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rillaliciousHello there, fandom. I have missed you. I'm reading DH with the hellmonkeys and feeling nostalgic for the old days, I think. Also, I have written a new chapter. Yay for that! That wee baby I was expecting the last time I updated? Is now 9 months old and almost ready to walk. Also in that time I lost another laptop. Luckily I had this story saved on google docs, but unluckily, I now have to share a computer with 4 other people in this house.
Title: The Lives of the Saints
Pairing: SS/HG
Rating: That's a bridge I'll cross when I come to it.
Summary: Sometimes death is only the beginning. In this chapter: Hermione's curiosity gets the best of her, and someone is waiting on the other side.
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Making no money.
A/N: Thanks always for reading and reviewing. And, um, hanging in there for over a year.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2
Chapter 3
"You're pacing again," Silas said absently, absorbed in the Daily Prophet.
"I am?" Rose looked down at her own two feet as if she'd never seen them before. She hadn't even realized she was moving. "Oh, I suppose I am." She didn't stop walking the soft path of worn wood in front of the window seat.
Silas chuckled. "The older you get, the more you sound like your grandfather."
"Don't say that," said Rose. "My hair is thin enough these days."
"Nonsense. Your hair is beautiful," Silas said.
Rose rolled her eyes. "It's just so... strange now that she's gone. Empty. The fireplace is so quiet these days." Her mother's constant reminders, which had extended well beyond Rose's youth and hadn't stopped even when Rose became a grandmother, had been a nearly unbearable annoyance while Hermione was alive, but now...
"Blessedly so," Silas murmured, and Rose pretended not to hear him. He was blunt to a fault at times, and though it could be easily mistaken for insensitivity, Rose knew better. Silas folded his paper and set it on the table beside him.
"Shall I take you outside for a walk, or are you content to carve out a gorge in the middle of my library?"
Rose nodded and tucked her hands into the pockets of her robes. "A walk it is," she said.
Silas rose to his feet and slipped an arm around her waist, guiding her out through the large glass doors and into the garden. A wind chime glittered and tinkled in the light breeze, hanging from one of the apple trees just outside the door. The sound was comforting. The chime had been a gift from her mother when Silas and Rose had first moved into this house, the year Ellery was born. When she was very small, Ellery used to say that the chimes sounded like she thought the voices of the fairies would. Rose watched the blue glass crystals clink together in the sunlight and she thought her daughter was probably right.
~@~@~@~
"Do you want to know why I've retrieved your soul?" The Faery Queen's voice was as sharp and cold as a frozen knife and it sliced through Hermione's thoughtful pause.
"Of course I do," she said, blinking.
This was the first time she had noticed that she could blink, and the sensation was strange. She tilted her head to the side as the Faery Queen spoke, blinking slowly, watching the ethereal royal before her slide from frame to frame in her vision. The Queen didn't seem to notice.
"Your family," the Queen began. She paused, either for effect or because she was carefully measuring each word. "Your family is bound together. The ties are strong."
"Well, yes," Hermione said, impatient for the Queen to reveal her purpose.
"You're not truly one of them, of course, but you'll do. Your blood runs through their veins now."
Hermione's slowly developing form had a stomach now; she knew that because she felt it leap toward her throat as the Queen spoke. The Weasleys. What on earth did the Queen want with the Weasleys?
"What are they to you?" Hermione asked.
"Nothing," said the Queen. Then her eyes flashed silver. "And everything. But for now, you needn't concern yourself with any of it."
"If you refuse to give me an answer, then why tell me anything at all?"
"I tell you what I wish to tell you, and nothing more."
Was this some sort of puzzle, or was it a game? The Queen raised her chin, as if she had decided that Hermione did not deserve another word of explanation. Just like that, the conversation had ended. Hadn't it only just begun?
Hermione's mind worked furiously as she tried to piece it all together. She knew very little of the Faery Realm; its existence was largely considered an old witch's tale with no merit in the scholarly world and Hermione had never given it her attention. Now she found herself wishing she'd been more like her old schoolmate, Luna Lovegood. Luna would have known all about the Faery Realm, about the Queen, about countless other things that Hermione had considered unnecessary, and possibly non-existent. The Queen was speaking again, and Hermione shook off her internal frustration, forcing herself to focus on the words.
