Happy (fake) birthday, Kaleesha!!!!! May James Phelps sexually assault you. Failing that, you have a Dean you can make out with! And eventually, you know, I'll stop broadcasting details of your life to the rest of the internet!

I almost regret writing this. We'll see...


Strength

The first time they came for him, he was in the living room. He was sitting on the couch, watching an insipid muggle children's movie almost against his will, with his daughter sitting in his lap while his son was sprawled across the other half of the couch. His wife was sitting on his other side, her head on his shoulder. They'd been together, the four of them, a family, and a happy one at that.

Harry was the first one there. He apparated directly into the foyer, but the slight pop was missed amid the obnoxious singing on the telly. It wasn't until Harry had grabbed the remote and clicked the blasted thing off that they realized they were not alone.

"Look, stay calm," Harry ordered quickly as he took their wands from the side table. "And I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

And then they were surrounded by popping sounds. She squeezed his hand until the knuckles turned white as aurors filled the room. She didn't speak, just stared at Harry, pleading him to make it not true. She didn't need to ask questions; she knew what was happening.

The fact that she knew didn't make it any easier when Harry's boss, a chubby prat named Rune Bzowski, began speaking. "Draco Malfoy, you are hereby placed under Ministry custody for questioning."

"I see," Draco replied stiffly. He wrenched his hand from his wife's, lifted Rose from his lap and handed her to Hermione. "Be good for mummy," he murmured as she squirmed. He stood gracefully and stared at the shorter man before him.

To his credit, Bzowski looked positively flummoxed. He'd been expecting a struggle, hence the number of aurors that accompanied him, but Malfoy's submission caught him off guard. He felt guilty, almost. "Right, then. Weasley, Finnegan, please accompany Mr. Malfoy to the questioning chambers."

As the aurors descended upon him, he turned abruptly and they drew their wands, anticipating a sudden struggle. He didn't struggle, though, just looked at his wife almost passively and said goodbye. They'd disaparated with him in the next moment.

She sat, shocked, on the couch, her daughter stunned in her lap, her son barely moving next to her.

"Mrs. Granger, you will also be detained for questioning," Bzowski informed her, his tone noticeably less cold.

"Mrs. Malfoy," she corrected with a glare. They'd discussed this before, the possibility that maybe she'd be taken too, but she was the brains of the Golden Trio; she was supposed to untouchable. "I'll have to request, then, half an hour to pack the children's things and take them to my mother's."

"Your children will be placed in the Ministry's custody," Bzowski told her.

She didn't bother to conceal her outrage. "You will not take my children back to that godforsaken orphanage," Hermione retorted quickly.

Bzowski sighed and almost looked human. "No. They've been assigned to a host family for the time being. And some of the aurors have volunteered to stay and pack their things."

She looked the squat man in the eye and was revolted. He knew her husband had done nothing wrong but been born into the wrong family. He knew she had done nothing wrong, either, but he was desperate and didn't care who he hurt in the process of finding answers and saving face.

"I don't suppose you will tell me who will be taking care of my children."

"No."

"Very, well, then. If anything happens to them I'll hold you personally responsible." Hermione stood slowly and then turned to kneel in front of her horrified children. "Rose, Scorpius, please be on your very best behavior. Mummy and daddy will be back soon. Remember that we love you." She kissed them both on the forehead and then stood again.

"Potter, Clancy, please accompany Mrs. Malfoy to the questioning chambers."

She vaguely registered Harry taking her elbow as she looked at her petrified children still sitting on the couch, and then they were gone.


When they landed, they were in a dimly lit reception room. "They'll be fine," Harry reassured her as he pulled her down the corridor. "I promise. I don't know where they're going, but I know they'll be well looked-after. And you won't lose your job, either; I made sure of that. Everything will be fine, I promise. But I'm sorry, Hermione." The words were a rushed whisper as the three quickly made their way to a stone staircase. The other auror said nothing, and obviously missed the tone of Harry's speech, stilted by the forced emphasis on 'I', and the hidden meaning behind the inflection; Harry was all but telling her that her children would be with him.

