Tangled Up in Blue

CHAPTER FOUR: The Good Part

Hermione could hardly contain her excitement as she leapt from her bed and bolted toward the door, heart racing. Although Draco had specified it wouldn’t be Harry, there was still a small part of Hermione that couldn’t help but hope that it would be her raven-haired best friend on the other side of the door. After taking a calming breath, she turned the glass knob, eyes trained on the wooden floor.

“Hermione?” asked a very familiar voice, and she looked up quickly. Hermione let out a squeal as she threw her arms around her visitor, laughing.

“Neville!” she cried, pulling back to look at him, grinning. “I can’t believe it’s you!” True to form, Neville looked troubled.

“You can’t? Oh, um... ask me something only I would know,” he suggested, gently taking her hands from his shoulders. “And you really shouldn’t hug a person if you’re not even sure of who they are,” he continued sternly. Hermione laughed out loud and hugged him again, then pulled him into the room.

“Don’t be silly, Neville, of course I know it’s you...” she started, but he shook his head and interrupted her.

“Ask me something,” he demanded, and Hermione smiled from ear to ear. She was feeling a bubble of emotion start to churn in her stomach. His ignorant persistence would have clearly identified the man as Neville Longbottom, even had she not been sure.

“All right, then...” she agreed, voice soft and slightly misty. “Which ingredient in a sleeping draft determines the length of potency?” Neville’s smile dropped suddenly and he blinked.

“What?” he whispered, and Hermione giggled.

“I asked which ingredient in a sleeping draft will determine its potency. Surely you know...?” she said, lifting an eyebrow, and Neville looked panicky.

“Er... uh... snake skin?” he guessed in a quiet voice, eyes closed lightly in hope that he were right. Hermione laughed.

“There isn’t even snake skin IN a sleeping draft...” she started, but he took her shoulders and interrupted her.

“All right,” he said. “I don’t know... but I swear it’s really me! Ask me anything that doesn’t have to do with potions and I’ll tell you! Unless of course it’s transfiguration... or history of magic... or the password to the common room...” Hermione laughed out loud and shook her head.

“Neville, Neville... I know it’s you, calm down. I didn’t think you’d really know,” she said, but he seemed cond. “d. “If you WERN’T Neville and I asked you a question you were supposed to know, you’d have answered correctly, although I knew the real Neville wouldn’t. See?” He shook his head slowly. “Never mind, then... how have you been?” Neville’s bemusement was replaced with pride.

“I’ve been wonderful,” he beamed as Hermione lead him to sit down on the bed. She smiled politely as she listened, sincerely interested. “I’m married... she’s a muggle, but her sister went to Hogwarts, and we’re expecting a baby sometime in the next two months or so. Her name is Janelle.” Hermione placed a hand on his leg and smiled.

“That’s wonderful, Neville. I’m so happy for you,” she told him honestly. Neville blushed and continued his story.

“We live in London now, ever since the last concur. She was afraid, what with the Morzmen, that’s what we call Mauriz’s followers, so close, so I moved us. Had to protect her, after all,” he said, smiling at the thought of his wife, whom he obviously adored.

“Of course,” Hermione said, but she sounded confused. “But... Draco told me about a farmhouse in Canterbury... he said everyone lived together.” Neville chuckled.

“Well, not EVERYONE... how could seven years of Hogwarts alumni fit into one house, Hermione? Be it six stories or not.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she mused, chuckling lightly at the thought, and Neville smiled warmly.

“I used to live there. A lot more of us did right after the war... it’s a come and go place; more like a safe hotel. Right now, Harry, Ron, and a lot of others from our year live there... mostly those who haven’t found families yet. Janelle’s sister lived there when I did; she graduated a year before we would have, good friends with Fred and George... and Ginny. Her sister introduced us, and we courted, married, and moved out.”

“Oh, Neville... what happened to Ginny?” Hermione wondered, feeling the emotional swirl thicken in her stomach. She felt nauseous.

“She wasn’t sent out with the rest of us...” Neville said solemnly. “She was kept with you and the others, but she bit her first husband when he tried to touch her and they sent her to a different establishment... a harsher one, if you can imagine. It was one of our first few targets, because of that. It was like a dominion... they had whips and chains...” he shuttered. “It was horrible. Ginny was lucky, though... she was married to one of our inside guys fairly quickly, so she only had to go through a few months of the real thing, then almost a year in Seamus’ care before we took the place down.” Hermione nodded sadly.

“Well, that’s good, then...” she said softly, and Neville nodded.

