Work Text:
There was an urgent rapping on Severus’s door. Hermione put a pillow over her head and tried to ignore it. Urgent rapping in The Hive generally meant that the destructive predisposition of the current residents had spilled over from something artistic into something structural. The pillow on the head was Hermione’s only refuge against being called upon to re-plaster a wall or replace a windowpane.
The rapping intensified.
“Hey Cindy!” shouted Maddie. “Get your bony arse out here!”
Hermione groaned. She burrowed under the blankets in the hope her cotton fortress would save her. Suddenly she felt hands clasp her ankles and she was unceremoniously yanked backwards out of bed.
She looked up from the floor at an unexpected sight. Maddie and Cathy in what could only be described as French Revolutionary chic. Maddie was slouching against the doorframe in striped cotton trousers under a hip-skimming blue jacket. A soft, brimless red felt hat perched atop her spiked hair. Cathy’s double-breasted tailcoat was a muted brown-striped cotton, with brown breeches underneath. Large rectangle signs were dangling from Cathy’s hand, but Hermione couldn’t read them from where she was sitting.
“Hello,” said Cathy. “We think you should come with us.”
“Are we auditioning for Les Misérables?” Hermione asked. “I’m afraid I’m tone deaf.”
“Maybe,” Maddie said cheerfully. “Who doesn’t like a play that highlights how a patriarchal system exploits and violates women through sexual slavery, without demonising the profession of sex work?”
“Oh. I guess I didn’t think of it like that. I just liked the Empty Chairs song,” said Hermione.
“Hmmm. Survivor guilt. Intriguing choice, Cindy,” Maddie said and fixed Hermione with a piercing stare.
“We’re going to Westminster,” said Cathy. She smoothed her hands across her dreadlocks and flipped them into a hairband. “To begin some political discussions.”
“Typical bourgeoisie bullshit,” said Maddie. “What she means is, it’s guillotine time.”
What on earth? Hermione thought.
“While that all sounds like something I’d normally be jumping at the chance to be involved in,” Hermione said. “I’m really not interested in being arrested at the moment, or at the very least, gaining the type of attention that a public execution of the wealthy elite would bring.”
“Already thought of that,” Cathy said cheerfully. “We’ve got you a costume.”
“It’s got a metaphorical hood,” said Maddie.
“As well as a literal one,” added Cathy.
They held up a long, black robe that, for a heart-stopping moment, looked like Severus’s teaching robes. Looking closer, she identified the executioner’s hood.
“That’s nice,” said Hermione. “But I still don’t think I’ll come along all the same. I mean...exactly what are we protesting?”
“The Tories have started to make noises about abortion legislation,” said Cathy. “Reforming it.”
“We all know what that means,” scoffed Maddie. “And I happen to believe that everyone can fuck off in regards to a woman’s body except the that particular woman who owns that body.”
Hermione stared at the two women in front of her, then to the robe. She thought about the Wizengamot. About Ron. About a dusty, old potions book.
“Right,” she said firmly. “Give me the robe.”
Numerous underground stops and at least two station changes later, Hermione finally worked up the courage to ask something that had been bothering her.
“Why do you have a set of executioner robes?” she tentatively queried.
The robe, which was cut away in some parts, exposing her upper arms and sternum, were obviously made from a fine quality wool. The stitches in the seams were practically invisible.
“They weren’t originally those,” said Cathy. “They’re repurposed.”
“What she’s trying to be all cagey about,” said Maddie. “Is that I took them out of Snape’s bin.”
“What?” Hermione asked, looking down at the robes in horror.
She was currently dressed in Severus’s robes. Fuck. She hoped it wasn’t the ones he was wearing in the shack when he…. well….when he almost died (or technically died at any rate, in terms of any links to Wizarding Britain). An urge to rip the fabric from her body rose within her.
“Refuse is fair game,” Maddie shrugged. “He wouldn’t care.”
“Two more stops to go,” announced Cathy. “Hand me the bag.”
