Erstwhile on TUB:

"May I go?" Hermione asked hopefully, looking up at him and Draco's eyebrows flew high.

"I... I don't see why not. But you haven't eaten..."

"I'm really quite full from last night," she elucidated, standing from her slim perch on the bed. "And I'd like to dress first, anyway." Draco gave a single nod as he watched her walk toward the door, holding the paper and quill to her chest.

"Feel free to return if you get hungry," he reminded, and Hermione turned back for just a moment to give him a thankful smile. She then left him to his paperwork, a cloud of dread above her head, shaped oddly like Harry Potter.

-

Chapter Six: The Epistle

Draco did not hear from Hermione for the rest of the day. She did not return for breakfast, nor lunch or dinner for that matter, and had ignored his two summonses. Draco, respecting her usage of the freedom he had bestowed upon her that morning, did not try overly much to get her to come up, and instead tried to concentrate on his work. Normally, he would have gone to see her, instead of waiting, but the dark discoloring around his eye pushed these thoughts directly out the window. He couldn't afford to be seen like that, and try to explain it. He had no idea what he'd say. If he were to blame it on another man, they could just deny it and use one of their wives as an alibi. To keep Hermione safe, the only man left to accuse was Sergio, and he would surely be fired. Draco couldn't risk that, either. In his state, Sergio was his only connection to the outside world; if something were too dangerous to send through floo, Serge would bring it to him personally.

So, when dawn broke and Draco had not heard a word from his wife, he instead summoned Sergio, who promptly answered.

"Come in, Sergio," Draco said monotonously in response to a knock at his door. He was more than sure it wasn't Hermione.

"Sir," he said as he entered, standing straight with arms to his sides, awaiting orders.

"Will you please ask Miss Hermione if she has finished her letter? I'd rather not leave my quarters for a while."

"Of course, sir. Is that all?"

"Yes, Sergio. Thank you," Draco dismissed, eyes falling back to his sheet of notes. Sergio left promptly on a mission for his master, and arrived at Hermione's quarters within moments. Instead of knocking on the door and waking the entire floor at the ungodly hour of six AM, Sergio slowly opened the door, his left hand covering his eyes.

"Miss?" he called in stage whisper, but was answered with only silence. "Miss Hermione? I'm here by request of your Master..." When, again, no one answered, Sergio braved a peek through his sunglasses. Hermione was curled up in her bed, sleeping fitfully with petite and feminine snores. He sighed and smiled, glad to not have caught her indisposed. Sergio approached the bed and, upon seeing Hermione's cherubic and elegant figure sleeping with hair spread out like a fan behind her, he removed his sunglasses and clipped them to his collar. "Hermione?" he said, a bit louder now that they were alone in a room. When she didn't stir, Sergio placed a hand on her shoulder. "Miss?" he called again, rocking her slightly, and Hermione's eyes fluttered open. She jumped at first glance, pulling the sheets to her chin.

"Sergio!" she called, but he shushed her with a finger to his lips. Hermione lowered her voice. "You frightened me," she explained, and he smiled sheepishly.

"I'm sorry," the butler whispered, and Hermione smiled her forgiveness.

"It's all right," she promised. "What are you doing here? And what time is it?"

"It's about six, miss, and I've been sent by your master."

"Dra... my master? But, why?" Hermione wondered, surprised. She had ignored his summons the day before, but her mind had been full and he'd given her permission not to join him if other matters were more pressing.

"To ask if you've finished the letter, Miss. To the farmhouse, I assume? No doubt they're waiting eagerly for your reply," Sergio explained and Hermione frowned suddenly, dropping her hands into her lap.

"Oh..." she offered. Sergio simply grinned at her, standing tall and waiting for her reply. "Why... why didn't he come to ask me himself?" she asked, if just to stall, and Sergio pointed to his face.

"His eye, Miss; doesn't want to be seen. If you'd like to go back to sleep, I'll bring the note to him myself," he suggested, holding out his hand. Hermione forced a smile.