“She lives at the farmhouse now, with Ron and everyone... didn’t change her one bit. She has a few scars and occasionally will spend an entire day or two in her room, but for the most part she’s as chipper as ever. Good thing, too... if he’d lost Ginny too, I don’t know what Ron would’ve done.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Neville said, smiling crookedly. “Everyone thought you were dead, Hermione. Harry was sure as the sun that Mauriz would have killed you the first chance he got... no one dared disagree. Ron took it hard, that’s all I’m saying. Of course, Harry was pretty much devastated. I think he loves you, myself. He didn’t want to do anything for the longest time... just moped around. And then we got the house, and he stayed in his room for weeks at a time without coming out, even for dinner. Ron was generally quiet and withdrawn, but Harry was practically dead on his feet. He wouldn’t have even helped in the defeats had we not persuaded him to do it for you. You’re his everything, Hermione. Always were, and still are.” Hermione ignored the few tears that escaped from her eyes, but Neville looked to them with concern. He tried to apologize, but she shook her head.

“What did he say when Draco said he found me?” she asked smiling with salty lips. Neville smirked knowingly.

“He bloody near passed out. Had to sit him down and fan him with magazines for a good quarter hour,” he said and Hermione giggled softly, sniffling as she wiped her eyes. “Then, when the shock wore off, he demanded to come and see you. Punched Draco in the eye when he suggested otherwise. It took a unified effort for us to calm the both of them down, and it was only after we brought up the matter of your safety would Harry listen to reason. If he barged in here and just started knocking on doors until he found you, it’d look a bit suspicious. Mauriz would catch on, and head us off before we could surprise him. Then he probably WOULD kill you. Obviously, this scared Harry into being rational. He wrote you a letter, though,” Neville said, fishing in his back pocket for a folded piece of parchment. “I didn’t read it,” he promised as he handed it to her, and Hermione took it lovingly in her hands, cradling it to her chest. She wouldn’t jeopardize her time with Neville by reading and, most probably, crying for the rest of their meeting. Neither knew how long he’d be there, but it wouldn’t be forever. Hermione would have liked to be alone with Harry, anyway... or at least his written word. She did open it, however, to see his familiar handwriting, blurry near the end where the ink hadn’t had time to dry. New tears welled up in her eyes regardless of her promise. Hermione turned her face away from the letter and looked back to Neville with a smile. He was observing her a bit uncomfortably, smiling guiltily.

“Neville,” she said softly, and he perked a bit, eager to listen. “Why doesn’t Mauriz KNOW you all condemned the other establishments? Wouldn’t he have noticed?” Neville shook his head.

“It’s pure luck on our part, really. Mauriz is a bloody lazy git. He hasn’t left this building since the war; sends servants out to get food for the castle, buy him things, check the other establishments. Luckily, they’re always women. They usually don’t put up much of a fuss about lying, so we just send them back with false information and send Mauriz forged letters to prove it. He’s complacent as a clam up in Dumbledore’s office waiting on his brides, and doesn’t even notice we’ve got spies right under his nose. He’s a bloody idiot; I have no idea how he managed to keep all this up,” Neville said, shaking his head.

“That seems awfully risky...” Hermione stated, and Neville nodded.

“Very much so, but we have no other plan,” he said, then smiled. “We don’t have anyone as smart as you on the outside.” Hermione smiled softly at the compliment, then turned her eyes back to the floor, frowning. Neville soon shared her mood. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I’ve been incredibly insensitive,” he realized, frowning. “I always do that... here you are, completely miserable, and I come and start talking about my wife and the farm house...” he sighed. “I’m as much an idiot now as I was in school.”

“No, Neville... you’ve been wonderful. I’ve desperately needed such company and if it couldn’t be Harry or Ron, I’m glad it was you,” she corrected honestly, and Neville blushed. There was a semi-awkward pause, which was broken by a knock on the door. Hermione straightened in alarm and shared a look with Neville. “Yes?” she called, and the door cracked open, revealing Sergio, dressed in his suit and sunglasses. He bowed from the doorway and remained professional.

“I am sorry to disturb you, but Master Mauriz has requested your judgmon ton the... accommodations, Mr. Lanwitz. He wishes you to report to his office as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, Sergio,” Neville said to the butler, then turned slightly to Hermione. “Lanwitz is the name I use so’s not to raise suspicion. I really am Neville.” She giggled softly and nodded. “I’ll be there in two shakes,” he then spoke to the man in the doorway.

Sergio bowed slightly and smiled at Hermione, then closed the door again, leaving her to heave a heavy sigh.

