Author's Note: It's been kind of awhile between updates, thanks to everyone who's holding on! Here is chapter four, everyone can see Hermione get her you-know-what kicked for not listening to her 'dad.'
Caged
Chapter Four
"Hermione!" Papa shouts across his desk to where I stand, shaking. "I can't
even begin to imagine what you were thinking!"
If I had a tail, it would be between my legs, I think to myself as I keep my head bowed and my mouth shut.
His face is turning almost purple as he yells, a voice so booming that it fills every crack in the room, "You disobeyed me! I deliberately told you to stay in the carriage while I was in the bank, and I believed you would listen to me!"
"Papa I-"
"SHUT UP!" he snaps, like a slap in the face. "You did exactly what I told you not to do! I put my faith in you, I thought you were old enough to go along with me and this is how you repay me?! This is how you say thank you?!"
My hands are shaking violently, not only from fear, but from anger as well, I have to keep them clasped together to keep them still. I don't dare look at Papa, for fear I'll spit in his eye.
"You've been acting like a child Hermione," he says. "You should be behaving like a young lady, but I just see a child before me."
I clench my teeth, trying desperately not to say something in return.
He takes a deep breath through his nose, "This is unforgivabe, absolutely unforgivable."
"But Papa, I'm sorry-"
"Don't speak to me!"
I study the ornate patterns of the carpet below my feet. How I long to lash out at him. I can just imagine the words pouring out of my mouth, thick and hot, like drinking soup and then spewing it everywhere. My lips almost tingle thinking about it, speaking my mind, proving my own point. But I can't, I'm already in deep enough as it is. But how I long to question him, Why can't I go outside Papa? Why have you locked me in our houses for ever?
"You are to stay in your room, until I say otherwise. No walks to the park with Mrs. Jacobs, no coming along on trips to the bank with me ever again," he says gravely, looking at me square in the eyes for a minute. When he looks away I realize fear, fear was twinkling in his eyes.
But Papa, what are you afraid of?
"Now leave me," he says, waving me away,
I keep my fists clenched at my sides and I leave his study, marching silently upstairs and into my room. If I thought I was prisoner before, things just managed to get worse. How much longer can I go on like this? How much longer can I stand being alone this way?
I collapse onto my bed, crying.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
I'm woken up by one of the maids, Jessamine, who tells me father is having my dinner set up in the kitchen. He won't even have dinner with me, I think to myself. Before going downstairs I rinse the sleep and dried tears from my face and fix my hair as much as I can on my own.
As I walk down the stairs and finally into the kitchen, I conclude Mrs. Jacobs must not be back yet. Surely if she was back she would have woken me up sooner and given me her own separate talking-to.
I find my plate of food waiting for me at a small table across from the dish basins. The kitchen is empty and I know the servants have already had their dinner. And now I realize father has found a new way to punish me, to make me eat where the servants eat, even after the servants have been fed. He's put me down at a new low.
It's not as if I really want to eat the food in front of me, but I take a few bites and move it around a little to make it look as if I've eaten it and then go back upstairs. When I open my door I'm greeted by the unhappy figure of Mrs. Jacobs sitting in a chair in the corner. I freeze for a minute. She's already spoken to father about my behavior and managed to get up here before I did.
I walk the rest of the way into the room and close the door behind me.
She doesn't say anything, sits stock-still and stares at me.
"Did you speak to father?" I ask
She nods, "I did."
I wait for her to reprimand me, because I know it's only a matter of seconds before it happens.
"I'm very disappointed in you," she says slowly. "Your father deliberately told you to stay in the cab and you disobeyed him."
There's a short silence between us.
"I'm sorry!" I cry.
But am I really?
"I'm sorry that father found out, and I'm sorry I got punished.... But I'm not sorry that I did it," I say with hollow confidence.
"Hermione!"
I say, "It's true! Mrs. Jacobs, why should I apologize for talking to people my own age? Why should I be punished for wanting friends!"
"Hermione, watch your tongue," she scolds me. "Your father is an intelligent man and he has his reasons for the things he does," she straightens her shoulders confidently.
I pause, my mind reeling with a new sort of revolution.
"Mrs. Jacobs, do you know why father won't let me out of the house? Do you know the reason he's never let me make friends?"
Her eyes flicker with something I can't distinguish and she shakes her head, "No."
I don't know if I believe her.
She stands up out of her chair and dusts of the lap of her skirt, "Your father told me you are to be left alone in your room to think about what you've done," she walks past me and then opens the door. "If you should need me I'll be in my room, but I won't be answering any more foolish questions, understood?"
She doesn't wait for an answer, only walks through the door and closes it loudly behind her. What are all the adults in my life hiding from me? I roll the question over and over in my head as I move to sit on a small sofa resting against the wall opposite my bed. Why is Mrs. Jacobs always siding with father? Doesn't she think I should have some friends? How am I supposed to survive without them?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
A week goes by and my punishment is not once lifted. I spend my days mostly in my room and I eat my meals after Papa is finished, alone, in the dining room. Mrs. Jacobs is cold towards me and Papa won't see me at all. Honestly, you would think I had committed a murder.
With all this empty time I find myself spending it picking apart and playing over the details of my meeting the three odd people from the park. I roll over the image of their clothes in my mind, finding that my memory of it slips and fades a little everyday. I have almost completely forgotten what the girl looks like, but I remember the tall boy's bright and fiery red hair, and mostly the raven-haired boy's brilliant green eyes.
The freshest thing in my mind is their talk of hog warts, most disgusting. The history of hog warts? why would the girl need to read about their history? I rack my brain for anything I've ever read or heard about a Hogsmeade, as well. But throughout all my travelling and all the facts I've acquired throughout my life I have no idea what they were talking.
And I remember they called me a muggle.
Instilled with a sudden bought of bravery, and the constant knowledge that I can't get into any more trouble, I ask the stable boy, the footman, the cook, and the scullery maid what a muggle is. To my surprise no one knows. I was sure it was some sort of foul word.
I finally pluck up the courage to ask my Latin teacher when he comes for my lesson, but he's baffled as well. And then, he berates me for making up silly words.
Within the solitude of my sentence I find myself without anything to do. Books are forbidden from me and I'm only ever allowed out of my room for meals, lessons, and to go to the washroom. I find I'm constantly thinking about the three I met. Friends. The only reason I'm under a sort of lockdown. I try to name them and give them personalities. The red haired two are obviously siblings, but what of the boy with the black hair? I have a lot of trouble fitting a name to his face which is always etched into my mind, never once slipping away.
I think of him often, more than the other two, and find I smile whenever his face appears in my mind. Inside my
horrible circumstances I find a bit of happiness. Why do I feel so odd thinking about him? What is that flutter within
my chest? The feeling scares me a little, because it's so unfamiliar, but at the same time, it's like an elixir
and I find I'm wanting more.
Author's Note: Sorry if it's too short or too- not good enough? I had an original idea for this
chapter that I totally scrapped it because it wasn't working out and this chapter had to happen in order for the
next chapters to happen. Hope you liked it! Please review!