"It will take you some time to get used to your new body," the Queen said, "and I have accounted for that. Narleil will accompany you back to your chambers and will answer any questions you may have. You may explore the palace at my discretion. Narleil knows what is forbidden and will see to it," here the Queen smiled coldly, "that you learn quickly. Go with her now. I will call for you in three days time."
The flame-haired creature that had brought Hermione the shift to wear upon her arrival materialized before them, gave Hermione a discerning look, then turned and darted down the long hall. Hermione followed in haste.
The first two days passed slowly, and Hermione began to think that death brought with it more frustrations than life ever had. She'd gone over it a thousand times, laid it all out in her head, so clearly that she could see her notes spread out before her on the backs of her eyelids when she closed them. Oh, what she would have given for a quill and some parchment! Any kind of writing utensil would do. She would have happily scratched out every last word on a flat stone, or a piece of wood, but she had none of that here. Even though she knew that she had recreated the Weasley family tree in her mind with meticulous precision, there had to be something she was missing. She knew she'd be able to find it if only she could trace her fingertips over tactile letters and dates. There had to be some reason the Faery Queen had interest in the Weasleys.
And there was something else, too, something that had been eating away at the back of her consciousness ever since the Queen had given her the tour of the hall of souls. That last jar on the bottom shelf, she couldn't shake its silvery green glow from her mind. There was a human soul in there, confined to a tiny glass prison, and though she knew that a soul resided in each one of the Queen's carefully collected jars, this was a soul she recognized. Severus Snape. She hadn't thought about that name in a very long time.
Hermione drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She hadn't sat this way since she was little more than a girl, but it brought some soft comfort with it, and for that she was grateful. Things were so peculiar here. It wasn't at all what she had been expecting when she closed her eyes after that final exhalation in the human world. Then she'd been expecting nothing but darkness, or perhaps some deep forgetting that resulted in an entirely new life. But this? She never would have believed that something like this had been awaiting her. She wondered where Ron was. Was he a soul in a jar somewhere too, like Snape? How dreadful an imprisonment that must be.
Severus Snape had been every bit as despicable as he had been brave, but an eternity spent on a shelf was more than she would have wished on any enemy, certainly more than the bitter, sarcastic potions master deserved. In the end, he had been a hero, hadn't he? Her mind was made up, then. She would steal back into that chamber, find the jar that contained Severus Snape's soul and... What would she do next? She had no idea what to do with a human soul in a jar. Would she talk to it? What good would that do? Hide it from the Faery Queen? She didn't even know why it was in there in the first place. What if he had wanted his soul to end up like that?
She couldn't help smiling. It would be so fitting if she were to 'rescue' Severus Snape from the fate he'd chosen for himself, and condemn him to live out an almost human existence for the rest of eternity.
That was it, wasn't it? She wanted to restore him, somehow. Maybe she could help him become whatever she was, or maybe something different. Maybe all she had to do was open the jar and his soul would be released to the afterlife for which it had been intended. It didn't really matter, as long as she freed him. At the very least, this adventure would take her mind off that ominous conversation with the Queen about the Weasley family. She still hadn't been able to puzzle that out.
It only took one night for Hermione to come up with a plan to break into the hall of souls. She called for Narleil shortly after breakfast, knowing that it was likely the Queen had ordered the small creature to keep an eye on her. Hermione had made up a list of menial tasks, small things that would not draw attention for being out of the ordinary, but which would keep Narleil quite occupied while Hermione retrieved Snape's jar and returned to her own quarters. Hiding the jar would be much more difficult, and she was not quite sure what she would do if the Faery Queen noticed that the jar had gone missing, but she reckoned those were details that would work themselves out in the end. The Queen would call for her tomorrow and she did not know what would await her then. Today might be all she had left.
She had spent quite a long time reading jar after jar of human souls before she realized that the names on each jar were not written in English. It was a faery script, she decided, but somehow she understood it anyway. Maybe that was because she resided in this realm now. Did that make her one of them? She certainly still felt human, but not as young as her renewed body. She felt like a child playing dress up in reverse. Wasn't this every old woman's dream? To retain the wisdom of so many years of life and also the vibrancy of youth? Except nothing was vibrant here. It was insubstantial and sterile, beautiful beyond all imagining, but without the shadows that make the light meaningful. Even this room, dimmer than the rest of the palace, the unbearable sense of cleanliness pervaded.
