of course, that would never happen, thought Hermione.

Sadly, Hermione had totally missed out on the fact that Snape tended to be hardest on his own self and on those he loved.  If he tormented and taunted his valet, Potter, it was because he had no friends except for his servant.  In fact, Snape didn't trust anyone enough to make a friend and never had.  But the power and influence he had over the young man allowed him an intimacy with Potter that, had he been able to be honest with himself, he would have seen was fatherly love of the first degree.

Snape was incredibly loyal, to the point of jingoism, when it came to Britannia.  He felt embarrassed by the depth and intensity of his love for his motherland.  He'd spent his own money and resources for years to protect his country.  He'd give his life for England in a heartbeat, and in fact, nearly had.

And so it was also with Hermione.  Even though Malfoy had tried to poison his mind against her, the venom could not diminish his love for her.  Snape might rant and rail against bluestockings and uppity literati in corsets, but Hermione was indelibly inscribed on his heart.  And even if Malfoy had never said or done a thing, the relationship would have probably hit some major obstacles anyway simply because Snape had one great fear: intimacy.  He'd conquered his fear to the point of his asking her hand from her father.  But to lay himself open enough to say he loved her, well, pigs had an easier time singing "God Save the King".

Thus, Hermione was in essence totally off-track as to why her husband had flown off.  Nonetheless, a bright girl on many levels, she did have an additional insight into her husband's erratic behavior.

She lay on her stomach across her bed and thought of how it felt; his breathe against her face, his tongue thrusting itself between her lips.  She knew the evils of self-love but still, as she thought of him, quite against her will-- her upper thighs rubbed against each other and the inner throbbing began.  She knew that she mustn't reach down there, that a woman doing so would spoil herself for any man.  She had to wait for him, for 'it' to enter her and split her open.  She knew she'd be brave.  She wouldn't cry out as his hugeness entered her and rent her asunder.  She'd be courageous and not cry from the agonizing white-hot pain that he would inflict upon her that first time they came together.

No, no, she was made of sterner stuff.  She'd lie there and take him, take him all in, without complaint.  She'd close her eyes and think of God and Country.  She'd lose her virginity with honor and dignity… oooooh  God, God, God, God, oh Goooooood!  Her body went into spasms and she spent itself without a sound…

It is a rare and talented woman who is capable of merely using the power of her own mind to reach climax.  Yet, that was the eerie and somewhat witch-like power of Lady Hermione Snape nee Granger's mind.  Completely dressed, sans dildo, sans hands, sans touching herself anywhere, her body climbed up and then sunk into orgasmic frenzy.  It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last.  She stayed motionless on the bed, face and body flushed; bloomers soaked, and forced herself to breath slowly and deeply.  And then the tears came. 

"Severus.  Why aren't you here, my love?" she sobbed.  She felt she knew the answer as to why her husband refused to consummate the marriage.  He was afraid.  He was afraid that he'd be too rough, that he'd lose control of himself and hurt her.  That had to be it, of course.  He just loved her too much to allow himself to debase her with his masculine needs.  Oh my dear, sweet Severus, thought Hermione, if only you knew what a wanton woman you've married.  Not in deed, perhaps, but in mind.

Wiping her tears away, she dressed for bed.  Hit by sudden inspiration, she crossed the hall to her husband's chambers.  She would wait for him here.  And even if he weren't quite ready to cross the threshold from man and woman to husband and wife, at least she'd have the comfort of his presence.  She inhaled his scent from the sheets on his bed and blissfully fell asleep.

&&&

"Thank you so much for coming, Count."  Lady Minerva McGonagall rose and escorted the handsome man to the door of her sitting room.

He bent over her hand and gently kissed it.  "It is not often that I leave my humble dwelling anymore.  I choose now to, like Candide, "Cultivate my own garden." I fear I shall never be able to escape the horrors presented by my memories of the last century."

"My dear Count.  If your vision was correct and my Grandnephew is indeed well and living in London, I shall pray for you each and every day that your sorrow be lifted as a reward for your service.  Yours is a miraculous power to do good in this world, but you cannot save us all."