They would like it at Grimmauld Place, she thought. Lily and Rose got along well, and Albus and Scorpius were becoming friends also, which worked to the advantage of James, who was finally left alone. They'd have fun and be safe under Ginny's watchful, loving eyes, she knew. Harry must have gone through great lengths to make sure he got the children.

"Thank you," she whispered.

They led her up the stairs and into a small dull room. Harry left her with a wizard she didn't know with one last glance, he, too, was gone.

They ran diagnostic tests on her. Though they didn't say so, she knew they were searching for signs that she had been forced to marry him. It was an insult to her and she made sure they knew it. All they found was the recovering damage from Bellatrix Lestranger's torture. The reason she hadn't been able to bear her own children. The reason they'd adopted war orphans. She'd mentioned both facts.

They asked her about her husband. She told them the truth, that he'd blocked another damaging curse from his deranged aunt's wand during the last battle, and that when she'd found him again, lying half dead in the muddy field, she'd saved his life in return. He hadn't spoken to another one of his former compatriots since.

To her knowledge, they added smarmily.

She glared and told them that they didn't keep secrets.

They didn't seem to believe her.

She didn't know how long they kept her there. She wasn't in Azkaban, but was kept in a small cell a floor below the room they took her to question her. The room was dreary and housed only the shelf with the clothes they gave her and a small bed with rough sheets and a thin, garishly colored blanket. She was allowed to use the bathroom three times a day, and to shower every other day. Meals were brought to her room and were all about the same color and consistency, though substantial enough. There were no windows in any of the rooms they let her go in, and she quickly lost track of time. She supposed that was probably the point.

Sometimes, Harry or Ron would escort her from her cell to the questioning room. They were trying, she knew, trying desperately. Usually, though, it was someone else. People who would look at her condescendingly. She knew what they all thought, and she hated them for it.


They kept questioning her. They were talking in dull circles, swirling around and around until she could barely keep her thoughts straight. It took her a few days to realize what was happening, and then that dull, constant ache in her gut was replaced with a smoldering fire. Being passive and polite until the others grew weary had been their plan, she knew, but screw the plan, because the plan was crap and wasn't getting her anywhere.

She assessed her surroundings and realized their plan. The whole damn wing had been built with a single purpose, to wear down the souls of those in question. They wouldn't have to use truth serum, or torture, if they could confuse the inmates. The thought incensed her.

The next day, when they came for her, she had been sitting vigilantly on her bed, counting the ways she could tell Rune Bzowski where to shove it. She had been ready. She'd made her bed for the first time in days, and made an effort with her appearance, running her fingers through her unruly hair and putting on her cleanest jumpsuit.

"Shall we go, then?" She snapped at her guards. No Harry or Ron, today.

The walked her upstairs and she looked at the dismal surrondings bitterly. The whole damn place had been designed to wear her down. She was about to let them know that Hermione Malfoy was not going to be worn down with dismal corridors or juvenile mind games. She repeated the mantra in her head and felt her fury ripen. Tricked into complacency indeed.

She sat sharply on the seat they provided for her. The same man from the first day was sitting across the table from her this time. "Give me the damn truth serum," she ordered.

He looked mildly confused. "What?"

"I'm sick of these pointless games. You want to talk in circles to get the truth, and I just want out of here so I can have my husband and children back. Give me the damn truth serum and we'll get this over with."

"Mrs. Granger, you have the right to be interrogated without the serum," he began. "Under Wizarding Law-"

"I don't care about my freakin' rights. Give me the serum. You'll find that these past days have been a waste of both your time and my time, that I've been telling the truth all along. And when you're thoroughly satisfied, I would very much like a written apology from the Ministry after my children and husband are returned to me."

"Alright, then." He nodded at the auror who had brought her in. He left swiftly, leaving them alone. She stared at him icily until the auror returned with the serum. She swallowed it in one gulp.

They questioned her again, asking her the same things as before. This time, though, they had no choice but to believe her.

They kept her one more night, claiming it was protocol and that others had to review the results. It was bullshit, she knew. They were simply astonished and couldn't believe they'd made such a mistake. They thought there had to be something they'd missed, something they'd overlooked. But there wasn't.