Hermione paused, suddenly aware of her heart beating in her chest. These things would happen on occasion since her passing, like humanity was returning to her consciousness one tiny step at a time. Did she need a heart now? She didn't know. Was there now blood running through the veins of this body from so long ago? Maybe it had been there, unnoticed, all along. She began to walk again, aware of her pulse in her ears even though she didn't feel particularly nervous right now. Finally, she reached the end of the shelf.
Severus Snape. There it was, in twisted, vine-like script across a neat white label. She picked the jar up and it vibrated in her hand. She could feel the glass humming.
"Are you really in there?" she asked, watching the sparks bump and bounce off the walls of the jar.
Some of the jars contained white sparks, without the slightest tint of a different color. Snape's sparks were white at the center, but when she looked closely she could see a deep, gem-like green glow around the edges. Her ceaseless curiosity wanted to know what that meant, but her practicality told her that it was time to stow away the jar and hurry from this room before she was caught. She didn't need the wrath of the Faery Queen to distract her just now. There were too many mysteries to untangle in this place.
Upon returning to her room, she stashed the jar beneath her bed. She needed time to think, but she wasn't sure she would be afforded it. If the Faery Queen found out the jar was missing... Oh, why did she have to act so impulsively? Damn her blasted curiosity.
She wet her lips, and felt it this time, the cool slippery saliva on her mouth. Perhaps sentience was coming faster now that the adrenaline had begun to flow. She bent in half to pluck the bottle out from between her feet and beneath the bed. The glass was still vibrating. How many years had it been? Had Snape spent that small eternity beating at the walls of his glass prison? She placed a trembling hand on the lid of the jar. One turn and...
How could she be so stupid? She hadn't even thought to check for enchantments. Had death made her forget she was a witch? She didn't have a wand here, but she had learned a few wandless spells in her lifetime. She whispered the words and waited. Nothing happened, though as she held her breath she thought she might be able to hear the tinkling of the dancing sparks in the silence. Her fingers closed over the lid of the jar. She drew in a soft breath, then began to turn her wrist. The lid gave way.
As she lifted it off completely, a blinding light filled the room. Hermione was thrown back against the bed, and for the first time since regaining a body, she felt pain split down the back of her head as she cracked it against the headboard. Her eyes were still squeezed shut against the intrusive light when she heard a voice, small and far away, but unmistakable in its silkiness.
"After all this time, the first human face I see has to be yours?"
She opened her eyes and blinked, trying to make out form or figure in the brilliant glow, but as her eyes adjusted to it all she could see were three dancing sparks hovering near the ceiling. There was no mistaking that the voice had come from those sparks. Whatever he was now, Severus Snape was free.
~@~@~@~
The silvery, nearly-transparent figure hung in the upper window of the rundown cottage like a drapery, shoulders sagging in immense boredom as he watched the occasional beggar or Muggle scurry down the street, drifting along the uneven stones like river flotsam. Though twenty-five years was not as long in death as it would have been in life, he grew more impatient as each season passed. Where was that miserable coward? Why had he not come back? He should have come back. This was all he had, wasn't it?
A group of boys, no older than his son had been when he left for Hogwarts, came shuffling by on the street below. One of them paused and jerked his head back at the house. He reached into his sweatshirt and pulled out something long and smooth. A wand. A larger boy reached out and grabbed his arm, probably reminding him of the restrictions on underaged magic, if such restrictions were even still in place anymore. Another dropped to his knees and collected a handful of loose pebbles. Then, standing, drew back his arm and prepared to throw them at one of the cottage's two unbroken windows, the one at which the ghost hung unseen.
The ghost's sole purpose had been stifled for many years, and his vengeful appetites were greedy and ferocious by now. Moments like these provided rare pleasure. It wasn't often that he had a chance to enjoy himself after his death. He roared and swelled in the window, bending the entire face of the cottage outward, down toward the boys who cowered and screamed, and huddled together like the unworthy adversaries they were.
"Nothing but Squibs and Muggle-loving filth!" the voice bellowed, and the boys scrambled back across the stony street, over the curb, tripping and shoving each other as they fumbled for an escape route.