With that, the elegantly dressed man left.

Albus Dumbledore, Majordomo and long time confident of Lady McGonagall closed the door on the man that he considered to be no more than a trickster.

"My Lady, I hope you did not give him too much as recompense for this vision." In spite of the harshness of his words, the gentle twinkle of his blue eyes showed that he had only concern for her well-being.  He popped a sugarplum into his mouth.

"Not even a penny, my dear Albus."  She sat down and poured another cup of tea and gave it to the wizened man before her.  "I was a child when I first met the Count de Saint-Germain.  His looks have not changed a wit in sixty years.  He is a wizard of the first degree.  And if he says my Grandnephew is alive and well in London, then he is.

"I shall write to Lord Snape and let him know that I will, after all, be taking him up on the offer to stay with him in London for the season.  He has a young wife now and he was hoping I would instruct her in the way of the Ton.  Perhaps we will kill two birds with one stone.

&&&

Lord Severus Snape found himself cast headlong back into his old profession of double agent.  It had been awhile.  Hidden in the hold of the swift free trader's vessel, Snape realized that he could have said 'no'.  He was married now and Lord Nelson, Wellington, Prinny, they would have understood.  But he couldn't, not so close to the defeat of Napoleon and his greatest supporter, Lord Voldemort. 

He hadn't even had time to say goodbye to Hermione.  He thought back to his last mission and how it had led to him meeting his wife…

tbc

A/N:

Just had to share this one with you:

Lady C------g and her two daughters having taken lodgings at a leather-breeches maker's in Piccadilly, (the sign of the Cock and Leather-Breeches) was always put to the blush when she was obliged to give anybody direction to her lodgings, the sign being so odd a one; upon which my Lady, a very good sort of woman, sending for her landlord, a jolly young fellow, told him, she liked him and his lodgings very well, but she must be obliged to quit them on account of his sign, for she was ashamed to tell anybody where it was. "O! dear madam," said the young fellow, "I would do anything rather than lose so good lodgers, I can easily alter my sign." "So I think," answered my Lady, "and I'll tell you how you may satisfy both me and my daughters: only take down your breeches and let your cock stand."

For more period jokes:

For those of you interested in Mary Robinson's Letter to the Women of England, please go to:

Robinson was in the letter referring to the French philosopher, Jean Jacque Rousseau, who obviously didn't support her feminist cause.  Also in the letter she referred to Mary Wollstonecraft who had written a major early text of feminism, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792) and who died early in life from puerperal fever.  Her death was a complication of giving birth to Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, the author of Frankenstein (1818).

Not much in the Glossary, not that I'm lazy but I don't believe cant is proper speech for ladies.  I could be wrong, if someone knows better, let me know.

Mooncalf = Fool

Cytherian = Mistress

Muttonhead = Fool or stupid person

Rousseau = 18th Century French Philosopher

Mary Wollstonecraft = 18th Century Feminist

Sans = Without (middle English from old French, found used in both Shakespeare and Chaucer)

Majordomo = steward

Ton = Everything that is fashionable, the cream of society

Candide = Satirical 18th Century book by Voltaire

Prinny = nickname for the Prince Regent

Raising a breeze = up to some mischief

Someone wanted me to incorporate magic into the story.  Well, you don't get any more magical than the appearance of Le Compte de Saint-Germain.  For more information on this historical yet mysterious and reputed immortal, please go to:

Many thanks to my reviewers: Faeschild, NJFirescape, Manaliabird, MadAboutHarry, Queenie, and Tracey

I promise to be less scholarly in my next chapter. Please don't get turned off!!! And lot's more Severus coming up.

( It's just that if Hermione's a bluestocking, well, it's all meat and potatoes to her.  And, before anyone asks, yes, my Ph.D. thesis was to be on late eighteenth century, early nineteen-century Feminism and Gothic theatre.  Let's not even go there, shall we?)