“I’d better go,” Neville said solemnly, standing from the bed. Hermione gently placed her letter on the mattress and stood beside him, nodding slowly. “I’m glad to see you’re alright... for the most part.” She smiled at him and nodded her thanks. “It’ll be better now,” he promised, pulling her into a hug of his own. “Draco will take care of you until we can make some more... permanent arrangements.” He pulled away with a smile and Hermione nodded. “He won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. You can sleep all day or lounge in the bathtub... you’ll almost hate to leave.” Hermione laughed softly.

“I doubt that last bit. Thank you so much, Neville,” she said and placed a kiss on his cheek. He blushed and started toward the door with his host in toe. “What will you tell Mauriz?” she asked softly, and Neville turned back, smiling.

“We’ve already rehearsed it. I’m going to tell him that I have my eye on a girl from Starmean, which we have already taken over, and that I plan to take my business there, but if something were to change, this would be my next choice.”

“And he’ll buy that?”

“Of course,” Neville assured. “He’s a complete idiot. Trust me.” Hermione nodded as he opened the door, and he sighed. “Take care of yourself, Hermione. Harry is counting on you.” And in a moment, he was gone.

Hermione felt herself immediately breaking down. When Neville had been with her, it was easy to forget the truth and imagine she were simply having tea and would see him again soon. Now that he was gone, reality weighed her down. Hermione sunk back onto her bed and hung her head, allowing the coursing emotion to wash over her. She had never missed her friends as much as she did now, now that she had been given one only to have them taken away again.

It was then that she remembered Harry’s letter. After mopping damp eyes with her fingertips, Hermione quickly picked up her letter and gently opened it.

-x- -x- -x-

Dearest Hermione,

I can’t even imagine where to start. It doesn’t help that I don’t have very long to think. I’m speechless as it is; I’ve only just been told that Draco found you. The first thing that comes to mind to say is that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have accepted you as dead and given up... I should have gone looking. Everything you’ve been through is completely my fault, and I won’t tolerate you telling me otherwise.

Everyone misses you, Hermione. Ron and I the most. He’s baking cookies with Ginny and Teige right now, if you can believe it, and if I’m not mistaken, I think he might be whistling. Teige is Neville’s wife’s sister; she’s like our clan mother. You’ll meet her, I promise, and you’ll get along famously. She reminds everyone of you... I myself have slipped and called her Mione before.

Now I’m just rambling, and Neville is begging me to hurry up. I’m sending him to see you, and I’m not sure why. It’s just a feeling. I know you were rather fond of Neville and I don’t think you’ll disapprove. Merlin, there’s so much I want to tell you; it’s tearing me up, knowing you’re out there and I can’t see you. I promise we’ll get you out soon; I’ve never been so determined. If I weren’t here writing, I’d be coming up with a plan of attack.

I want to tell you one last thing before Draco breaks my quill. He’s risking a lot even leaving like this, you know. It’s technically unorthodox for any of the husbands to ever leave; I have no idea what he’s going to use an excuse. But he’s clever, he’ll think of something. Come to think of it, this must be pretty odd for you, isn’t it? Last time I saw you, we all hated Malfoy. I can’t really say he’s changed, it’s more like we understand each other now. We’re on common ground; there’s nothing to fight over. I am fairly confident he’s gotten over his muggle-born phobia, so you shouldn’t have any problems, but once you come home you tell me anything he said to upset you. It’s not that I don’t trust Draco, I’m just not sure where he stands.

But here I am rambling again, and about Malfoy of all people. Back to that last thing I wanted to say; Hermione, I love you. I know, that’s like the most radical thing you’ve ever heard, but I swear it’s true. And it has been, for so long... I was just afraid. Afraid of what you’d say, afraid for our friendship; afraid of rejection. But then, I thought I lost you, and it spun my perspective. I thought I’d never get to tell you, and I know this isn’t exactly the most romantic way to do it, but I couldn’t let another opportunity slip away. I can’t let you just pass through my fingers again. I love you, Hermione Granger, and over my dead body will you ever come to more harm. Take care of yourself for me.

All my love,

Harry

-x- -x- -x-

Hermione curled into a ball on her bed, clutching the letter to her chest. She let her cheek rest against the feather pillow and cried. She cried for herself, she cried for Harry, for Harry’s pain, for Ron, for everything. She would give anything to tell Harry that she loved him too, even if the thought had never crossed her mind. After all that time apart, and the stories of his agony over her loss, she would give her life to simply ease his mind. Her escapades with Mauriz and the Morzmen, as Neville so aptly called them, had broken her from any thought that to be with someone you had to love them. She would give the world to be with Harry; to let him hold her, and kiss her, and do anything he wanted. It would be so different from anyone else... it would mean so much more. Harry would never hurt her.