As they disappeared into alleyways and shrubbery, the house's facade began to deflate, shrinking back down to its original size and standing quite straight and still again.
Lucius Malfoy drifted away from the window, back into the hovel-like cottage to maintain his unending vigil.
Title: The Lives of the Saints
Pairing: SS/HG
Rating: That's a bridge I'll cross when I come to it.
Summary: Sometimes death is only the beginning. In this chapter: Hermione's curiosity gets the best of her, and someone is waiting on the other side.
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. Making no money.
A/N: Thanks always for reading and reviewing. And, um, hanging in there for over a year.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2
Chapter 3
"You're pacing again," Silas said absently, absorbed in the Daily Prophet.
"I am?" Rose looked down at her own two feet as if she'd never seen them before. She hadn't even realized she was moving. "Oh, I suppose I am." She didn't stop walking the soft path of worn wood in front of the window seat.
Silas chuckled. "The older you get, the more you sound like your grandfather."
"Don't say that," said Rose. "My hair is thin enough these days."
"Nonsense. Your hair is beautiful," Silas said.
Rose rolled her eyes. "It's just so... strange now that she's gone. Empty. The fireplace is so quiet these days." Her mother's constant reminders, which had extended well beyond Rose's youth and hadn't stopped even when Rose became a grandmother, had been a nearly unbearable annoyance while Hermione was alive, but now...
"Blessedly so," Silas murmured, and Rose pretended not to hear him. He was blunt to a fault at times, and though it could be easily mistaken for insensitivity, Rose knew better. Silas folded his paper and set it on the table beside him.
"Shall I take you outside for a walk, or are you content to carve out a gorge in the middle of my library?"
Rose nodded and tucked her hands into the pockets of her robes. "A walk it is," she said.
Silas rose to his feet and slipped an arm around her waist, guiding her out through the large glass doors and into the garden. A wind chime glittered and tinkled in the light breeze, hanging from one of the apple trees just outside the door. The sound was comforting. The chime had been a gift from her mother when Silas and Rose had first moved into this house, the year Ellery was born. When she was very small, Ellery used to say that the chimes sounded like she thought the voices of the fairies would. Rose watched the blue glass crystals clink together in the sunlight and she thought her daughter was probably right.
~@~@~@~
"Do you want to know why I've retrieved your soul?" The Faery Queen's voice was as sharp and cold as a frozen knife and it sliced through Hermione's thoughtful pause.
"Of course I do," she said, blinking.
This was the first time she had noticed that she could blink, and the sensation was strange. She tilted her head to the side as the Faery Queen spoke, blinking slowly, watching the ethereal royal before her slide from frame to frame in her vision. The Queen didn't seem to notice.
"Your family," the Queen began. She paused, either for effect or because she was carefully measuring each word. "Your family is bound together. The ties are strong."
"Well, yes," Hermione said, impatient for the Queen to reveal her purpose.
"You're not truly one of them, of course, but you'll do. Your blood runs through their veins now."
Hermione's slowly developing form had a stomach now; she knew that because she felt it leap toward her throat as the Queen spoke. The Weasleys. What on earth did the Queen want with the Weasleys?
"What are they to you?" Hermione asked.
"Nothing," said the Queen. Then her eyes flashed silver. "And everything. But for now, you needn't concern yourself with any of it."
"If you refuse to give me an answer, then why tell me anything at all?"
"I tell you what I wish to tell you, and nothing more."
Was this some sort of puzzle, or was it a game? The Queen raised her chin, as if she had decided that Hermione did not deserve another word of explanation. Just like that, the conversation had ended. Hadn't it only just begun?
Hermione's mind worked furiously as she tried to piece it all together. She knew very little of the Faery Realm; its existence was largely considered an old witch's tale with no merit in the scholarly world and Hermione had never given it her attention. Now she found herself wishing she'd been more like her old schoolmate, Luna Lovegood. Luna would have known all about the Faery Realm, about the Queen, about countless other things that Hermione had considered unnecessary, and possibly non-existent. The Queen was speaking again, and Hermione shook off her internal frustration, forcing herself to focus on the words.
"It will take you some time to get used to your new body," the Queen said, "and I have accounted for that. Narleil will accompany you back to your chambers and will answer any questions you may have. You may explore the palace at my discretion. Narleil knows what is forbidden and will see to it," here the Queen smiled coldly, "that you learn quickly. Go with her now. I will call for you in three days time."