Hermione watched as Maddie threw her the canvas rucksack that she’d been hauling since they had strong armed her at The Hive. The large cardboard signs the women had been carrying previously dropped flat on the floor of the train. Hermione tilted her head to one side so she could read them both.
Think outside my box.
Strong women scare weak men.
“No sign for you I’m afraid Cindy,” said Maddie. “You’ll have to emasculate men with your withering stare instead.”
“Fine,” agreed Hermione. “Act normal. Got it.”
Cathy drew out something out of the bag that resembled a sheep carcass. Hermione, who was about to question whether dragging around the dead body of a domesticated farm animal was relevant to bodily autonomy, was shocked out of speech when Cath put the item on her head.
“Does it look okay?” Cathy asked.
“Only you’ve got it on backwards,” drawled Maddie.
Cathy frowned and twisted the mass of white wool one-hundred and eighty degrees. And suddenly it was no longer an ex-lamb. It was a fair approximation of une perruque à la Marie Antoinette. A small guillotine leaned dangerously to one side in the front of the wig.
“Wow. People back then must have had serious neck muscles,” Cathy complained. “I feel like I’m going to snap.”
“I imagine it will feel worse after we walk there,” observed Maddie. “Rage is useful but. Performative.”
Cathy sighed and stood up as the calm voice announced their arrival at Westminster Station. Hermione stood up as well, the hood of the robes still dangling from her right hand.
“Pop your hood on Cindy,” said Maddie. “Time to go to the ball.”
There was the usual weak, ineffectual sun, promising much yet delivering little. Hermione was slightly pleased to have the coverage of the remaining parts of the roads as their odd trio made their way towards the grandiose building. There were bollards out the front, bright orange and cheerful in their imposition upon the footpath.
“Here looks good,” said Cathy.
“What do I do?” Hermione asked nervously.
“Revolution,” whispered Maddie. “Come on Cindy. You're acting like you’ve never brought down a government before.”
“I’ll have you know I was the second most wanted person in Britain at one point,” Hermione snapped.
“That’s the spirit!” Cathy said. “Mesdames et messieurs. Join us!”
The shout from Cathy was so unexpected that Hermione barely noticed as Maddie took a small megaphone out from the bag and began singing into it.
“Do you hear the women shout?
Shouting at all the stupid men?
It is the shouting of our wombs that won’t be policed again!”
A small crowd of tourists, who had been scattered around the building taking selfies, moved towards them. Hermione tugged the hood more firmly over her eyes. She wasn’t regretting being there. Not one bit.
Okay.
Maybe a little.
“When the cocks who run our state-
try to control a woman's fate,
there is a revolution about to start
and here we are!”
Maddie sang to the crowd.
A group of middle-aged women clapped and cheered. Down three bollards and the the left, a busker began to strum a ukulele along with Maddie’s slightly off-tune rendition. In the corner of her eye Hermione could see a security guard speaking into his radio.
“Will you join our crusade?
Who will be strong and stand with me?
- Beyond the patriarchy there is a world you long to see!”
Maddie entreated to a stronger and more boisterous sound of applause.
“Cut down on abortions!
Vasectomies for all men!”
Cathy shouted, and the tiny guillotine teetering in her wig clacked ominously.
“Line up, free castrations today!” Maddie added.
Hermione thought she’d better do something, so she pointed menacingly at the guillotine and made a chopping motion near her groin. The burst of laughter from the crowd made her grin under the hood. She’d never taken part in anything like this before. It was actually kind of fun.
“All right ladies, that’s enough entertainment for today,” called a voice that had the kind of bone weary tone usually only found in someone who had been looking after a herd of small children—or a flock of geese—for more than twelve hours straight.
“It’s the fuzz!” shouted Maddie. “Liberté, Egalité, Féminisme!”
“Yes, yes, that’s all very well,” said Sergeant Pezutti. “You’ve had your fun.”
Directly next to him, clad in a black anti-stab vest, with the checkered black and white tie poking up over the top, was Constable Peachey. The intimidating vest was diminished somewhat by the large grin she was attempting, and failing, to hide behind her hand.