They sent Harry to release her the next morning.


She stayed with the children at Grimmauld Place. She didn't want to go back to their home without him, so Ginny went to collect her things for her.

She learned she'd been gone for ten days. Rose and Scorpius had stayed with Harry, true to his word, and had been well looked-after. Nonetheless, they were quieter when she returned, and clingier. They slept in her bed and cried in their sleep, begging to have their mummy and daddy back. She soothed them, then cried in the wee hours of the morning in the bathroom alone when she thought no one could hear her.

Harry did his best to comfort her. He told her it was going to be okay, that the Ministry was turning to the same old suspects after the lastest rogue Death Eater spree, and that though Malfoy had served his sentence in Azkaban for the first attack on Hogwarts, and had been found not guilty in a number of other causes, he still elicited suspicion from the Ministry. They were desperate, he told her, for answers. He apologized for them and did what we could, but even as the Chosen One, his power in the Ministry was limited.

"The old, pompous coots will retire one day," he promised. "Then, it'll be us in charge. Everything will be better then, better than it was when the Ministry was overhauled after the war. But you have to admit that this one is better; at least it acts on potential threats."

She'd reluctantly agreed on that point, but it didn't slake her anger any. She wanted her husband back.


The first time he came back, he'd been gone for nearly three weeks. They was no warning before he fell out of the hearth in the Potter's sitting room, looking altogether ashy and grey, but very much alive. Hermione was out of her reading chair and in his arms in an instant. Whispering desperate declarations of love in his ear as she squeezed his thin form as if afraid he'd disappear. He'd let go her only long enough to pick up one child in each arm, then she'd embraced the three of them, and they stood in the Potter's sitting room in a sobbing, happy, heap until Ginny had come to investigate the ruckus.

They went home that night, after a cheerful and slightly relieved sendoff from the Potters. She cooked for him in the first time in nearly a month, and though she had never been a fantastic cook in the least, he finished off the stew nearly by himself. He swore it was the best meal he'd ever had.

That night, she undressed him and threw his filthy grey uniform away before scrubbing the dirt and sweat and grime from his skin while the children watched their favorite program in the other room. She noticed how pale his skin had become, and how his ribs protruded painfully. She realized that it was entirely possibly he hadn't been fed as well as she had been, nor had been allowed to bathe as regularly. Judging by the dark circles around his tired eyes, he hadn't been allowed as much rest either.

"It was better than Azkaban, love," he murmured, catching her horrified look at the pale skin sticking to his bones.

She hated the Ministry more, then.

That night, they slept in their bed for the first time since before he had been taken away. They hadn't mustered the cruel strength to banish the children to their own beds, and so slept in a tangle of flailing arms and legs.

That was the first night they didn't cry out in their sleep.


The second time they came for him, he'd been in the backyard, teaching Rose and Scorpius how to fly broomsticks, which only added to their mother's nausea as she watched from the porch. Once again, Harry was the first one there.

"Just like last time," he said frantically. "Be calm. It'll be fine. I'm so sorry."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, it was over, and the aurors had invaded. She quietly handed Harry her wand, as well as Draco's from the table, and she watched through the crowd of people as Draco pulled Rose off her broom and then dropped the broom to the ground. The little girl clung this time, though, and he was struggling to put her down when Hermione waddled through the aurors to her family.

"Rosie, daddy has to go with the nice men now," Hermione said gently as she pried her daughter from her husband's legs.

"NO!" The little girl wailed and she kicked wildly. Her foot caught her mother in the stomach, and Hermione doubled over in pain.

"Hermione!" Draco wrapped his arms around his wife, only to be pulled away by some nameless auror.

"No contact," he snapped over Rose's wailing. No sooner had his hand wrapped around Draco's elbow than Rose attacked him.

"Don't touch my daddy!" She screamed as she bit his leg. "You can't take him away again!"

Taking cues from his older sister, Scorpius began to scream as well, and punched the nearest auror in the shins only to be swept up in foreign arms as he struggled.