"Oh, no... I've some things to discuss with him anyway, Sergio. If you'd like, you can tell him I'll visit within the hour," Hermione said, and Sergio started for a moment. Then, he dropped his hand and nodded.

"Very well, Miss; I shall deliver your message."

"Thank you, Sergio," Hermione called after the butler, and Sergio nodded and replaced his sunglasses on the way to the door. In a moment, he was off again, and Hermione flopped backward in bed, basking a few more moments in the plush sheets before dragging herself to shower and dress.

As promised, Hermione entered Draco's chambers within an hour of Sergio's visit. He called her in passively, but looked eager when he saw her.

"Hermione," he greeted, immediately putting his papers aside and moving enough things to create a space for her to sit. He gestured with his hand, and Hermione did as she was indirectly asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. Draco merely watched her wordlessly, and Hermione kept her eyes to the ground. "Did you finish?" he asked finally and she shook her head.

"I didn't write anything," she admitted, and Draco sighed, as if disappointed. "I just... I can't..." Hermione began, but was cut off before she could stutter farther. Draco moved forward and closer, allowing certain papers and folders to fall to the floor.

"Hey," he said softly, touching her face lightly, just to be comforting. "It's okay... you don't have to write him a book... Just something to let him know you're all right, okay?" Hermione's lip trembled, and she kept her eyes trained on the floor while Draco spoke. "Just," Draco started again. "... Just say that I'm treating you all right, and tell him you love him; that's all he'd need," he said, voice dropping slightly. Hermione's features contorted at his suggestion, and she turned to enter an embrace. Draco, although slightly taken off guard, held her while she let out a few pent-up feelings. He comforted and shushed her as he would any other distraught woman, and allowed her all the time she needed. Even when Hermione was devoid of tears and able to speak, she didn't pull back.

"Draco..." she started, sniffling and wiping the tears from her eyes. "I don't... I don't love Harry." Draco's eyebrows shot up and he began to rub her back comfortingly.

"You don't?" he asked softly, and Hermione shook her head, voice steady.

"What am I supposed to do? I can't lie... not about that. He'd hate me for it... I don't want him to hate me, Draco."

"Hermione," Draco reasoned. "How do you KNOW you don't love him? You haven't seen him in a long time; he's changed a lot since then. You might, and not even know it," he said, frowning into her hair. She sniffled again.

"Maybe... but I don't now. I can't tell him I do, if I might not..."

"Well, don't. He'll be so distracted to hear from you, he won't notice. Just say you miss him, Hermione. Harry'd be just as happy, you just have to write him something; you know how much it means to him," Draco coached softly, and Hermione nodded, pulling back from his embrace. She shielded her mouth with her hand and nodded.

"I know..."

"Hey, why don't you stay here with me today?" Draco suggested, keeping a comforting hand on her back. "I missed your company." Hermione crossed her arms over her stomach and leaned forward, nodding softly.

"Of course," she agreed, smiling, and Draco offered one in return. He reached into the pile beside him and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, handing it to his bride. Hermione received his meaning and took the paper from him, and a quill that was later offered. She wasted not a moment before she began writing, letting the forced words flow as evenly as possible.

"Draco," Hermione said nearly an hour later, lifting her head to view his face. He was bent over his own work, scribbling with flourish and concentrating, but looked up almost immediately at her voice. "I... think I'm finished." Draco grinned.

"Brilliant," he said, putting his document to the side, and swinging his legs off the bed. "We can send it right away; I waited with my shipment. They're probably worried sick." Draco didn't seem overly concerned about the thoughts of the people a hundred miles away; he almost seemed happy that they'd be apprehensive. Hermione watched him as he stood, and held up her letter, folded crudely, toward him. Draco smiled reassuringly as he took the frail parchment in his hands. "May I?" he asked and Hermione nodded, turning her eyes to the solid bedspread. Draco tentatively unfolded the brittle parchment, and brought the careful words to his eyes.