The flame-haired creature that had brought Hermione the shift to wear upon her arrival materialized before them, gave Hermione a discerning look, then turned and darted down the long hall. Hermione followed in haste.
The first two days passed slowly, and Hermione began to think that death brought with it more frustrations than life ever had. She'd gone over it a thousand times, laid it all out in her head, so clearly that she could see her notes spread out before her on the backs of her eyelids when she closed them. Oh, what she would have given for a quill and some parchment! Any kind of writing utensil would do. She would have happily scratched out every last word on a flat stone, or a piece of wood, but she had none of that here. Even though she knew that she had recreated the Weasley family tree in her mind with meticulous precision, there had to be something she was missing. She knew she'd be able to find it if only she could trace her fingertips over tactile letters and dates. There had to be some reason the Faery Queen had interest in the Weasleys.
And there was something else, too, something that had been eating away at the back of her consciousness ever since the Queen had given her the tour of the hall of souls. That last jar on the bottom shelf, she couldn't shake its silvery green glow from her mind. There was a human soul in there, confined to a tiny glass prison, and though she knew that a soul resided in each one of the Queen's carefully collected jars, this was a soul she recognized. Severus Snape. She hadn't thought about that name in a very long time.
Hermione drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She hadn't sat this way since she was little more than a girl, but it brought some soft comfort with it, and for that she was grateful. Things were so peculiar here. It wasn't at all what she had been expecting when she closed her eyes after that final exhalation in the human world. Then she'd been expecting nothing but darkness, or perhaps some deep forgetting that resulted in an entirely new life. But this? She never would have believed that something like this had been awaiting her. She wondered where Ron was. Was he a soul in a jar somewhere too, like Snape? How dreadful an imprisonment that must be.
Severus Snape had been every bit as despicable as he had been brave, but an eternity spent on a shelf was more than she would have wished on any enemy, certainly more than the bitter, sarcastic potions master deserved. In the end, he had been a hero, hadn't he? Her mind was made up, then. She would steal back into that chamber, find the jar that contained Severus Snape's soul and... What would she do next? She had no idea what to do with a human soul in a jar. Would she talk to it? What good would that do? Hide it from the Faery Queen? She didn't even know why it was in there in the first place. What if he had wanted his soul to end up like that?
She couldn't help smiling. It would be so fitting if she were to 'rescue' Severus Snape from the fate he'd chosen for himself, and condemn him to live out an almost human existence for the rest of eternity.
That was it, wasn't it? She wanted to restore him, somehow. Maybe she could help him become whatever she was, or maybe something different. Maybe all she had to do was open the jar and his soul would be released to the afterlife for which it had been intended. It didn't really matter, as long as she freed him. At the very least, this adventure would take her mind off that ominous conversation with the Queen about the Weasley family. She still hadn't been able to puzzle that out.
It only took one night for Hermione to come up with a plan to break into the hall of souls. She called for Narleil shortly after breakfast, knowing that it was likely the Queen had ordered the small creature to keep an eye on her. Hermione had made up a list of menial tasks, small things that would not draw attention for being out of the ordinary, but which would keep Narleil quite occupied while Hermione retrieved Snape's jar and returned to her own quarters. Hiding the jar would be much more difficult, and she was not quite sure what she would do if the Faery Queen noticed that the jar had gone missing, but she reckoned those were details that would work themselves out in the end. The Queen would call for her tomorrow and she did not know what would await her then. Today might be all she had left.
She had spent quite a long time reading jar after jar of human souls before she realized that the names on each jar were not written in English. It was a faery script, she decided, but somehow she understood it anyway. Maybe that was because she resided in this realm now. Did that make her one of them? She certainly still felt human, but not as young as her renewed body. She felt like a child playing dress up in reverse. Wasn't this every old woman's dream? To retain the wisdom of so many years of life and also the vibrancy of youth? Except nothing was vibrant here. It was insubstantial and sterile, beautiful beyond all imagining, but without the shadows that make the light meaningful. Even this room, dimmer than the rest of the palace, the unbearable sense of cleanliness pervaded.