"Don't touch him!" Hermione snapped as she pulled her son out of the older man's arms before picking up her daughter, who had quickly be reduced to a sobbing mess on the ground, punching the ground and screaming in a true temper tantrum.

She held both writhing children tightly and watched as Bzowski called on Finnegan and Weasley to take her husband away again. She watched helplessly as he disappeared, then handed her still-squirming children to Harry before marching up to Bzowski.

"I apologize for my children," she stated meaninglessly. "This time, I'd like to skip all the pleasantries of formal interrogation and go right to the truth serum, please, so that I may return to them before serious emotional damage is inflected again."

He shook his head and almost looked ashamed. "That won't be necessary, Mrs. Granger."

"Mrs. Malfoy," she corrected pointedly.

"Of course," he muttered coldly. It was very good could he wasn't Severus Snape, for if he had the man's power to read the unprotected mind, he would have been forced to arrest Hermione for blatant insubordination for telling him exactly what sort of loathsome creature he was. "Though I could dispatch an auror to accompany you to St. Mungo's if you'd like to check on your… delicate condition."

"I'm fine," she retorted coolly. A seven year old's kick to the stomach wouldn't kill the baby, she knew, especially with the prenatal protective potions she'd been taking. She turned away from the man to face her friend. "Harry, I assume we're still welcome at Grimmauld Place?" Hermione asked. She refused to live in their home without him, and she grimly acknowledged the fact that staying with Harry was a political move highly in her favor; no better way to be spied on by an auror than to have it be a friend, and it reinforced the fact that she was loyal to him, and by extension, the entire anti-Voldemort force. Even in death, the evil man managed to tear the wizarding world apart.

He nodded. "Of course."

"I'll see you at dinner, then. Have fun interrogating my husband," she shot bitterly as she marched with her children to the door. She slammed it shut behind her, leaving a team of aurors in her backyard.


They'd been expecting it that time, at least. They'd packed bags for the children and hidden them in the front closet for Harry, not wanting to be caught unaware again but also not wanting to seem as if they were planning to escape.

They didn't plan to escape. They could have, they knew, after the first time, but they hadn't because they were innocent and wouldn't let the Ministry's prejudice force them to flee, nevermind the logistics of raising two children on the run and giving birth without medical attention. And so they had waited for the team of aurors to swoop in again and violate the sanctuary of their home.

It had been two days since the massive attack on Hogsmeade. The Prophet had reported that two, maybe three, uncaptured Death Eaters had invaded, conjured the dark mark in the sky, and shot of a number of curses to crush building and kill resistors before the aurors arrived and the Death Eaters had disappeared.

Security had doubled on Azkaban, they'd read. Teams of aurors were being stationed at popular wizarding spots all over the country, and they'd waited for the aurors to come back and question them. The part that made them both laugh bitterly with irony was that they'd been with Harry Potter at the time of the attacks, as the Potters had come over for dinner before Harry had been summoned to work suddenly on that fateful Friday night.


"Eat something, Hermione," Ginny urged. "The prenatal potions will go down easier if you do, you know."

Hermione nodded listlessly. "I know. I'm not really hungry, though." She dropped the fork she'd been fiddling with. It was late, but she'd only just got back from work in time to tuck the children into bed. Ginny had heated up leftovers for her friend, and they both waited for their husbands to come home.

"It's not good for the baby," Ginny told her. She'd been saying the same thing at every meal for two weeks.

"They ruined everything," Hermione retorted bitterly, without adequate transition. "Everything was so perfect before the damn attack. Conceiving this baby was a miracle, you know, and we were so happy, and we'd finally convinced Rose that we would still love her and keep her forever even when we had our own baby because the children in that awful orpahage told her all sorts of terrible lies, and Scorpius was finally accepting that he'd be an older brother and that he couldn't just send the baby away, and Draco was so perfect, and so attentive and doting, and it was like this baby was going to fix all the problems from the first time they took him away, and we were finally going to be a better, stronger, family and move on, and then it happened again, and I can't do this alone, Ginny, not without him…"

Hermione dissolved into tears and Ginny took her cold hand. "You're not going to be alone, Hermione. He didn't do anything wrong. He doesn't know anything. The Ministry will realize that soon enough, and he'll be back. Now eat your casserole before I hex you."