Dear Harry,

It's strange to be speaking with you again, after all this time. I've heard tell of the timeline following the original attack, and I want to say that I'm proud of you. I can't honestly say that I could have been that strong; but you were always the brave one, weren't you? Please don't worry too much about me; it's much better now, and Draco has been wonderful. All I'm missing now is a library.

I'm still absorbing a lot of information; I had made assumptions after the attack, and I shouldn't have. A number of them were, thankfully, wrong. I never thought I'd hear from you again, Harry. It's much more difficult than you'd imagine, writing this letter. I'll admit I'm crying, and I wouldn't doubt you'd have guessed it. I can't wait to really see you, prove to myself that this isn't all some dream. I hope the day comes soon.

Before I send this off to you, I want to speak my mind a little on your operation. Of course, my viewpoint is naïve, but I think I have a legitimate concern. I've gotten the feeling, from more than just Draco's addiction to paperwork, that you're all very adamant about getting me out of here and making things right. I can't say I don't want you to do all that, but please be careful, Harry. Take your time; make sure everything is foolproof. I don't want you getting hurt, especially not at my expense.

Also, I've been thinking. I hate to say it, Harry, but I don't think this back and forth flooing is a good idea. If anyone intercepted anything, they'd be holding classified information; probably enough to completely head you off. I don't like the odds, and I think it'd be better if Sergio personally delivered things. It might take longer to work things out, and we'd probably hear from each other very infrequently, but I think it's safer, and that is my primal concern. When I first met Draco and learned everything, I wanted nothing more than to get out of here, but you have to be careful. I want to come home, but I want safety and stability first. Take care of yourself, Harry.

I miss you, and Ron, and everyone. Send them all my best wishes and, please, tell Neville I said thank you.

Hermione

Draco finished the note and looked up, an ever-present upturn to his lips. Hermione looked embarrassed; she had noticed how scratchy her scrawl had been, born from holding no instruments but spoons. It was legible, and quite elegant, but shaky. Draco assumed that she were nervous more than anything.

"Brilliant," he repeated and folded the letter back in half without commenting on her war tactics. He placed the note atop the stack near the fireplace, and lifting them all into his arms. "Hermione, would you..." Draco started, but Hermione was up in a moment, scooping a handful of greenish powder from the bag on the chair. Draco kept his warm smile. "Thank you," he said, just before she scattered the dust over the flames. He watched them turn a deep emerald, and shouted clearly into the smoke, "HG, BB." The flames grew gold and he threw the pile into the fire bath, watching them be swallowed. Draco turned back to Hermione then, who was fidgeting with her fingers and looking quite confused. "When we hooked it up to the floo, we couldn't call it Farmhouse, because it was already taken; it stands for Hogwarts Bed and Breakfast," he explained, and she laughed softly, turning to stare at the now normal fire, licking the logs almost seductively, and leaving a trail of ashen pain in their wake. "All right?" Draco asked, and she nodded.

"Yes; I think I'm going to be fine."

Hermione, as promised, spent the rest of the day with Draco. He did a lot of paperwork, and she consumed a multitude of hot tea. When they did talk, it was trivial and unimportant; for the most part, they opted for comfortable silence.

With the workload removed from the chair, Hermione spent most of the day curled up in it, fingers wrapped around a coffee mug, and skin tingling in the warmth of the fire. She was content to sit and listen to the scribble of her counterpart's quill, the crackle of the cheery fire, and the occasional snap that told of the appearance of a meal. It was only during meals did Draco initiate any form of conversation. If he spoke otherwise, it was to answer a question posed by Hermione or to reply to something she had said. While they sat together and ate, however, he was fond of speaking.

"Are you feeling well? You haven't been eating much," he said distractedly, attention on the overly cooked pasta wrapped around his fork. Hermione laughed softly, picking the crust off a piece of very soft bread, and popped a folded chunk in her mouth.