Hermione paused, suddenly aware of her heart beating in her chest. These things would happen on occasion since her passing, like humanity was returning to her consciousness one tiny step at a time. Did she need a heart now? She didn't know. Was there now blood running through the veins of this body from so long ago? Maybe it had been there, unnoticed, all along. She began to walk again, aware of her pulse in her ears even though she didn't feel particularly nervous right now. Finally, she reached the end of the shelf.
Severus Snape. There it was, in twisted, vine-like script across a neat white label. She picked the jar up and it vibrated in her hand. She could feel the glass humming.
"Are you really in there?" she asked, watching the sparks bump and bounce off the walls of the jar.
Some of the jars contained white sparks, without the slightest tint of a different color. Snape's sparks were white at the center, but when she looked closely she could see a deep, gem-like green glow around the edges. Her ceaseless curiosity wanted to know what that meant, but her practicality told her that it was time to stow away the jar and hurry from this room before she was caught. She didn't need the wrath of the Faery Queen to distract her just now. There were too many mysteries to untangle in this place.
Upon returning to her room, she stashed the jar beneath her bed. She needed time to think, but she wasn't sure she would be afforded it. If the Faery Queen found out the jar was missing... Oh, why did she have to act so impulsively? Damn her blasted curiosity.
She wet her lips, and felt it this time, the cool slippery saliva on her mouth. Perhaps sentience was coming faster now that the adrenaline had begun to flow. She bent in half to pluck the bottle out from between her feet and beneath the bed. The glass was still vibrating. How many years had it been? Had Snape spent that small eternity beating at the walls of his glass prison? She placed a trembling hand on the lid of the jar. One turn and...
How could she be so stupid? She hadn't even thought to check for enchantments. Had death made her forget she was a witch? She didn't have a wand here, but she had learned a few wandless spells in her lifetime. She whispered the words and waited. Nothing happened, though as she held her breath she thought she might be able to hear the tinkling of the dancing sparks in the silence. Her fingers closed over the lid of the jar. She drew in a soft breath, then began to turn her wrist. The lid gave way.
As she lifted it off completely, a blinding light filled the room. Hermione was thrown back against the bed, and for the first time since regaining a body, she felt pain split down the back of her head as she cracked it against the headboard. Her eyes were still squeezed shut against the intrusive light when she heard a voice, small and far away, but unmistakable in its silkiness.
"After all this time, the first human face I see has to be yours?"
She opened her eyes and blinked, trying to make out form or figure in the brilliant glow, but as her eyes adjusted to it all she could see were three dancing sparks hovering near the ceiling. There was no mistaking that the voice had come from those sparks. Whatever he was now, Severus Snape was free.
~@~@~@~
The silvery, nearly-transparent figure hung in the upper window of the rundown cottage like a drapery, shoulders sagging in immense boredom as he watched the occasional beggar or Muggle scurry down the street, drifting along the uneven stones like river flotsam. Though twenty-five years was not as long in death as it would have been in life, he grew more impatient as each season passed. Where was that miserable coward? Why had he not come back? He should have come back. This was all he had, wasn't it?
A group of boys, no older than his son had been when he left for Hogwarts, came shuffling by on the street below. One of them paused and jerked his head back at the house. He reached into his sweatshirt and pulled out something long and smooth. A wand. A larger boy reached out and grabbed his arm, probably reminding him of the restrictions on underaged magic, if such restrictions were even still in place anymore. Another dropped to his knees and collected a handful of loose pebbles. Then, standing, drew back his arm and prepared to throw them at one of the cottage's two unbroken windows, the one at which the ghost hung unseen.
The ghost's sole purpose had been stifled for many years, and his vengeful appetites were greedy and ferocious by now. Moments like these provided rare pleasure. It wasn't often that he had a chance to enjoy himself after his death. He roared and swelled in the window, bending the entire face of the cottage outward, down toward the boys who cowered and screamed, and huddled together like the unworthy adversaries they were.
"Nothing but Squibs and Muggle-loving filth!" the voice bellowed, and the boys scrambled back across the stony street, over the curb, tripping and shoving each other as they fumbled for an escape route.
As they disappeared into alleyways and shrubbery, the house's facade began to deflate, shrinking back down to its original size and standing quite straight and still again.
Lucius Malfoy drifted away from the window, back into the hovel-like cottage to maintain his unending vigil.