When they took him the second time, she'd been nearly seven months pregnant. That was a little over a month ago. Her belly had continued to grow to unfathomable dimensions, and she missed everything about him, from the way he happily satisfied her insane food cravings to the way he told her she was beautiful as she struggled to put on her socks. Being pregnant without him was horrible, she thought, and delivering the baby without him would be impossible.

So she stepped out of Grimmauld Place one morning and walked to the horrible little phone booth that took her to the ministry. She'd marched, to the best of her ability, to Rune Bzowski's office, and not-so-patiently waiting outside while his receptionist scuttled in to inform him that Hermione Granger had come to see him.

"Malfoy," she'd corrected the blonde tart as she strode into the office.

"Bzowski," she nodded in a cold greeting.

"Mrs. Granger," he retorted.

"Malfoy," she corrected again with a pointed glare.

"Of course. What brings you here today?"

But he already knew. "My due date is in exactly 28 days," she informed him. "I'd very much appreciate it if you released my innocent husband in time for him to see the birth of our child."

"Duly noted," he muttered dryly.

She paused to glare at him again. "Bzowski, do you recall that I told you I would hold you personally responsible if anything happened to my children?" He nodded, and she continued. "That goes for this child too," she told him. "Should I go into labor without my husband, I expect you to hold my hand as I scream in agony."

"I highly doubt that will happen."

"Good," she smirked, reading her own meaning into his words. "Have a nice day, sir," she muttered, sarcasm oozing from the words.

She marched out of his office with all the dignity a fat woman could muster.


At Grimmauld Place that night, Harry greeted her with a sly smile. "Heard you spoke to my boss today," he remarked.

She nodded. "Bastard should know what kind of pregnant woman he's dealing with."

Harry nodded and kissed his wife. "Pregnant women are a force to be reckoned with, for sure," he said, and Ginny gave him a playful swat on the arm. Hermione looked away, their affection a painful reminder of what she had lost, when Harry continued. "Anyway, there's talk that they're preparing to release some of the prisoners. He wasn't the only one they took in for questioning, you know, and he's innocent; it's only a matter of time."

Hermione hugged him as best her fat stomach would let her. "Thanks, Harry," she murmured and then made her way upstairs to take a nap after promising Ginny she'd eat something later.


The second time he came home, he'd been gone for months. The Ministry had been through two rounds of releases already, and she'd waiting in the reception room both times, shoulder to shoulder with other wives looking equally dejected but hopeful. It'd been publicized; too many people had been affected for it not to be.

Harry had gone with her the first time, and Ron the second. Even as aurors, they didn't know how would come through those doors before anyone else. And so they'd taken her back to Grimmauld Place where Ginny consoled her and she consoled her children.

The third time, it had taken her nearly half an hour just to put on her socks, and she'd been through two sobbing fits just to get downstairs so Ginny could take her to the Ministry.

There were less people waiting with her in that damn room this time, and it was less publicized because no one cared anymore. But she did. And she managed to stand on her toes despite her swollen ankles and watch to see who was coming through the door and she willed her tears back into her eyes, because she didn't want the first time he saw her in months to be marred by her looking ugly and fat. She wanted to be strong for him.

He wasn't the first one out, but she kept watching for his blond head. She'd never been particularly religious, but she prayed to every higher deity imaginable that he would come back to her, that they would let him come back to her.

She almost hadn't recognized him. His pale skin was sallow and dirty, and the green vein of his arms stood out with horrible sickly contrast. His hair was greasy and grey with dirt, far from its normal coiffed state, and he looked altogether defeated. So from the Draco Malfoy she'd known.

She hated the Ministry for it.

She ran in all her pregnant glory to meet him. The force of their embrace nearly knocked him over, and she was horrified at how brittle he felt in her arms.

And then he cried.

She held him as he fell apart in her arms and sobbed, muttering about missing her and the children and being afraid they'd taken her too, and that it'd hurt the baby, and then being afraid he'd miss the baby being born, and they stood in that damn room until they were the only ones left, and somehow she found enough strength to lend some to him.