"What do you have to compare it to?" she asked of him, and Draco shrugged a shoulder, attacking his alfredo with a knife, hoping to make it more manageable.

"You didn't come up at all yesterday; if you did eat, it wasn't good for you."

"I had food for thought," she reminded, and Draco gave her a sidelong glance, as if asking her to be serious. Hermione giggled and continued on her hunk of bread, smiling as she chewed. "I've had a bit too much tea, I think. Never did have an appetite for anything after, oh, a pint or so."

"Well, that's no excuse. You can't live on tea."

"I have almost exclusively for half a decade," Hermione said passively, dipping he bread in her bowl of pasta, but leaving the noodles where they rested. Draco had stopped eating and was watching her, slack jawed and speechless. Hermione was sitting sideways on the floor about two feet away from him, tea to one side and her pasta to the other. She seemed content with her meager meal and was watching the bread disappear with a soft smile. Draco almost believed that she hadn't even realized the seriousness of her statement.

"Hermione," he said after a moment, and she brought her beaming brown eyes to rest on his face.

"Yeah?" she asked amidst chewing. It was quite unladylike, but Draco smiled, speaking no further. Hermione laughed a moment later, after swallowing. "What is it?" she wondered, a happy grin planted on her face. He tilted his head slightly, looking almost as if he were dreaming.

"Will you tell me about... before?"

"Oh," she mumbled, surprised at his question, and her lips curled downward. Draco frowned in unison, and nearly regretted his words. "Of course," Hermione agreed a moment later, picking another piece of bread from the plate. "What do you want to know? I could give you a chronological listing of all the men I've married, share secrets of the holding chambers... oh, or explain the children's quarters."

"How about just a day in the life of Hermione Granger?" he asked, somewhat relieved that she hadn't become uncharacteristically depressed. In the time he'd known Hermione, she'd never been depressed. Scared, distraught, angry, submissive... but never in any way sad.

"Well, were I not married to you, I would probably wake up at dawn on a canvas cot and curl up at the top, next to the candle, to keep warm. Then, when the room grew a little warmer, as people started moving, I would join my fellow wives in the bathroom... which was really just a rusty toilet and a water spigot coming out of the wall, and wash as quickly as possible. Then dress and return to my cot. From there, I would watch the other women socialize and keep an eye on the bells above the door. If someone else's were to ring, I would spend the rest of my day lounging. If I were summoned, I would of course report to my husband's chambers and do his bidding. When he was finished, I would return to my cot and sleep. Again starts the cycle. Pretty simple, really."

"Weren't you ever just... board out of your mind?" Draco asked, playing the naïve card to his advantage; it made her laugh.

"Of course I was; but what was I supposed to do about it?" Hermione asked him, shaking her head and munching on her dinner. Draco smiled sheepishly.

"What did they make you do?"

"My husbands? Oh, it varied," Hermione admitted. "Some would want back rubs and massages, others pole dancing or something of that nature... I had one husband, Chad, who had me do his laundry naked three times a week. And, of course, there's that sex thing. Some of them are picky, and they don't sleep with all their wives, but I've yet to have a husband who hadn't asked it of me." Draco frowned at this accusation, but Hermione didn't even seem to notice what she'd said and continued on. "My last husband, Charon, always had us bring him breakfast... and he made sure the tray was heated along with the meal." Hermione opened her hands, one of which was still holding her meal. "I have scars." Draco grimaced.

"That's horrible," he stated, and Hermione shrugged.

"I'd like to think it could be worse. They're not allowed to... cut us, or break anything. I don't think anyone would say much if they did, though; the nurses are women who are slightly flawed in the eyes of men and they couldn't really tell anyone. I've never heard of it happening before. If they really wanted to hurt us they'd just send us to get caned; that's nasty," she said, squinting slightly. "I know from experience... they're allowed to cover your caning scars, though; most men seem to not like foot long welts on their sex toy's back." Draco's eyebrows knitted subconsciously as he listened, a rock hard ball of pity dropping to the bottom of his stomach. "That's only for extreme discipline. If you do something small, they'll just take away your contraceptives." His eyebrows flew high.