“Join us sister!” Cath entreated. She half collapsed on the footpath, and swooned dramatically. The guillotine swayed and clacked with the movement and Hermione was struck with A Perfect Idea. She stuck her hand into the robes where she had a few shrunken items Just In Case. Her fingers clasped around the pen, which was quickly Transfigured a large, rubber kranksy. The sausage was then removed and brandished to the onlookers. The tip of the sausage flopped back and forth grotesquely as Hermione shook it.
“Mon corps, mon choix!” Hermione intoned in the lowest voice she could. And in front of Cathy’s surprised face she inserted the kranksy into the guillotine and watched as the tip was cut clean off.
The small crowd of women cheered. The men wore identical expressions of concern.
“Bloody nice work Cindy,” said Maddie. “Maybe I’m rubbing off on you.”
“Right,” said Pezutti. “That’s it then.”
“What are you arresting us for?” Cathy said. “There’s nothing illegal about performative art.”
“We’re busking,” said Maddie.
“There’s a nudity law,” said Peachey in a dry tone. “And Maddie’s arse is hanging out.”
“That’s a statement,” said Maddie.
Hermione lent back to peer around at Maddie’s trousers. The cheeks had been cut out of the trousers she was wearing, and her bare buttocks were exposed. It hadn’t occurred to Hermione to make sure everyone was clothed before they left. It hadn’t even occurred to her that would be an issue.
“On what?” Pezutti asked, his arms crossed.
“Western puritanical perceptions of female nudity,” explained Maddie.
“Makes sense,” shrugged Peachey.
“Nothing in police college prepared me for this,” sighed Pezutti.
“Exactly!” Cathy said, using her elbow to push herself up from her seated position. “You feel underprepared. Yet you are a paramilitary arm of the government. That’s the scary thing.”
“I think you may be losing control of the situation here,” suggested Peachey.
“Just a few friends having a conversation, isn’t that right Maddie?” Pezutti asked.
“No,” said Maddie. “We are on opposing sides. I think.”
Hermione stood in her hood, watching the interaction with interest. Finally the older police officer sighed again.
“Alright. Off we go then,” he said.
“Can I sit into the front?” Maddie asked.
“No,” said Pezutti.
The two police officers ushered the three women to the police van parked across the street. Cathy and Maddie waved to the crowd as they walked, Maddie donating her sign to an elderly woman, Cathy passed hers to a young boy. Hermione kept the hood on her head.
She definitely didn’t want to get arrested and charged and then end up in court. One court hearing was enough. Let alone two. Particularly if one was focusing on trying to prove she had an abortion, and the other on detaining her for being at a pro-abortion rally.
Severus, Hermione thought wildly, was going to skin her alive. This was exactly the type of very very un-Slytherin behaviour she’d been trying to shake. A thought crossed her mind that he would be very disappointed in her. Decision made, she snuck her hand into the robe, and her fingers danced along a miniaturised necklace in her pocket.
“In you go,” said Peachey cheerfully. “Mind your heads.”
“How is your gout?” Maddie asked in a conversational tone as Pezutti started the engine. He sighed.
“Fine,” he said.
“Told you to give up meat,” Maddie said with a shark-like grin.
“Don’t antagonise him,” said Cathy. “He’s undergoing cognitive dissonance.”
“Is he?” asked Peachey despite herself.
“Yes,” said Cathy. “He likes enforcing the law, but hates locking up his favourite people with whom he largely agrees.”
Hermione craned her neck and saw Pezutti’s neck flush red and his hands tighten on the wheel at Cathy’s comment.
“I think you’re both better off applying your brains to something useful,” he said. “And legal,” he added.
“Dismantling the patriarchy is useful,” argued Maddie.
But neither officer said anything, except for Peachey, who turned and threw the three passengers a grim smile. No one smiled back. It was a silent ride to the station. Peachey escorted them into a small room, where they all sat.
“What now?” Hermione asked.