When they got back to the Potter's, Ginny started heating up all the leftovers she could find and sent Hermione and Draco upstairs to clean up. Once again, Hermione stripped the grimy clothes from her husband's thin frame and scrubbed away at his skin until it was red. He stood in the shower, watching her wash him and fighting to stay conscious.

"It was worse than Azkaban," he murmured, catching her horrified looks through his half-closed eyes.

She dressed him in some of Harry's clothes. They hung from his bones abysmally, but they were warm and soft, and he didn't protest. They made the trek downstairs together; he, trying to support her abnormally large frame, she, trying to support his abnormally scrawny one. They found the kitchen deserted but pots bubbling happily on the stove, as well as a medley of potions waiting for him on the table. She made him take them all, then sat him down to eat.

He ate ravenously, but it was like he couldn't taste the food. She sat across the table from him, feeling almost as lonely as ever, consoling herself that tomorrow, he'd be better. Tomorrow, he'd be hers again.

Ginny arrived with the children a few minutes later, followed by her mother, her own children, and the brood of Weasley grandchildren Molly had evidently been babysitting.

Draco was on the floor with his arms around his children before Hermione could comprehend what was happening, and then Molly went to work in the kitchen, whipping up a fresh meal and attempting to force-feed an only semi-reluctant Draco as a cloud of children hovered around him.

When she'd decided she'd fed him satisfactorily, she sent him off with his family to get some sleep.

Hermione lied in their bed with him at five in the afternoon as he slept. The children had managed to fall asleep as well, and the room was filled with the faint snores of the three. Slowly, she skillfully extracted herself from the tangle to arms and legs on the bed, despite her unwieldy stomach, and when she couldn't take it anymore, she escaped to the back deck.

She sat in the same chair she'd sat in the day they had taken him. Her book was still on the table where their wands had been, and their brooms were still on the grass. It could have been yesterday, had the grass been shorter and the weeds less unruly. No, it seemed they stayed exactly the same, stuck in time, while everything else kept going around them.

She curled up in the chair as best she could and cried. She cried because he'd lost so much of him, because they'd taken so much of him, because of what they'd done to her family, because nothing would be as perfect as it was right before it all became horrible. They'd taken her husband and given her back the shell of a man, and she feared he'd never again be whole.

When she heard the door open, she tried to stifle her tears, but failed miserably.

"Hermione," he whispered behind her, as a tentative hand touched her shoulder. They were no better than strangers.

"I'm fine," she lied reassuringly.

And then he had picked her up and sat down with her on the chaise lounge. He uncurled her body so that she lay on him, her feet at his ankles and her head beneath his chin. He threaded his fingers through her and pulled both of their hands to rest on her swollen belly, where he could detect the faintest of movements.

"I'll crush you," she sniffled. "You shouldn't have strained yourself with picking me up in the first place."

"You're beautiful," he whispered. "I want a picture of you looking this lovely. You may not be able to see your ankles, but pregnancy becomes you, Hermione."

She broke into tears again, hating herself for being weak, hating the Ministry for taking him away, hating herself for being such a stereotypically needy damsel in distress. He wrapped his hands tighter around her and kissed the back of her head as she broke down.

"I'm sorry," she blubbered. "I wanted to be stronger for you. I'm sorry I can't keep myself together. I'm sorry I didn't fight harder for you, for us. I'm sorry..."

She breathed in deep, shuddering gasps and he held her tight, whispering promises in her ear. "You don't have to be strong for me; you're perfect just the way you are. I love you. We're going to be fine, just fine."


I think I felt most ambiguous about this one. It was an idea I'd been toying with for a while, but in a different setting, and designed to be longer, but in the end I knew it'd never work as a novella. Or rather, I could never make it work. I'm not even sure I made it work as a short story. Let me know what you think!

And there is a reference to a certain TV show character in this... I challenge you to find it, and winner gets a prize (that will be more significant than my undying love. Because really, my undying love is quite useless. Even I wouldn't want it.)