"No," he countered, and Hermione nodded.

"Of course. How do you think we have offspring? Not by choice, I assure you," she explained, looking sad for the first time in their conversation. Draco was quiet, not sure what he would say or ask next, and Hermione sighed, placing her half eaten slab of bread atop the nearly untouched pasta and placing it back on the tray, where it dissolved. "Have you ever read 'The Scarlet Pimpernel?'" she asked, drastically changing the subject, and Draco slowly shook his head. "It was a wonderful book... about the French Reign of Terror in the late eighteenth century..."

Hermione was sitting in the chair by the fire, curled into a ball, and resting her eyes when an eerie sound startled her. It started out low, but grew louder rapidly, and her eyes widened.

"Draco," she whispered nervously, sitting to her full height, but was appeased with no answer. She spun her head to see that he had piled all his notes on the floor beside the bed and was spread quite pretentiously over the covers, one hand rooted behind his head while the other rested on his stomach. She turned back around slowly, eyes glued to the ceiling. The peculiar racket was growing louder and Hermione felt her heart start to beet against her ribcage. She was scared, and she wouldn't deny it. "Draco..." she called him again, but was weary about how loud her voice was. She didn't know what was happening, and her fear kept her from shouting. It sounded like a thousand heavy rats were running through the rafters, marching in ranks like an army.

A sudden louder and separate sound, as if a dragon had just apparated, coursed through the air and made Hermione jump. She peeped in fear, clutching the side of the chair. When another roar, the same sound intensified, shook the room, Hermione could take her solitude no longer. She jumped from her chair and leaped onto the bed, jostling her husband and startling him awake. She latched her fingers into his chest and shook with all her might, determined to get his attention.

"Draco! Something's happening," she hissed, and his eyes shot open in a panic.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked her, pushing himself up and holding on to her forearms. "Hermione?"

"I don't know!" she wailed, voice trembling. "Can't you hear it?" Draco turned his attention away from his terrified wife and instead focused on any unnatural noises in the room. He furrowed his brows when nothing came to him, and turned back to her.

"What?" he repeated. "The rain?" Hermione's tight and frightened fingers relaxed their grip on him and she slouched a bit, breathing deeply.

"Rain?" she asked in a whisper, but his reply was cut off by a third growl erupted and Hermione tensed, a slight gasp escaping her throat. Draco chuckled softly, shifting to a more comfortable position and moved his grip to her upper arms, rubbing them up and down.

"It's just a thunderstorm, Hermione... calm down," he coached, a grin plastered to his face. Hermione looked worried.

"It's... raining? That's it? Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course. Look," Draco said, turning her so that she fell into the pillows beside him. He pointed toward the fire, which was being quickly stifled by the bucketfuls of water washing the chimney. Had he not his terrified counterpart to attend to, Draco would have turned the iron knob designed to create a gutter atop the flue, but Hermione needed his primal attention. "You act as if you've never heard of it."

"I..." Hermione started, but stopped herself, relaxing into the pillowed headboard, hands still clutching the blonde beside her. "It's been so long..." she told him, trembling and keeping an attentive eye darting around the room. "I've never had a chamber on the outside of the castle before..."

"Your room downstairs has an outer wall; you'd be able to hear it there too," he notified, keeping a comforting hand on her corresponding shoulder. Hermione shuddered.

"I can't imagine if I was down there all alone..." she shared, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Well, you're not, are you?" Draco prodded, squeezing her in a reassuring hug. Hermione smiled nervously and tried to relax.

"No... I suppose you're right."

A/N: Uncensored version available at http:tangledupinblue.