-x-

Hermione soon drifted to sleep, to light dreams of purple snow. She was woken lightly by the ringing of a tiny bell, somewhere far away. She opened her eyes to realize it her her summoning bell, hanging innocently above the door. It was then that she remembered the true mechanics of her life as is; she was married to Draco Malfoy, as far as anyone here was concerned. He was summoning her. She had no choice but to answer him. And, in that moment, Hermione could care less that he was her only ticket to a semi-comfortable life and ultimate freedom; he was a bastard.

She knocked on his door minutes later, hair ruffled and eyes red. Hermione felt nothing pulling herself toward cleaning up for Draco. He would just have to take her as she was.

The door opened, but her husband dashed away without greeting, darting to the table beside his chair and stamping out a cigar stub. She wrinkled her nose and stepped inside.

“Did you need something?” she asked sourly, and he turned around. Hermione frowned immediately when she saw him, feeling a twinge of pity. She was beginning to regret her malicious thoughts; Draco was developing a good bruise around his left eye, hidden only partially by his hair. He quickly approached her, pushing her gently to the side as to close the door. She glared lightly and he offered her a smile.

“Wouldn’t want anyone to overhear...” he explained, but she looked less than amused.

“Why did you call me?” Hermione asked, casually crossing her arms, eyes trained on the floor. Draco noticed her sour mood, but thought better of questioning her and opted instead to play dumb.

“I just thought you’d want something to eat; I doubt if you ate even slop for lunch,” he said, backing toward the tray by the hearth, which that morning had sported breakfast. Hermione frowned, feeling somewhat guilty. She’d accused him of intentions much worse than wishing to FEED her.

“That’s it?” she questioned, almost hoping for a continuation with much less innocence. Draco shrugged his shoulders, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Yep. I was going to ask you how things went with Neville,” he admitted, frowning a bit. “But you don’t look as if you’d like to talk about it.” Hermione subconsciously brought a hand to her hair, smoothing it down as best she could. She was beginning to wish she’d freshened up.

“Oh...” she said, almost panicky, with a pout to her lips. “I must look horrid.” Draco shook his head as he watched her try to wipe the redness from her eyes.

“Not horrid...” he corrected. “Just distraught.” Hermione, fully over whatever had caused her to spite him, smiled embarrassedly.

“I was reading Harry’s letter...” she explained. “I’m a little overemotional.” Draco chuckled.

“Never would’ve thought,” he teased, then started back toward the hearth. “So... hungry?” Hermione shook her head.

“Honestly, no... I’m not.”

Draco, who was stirring the coals below the stew pot on the fire, turned to her and lifted an eyebrow.

“DID you eat the slop?” he asked, sounding surprised, and Hermione giggled.

“No, I just...”

“In that case,” Draco interrupted, “Go sit down, because I’m feeding you anyway.” Hermione smirked and crossed her arms.

“And why is that, exactly?” she questioned and Draco chuckled, pouring her a bowl of stew.

“Because if I let you starve to death, Harry’s going to give me a lot more than a black eye,” he said, shoving the bowl toward her. She took it with little resistance, but the frown replaced itself on her lips.

“Neville told me about that...” she said softly. “Are you alright?” Draco nodded passively.

“I think I’ll live. Can’t really blame the guy; always was the jealous sort,” he said, watching as she journeyed to and seated herself upon his bed. The chair by the cigar box was at the moment overloaded with papers and a sack of flu power, as he wasn’t going to risk leaving again. “He would stab HIMSELF just to stand as close to you as I am right now. Maybe twice.” Hermione shuttered.

“Oh, don’t say that... it’s horrible,” she said, shifting, but Draco shrugged his shoulders, coming to the other side of the bed with a bowl of stew for himself.

“I think it’s true,” he persisted, and Hermione stared idly at her soup, nudging it with a spoon.

“How many times do you think it’d take to sleep with me?” she wondered softly, and distinctly noticed that Draco’s spoon became idle. There was a lengthy pause before he sighed, placing the bowl in his lap.

“About that...” he started and Hermione listened silently, prodding the chunks of beef. “I am so sorry. I really don’t know what I was thinking when...” Draco sighed. “That’s a lie. I know exactly what I was thinking, I just have no idea what made me think it would work.” Hermione turned to him innocently, eyes curiously wide.

“What were you thinking?” she asked softly and Draco suffered a small smile, eyes trained on his stew.