“The tyrannical wheels of justice,” shrugged Cathy. She put the wig down on the floor and lay down on it- like it was a pillow in a penthouse, not the grimy floor of a police station. Hermione offered her the executioner's robe as a blanket.
It didn’t feel like much time had passed before the door opened and a very thin-lipped Pezutti stood there.
“Out,” he said. “Consider this your last warning. It’s definitely the lockup next time. And for goodness’ sake Maddie, cover your arse.”
Cathy scrambled to her feet and handed her jacket to Maddie, who swapped it for the waist-skimming blue one. Once on, the jacket covered her buttocks. Pezutti nodded his satisfaction. Without a word, the three women made their way past Pezutti, who eventually shrugged with a wry expression. Maddie opened her mouth as they left the station, but Hermione tugged on her arm firmly and she shut it again.
Outside, the sun was still feebly attempting to warm the concrete streets of London. A large, dove-grey car was parked outside the police station, directly next to a sign that read Emergency Vehicles Only.
“Oh yes,” said Maddie. “Bloody typical. Harass us but leave a rich ponce to do what he likes.”
She strode up to the car and knocked loudly on the window.
“You can’t park here you fecking idiot,” she shouted.
The rear passenger window glided down to reveal Draco Malfoy’s pale grey eyes.
“Surprise, surprise,” sneered Maddie. “It’s a white man. Cute though.”
“You call this laying low Granger?” Draco asked, seemingly completely ignoring Maddie.
“Definitions are tricky things,” Hermione said.
“Don’t make a habit of it,” he said.
“Speaking of habits,” Maddie said, leaning onto the edge of the car and leering at Draco. “Wanna develop some bad ones?”
Dravo’s face twisted in revulsion and the window serenely slid up, the dark tint hiding his face from Hermione. Maddie stepped back from the car as it pulled away from the curb and with a throaty engine roar, joined the flowing traffic.
“Did me a favour really,” said Maddie. “It’s pretty obvious he’s never made anyone come his entire life.”
Hermione burst out laughing. She’d remember that for some time.
The tube ride back with Cathy and Maddie was uncharacteristically quiet. Both seemed content with the outing, and Hermione oddly felt the same. Maybe things like today made a difference or maybe they didn’t. But she’d done something. And that was better than lying down and letting everything wash over her. Revolution before resignation.
It was nearly evening by the time she got back to Severus’s. When she let herself in the front door he was lying on the couch reading a paperback that had a picture of two men in silver spacesuits being devoured by a large worm on the cover.
“Hello,” Hermione said.
“There’s leftovers if you’re hungry,” Severus said without looking up from his book.
“Thank you,” said Hermione. “I am.”
She took off her sneakers and placed them carefully by her door before padding past the couch. Before she could second guess her initial reaction she lent down and bussed his cheek lightly. This caught his attention and he glanced up.
“What have you been entertaining yourself with today?” he asked.
“Oh you know,” shrugged Hermione, thinking of guillotines and nudity and the criminal justice system. “The usual.”
“I see,” said Severus. He put down the paperback, a bookmark carefully tucked between the pages and stretched both arms up above his head. His T-shirt rucked up slightly across his stomach. “That bad hey?”
“Not the worst by any stretch of the imagination,” said Hermione.
“Your comment suggests it isn’t the best either,” said Severus. “Can you imagine mediocre? Or is that also too much of a stretch?”
“This is how I live now,” Hermione joked wryly.
“At least you’re living,” shrugged Severus. “Awake and breathing in and out isn’t anything to scoff at.”
Living.
Yes, thought Hermione. Maybe she was living. For the first time in some time. It was a cheering notion.
“Don’t suppose there’s any sweets?” she asked.
Severus sighed and sat up. “Beaten into submission,” he grumbled. “Called into domestic servility.”
“Coaxed,” Hermione said sweetly.
He flipped an irritated hand, but lessened the gesture with a quicksilver smile. Hermione smiled back.
Actually, it was turning out to be a pretty great day all around.