“I thought you’d trust me... you seemed so broken and abused; I thought if I were gentle and I showed you that it didn’t always have to be unbearable, you’d realize I wasn’t like them... but it completely backfired. What you said this morning was completely justified, Hermione. I acted just like them, and I apologize. For seducing you, for yelling at you... and for scaring you. I really didn’t mean...” he sighed again and shook his head, ending the apology with a well-placed carrot to his tongue. Hermione nodded.

“I accept your apology, but you’re not entirely to blame... I could’ve...”

“You could’ve what?” he asked slightly icily, though it seemed not to be directed toward her. “When was the last time you pushed a man away?” Hermione hung her head in shame.

“Never...” she whispered, and Draco sighed.

“Exactly. It was my fault. Leave it there.”

“If it makes you feel any better...” Hermione started, peerin him him sideways. A deep blush made its way to her cheeks before she even finished her sentence. “I did enjoy it.” A smug smirk quickly adorned Draco’s face.

“Really?” he asked and Hermione nodded.

“I’ve never... you know... before,” she admitted, turning her face away, and Draco looked confused.

“You’ve never what? Had sex? But...”

“No, of course I have... the good part,” she corrected, trying to remain vague and still get her point across. Draco stared foromenoment, but then a brand new smirk grew from his pouty lips. Hermione blushed scarlet.

“Really? How did you manage that?”

“Well,” Hermione said, laughing. “Few of my other partners were thinking much of me during our interludes...” she said. “It was usually too fast for me. Just unlucky, I guess.”

“I’d say so,” Draco agreed. Her confession HAD made him feel better; he’d at least pleasured her. It wasn’t all a complete waste. While he continued to eat his stew and bask in revelations, Hermione sighed sadly. Draco turned to her, frowning. “What?” he prodded gently, and Hermione suffered a tiny smile.

“I just don’t know how I’m going to tell Harry...” she said softly. Draco’s spoon hit his bowl with a clang.

“You can’t tell Harry.”

“I have to...” Hermione said, turning to face him, but Draco shook his head, placing the bowl on the table beside him. He took her by the shoulders.

“No. You can’t. It would benefit no one. Do you want to hurt him like that?” Draco rationalized and Hermione refused to look him in the eye.

“But... it’d be lying...”

“No it wouldn’t. Harry isn’t going to ask for names, Hermione. In fact I’d be surprised if he asked you about it at all; he knows how hard it’s been, and he blames himself. He’s not going to rub his own face in it,” he said. Hermione turned her eyes upward, meeting his gaze.

“But what if he does? What if he swears revenge, or something?” she asked nervously, unsurprised by Draco’s shaking head.

“Leave me out. Say you can’t remember all of them... it wouldn’t really be a lie. Please, Hermione...”

Hermione’s eyes fell to the bedspread and she fought to hold back tears. She’d opened a Watergate this afternoon and it didn’t seem to want to stay closed. It didn’t help that she didn’t like what Draco was trying to do... but he sounded so desperate.

“What if he asks about you specifically? I don’t know if I can say no right to his face, Draco... I’ve never lied to Harry before,” she admitted, and Draco slumped his shoulders.

“All right...” he compromised, letting his hands melt from her shoulders. “If he asks specifically.” Draco didn’t sound as if he like the prospect at all. There was simply too much chance that Harry would find out. And he didn’t like that chance.

“Draco,” Hermione said after a period of silence, and the blond flashed his eyes toward her. “Why do you care so much? Other than the fact that he’ll probably decapitate you in your sleep...” Draco gave a course chuckle.

“THAT hadn’t even crossed my mind,” he said and sighed. “You have no idea how much and how long it took for me to get them to trust me even the tiniest bit, Hermione... And, as hard as it may be to believe, I value that trust over almost everything. I don’t want to be just Ferret-boy Malfoy to you again. I screwed up, I can admit that... but I don’t think Harry would forgive me, and I don’t blame him.”

“Oh, Draco...” Hermione whispered, reaching a comforting hand to place on his shoulder. “I had no idea, I...” Draco just shook his head and smiled at her.

“You have no fault here, Hermione. If a time comes when you feel you need to tell Harry, then feel free to do so. I will take responsibility for my actions. Until then, just try not to think too much about it... it’ll just make it harder for you.” There was a long and uncomfortable pause, bornm anm an awkward situation. Hermione took it upon herself to break it.

“Tell me about the farmhouse,” she requested, turning her attention to the stew inside her bowl. Draco smiled softly, grateful for the change in topic.

“All right.”