Erstwhile on TUB:

"What are you waiting for; an invitation? There's a towel, there; I'd hope you could figure the rest on your own," she bit, then launched into her chore once again, angrily.

Hermione jumped to the other side of the sink, pulling the towel from the hook on which it hung and grasping the edge of one of the submerged dishes. She set about her task quickly, eyes always glancing in Janelle's direction. Hermione couldn't help but think that the girl seemed more of a tyrant than some of her husbands had. The dishes were scrubbed and shined in silence for a spell, suiting Hermione as well as conversation would have. It was Janelle who broke the unspoken agreement to speak not but an order.

"You might want to be careful," she warned, eyeing her matron narrowly. "Or people may learn what no one intends."

-

Chapter Eight: The Living Dead

Hermione watched her hostess of the corner of her eye as she delicately dried the dishes, making sure they were spotless before setting them in piles to her side. Janelle noticed this, but paid little attention, focusing her anger on the caked on sauces and stale food. She wore a tight line on her face, scowling at the dishes as she scrubbed, hair falling from the blonde bun on her head into her sour face.

"What?" she finally asked, turning her blaring eyes directly to Hermione, who squirmed under her gaze, uncomfortable. She said nothing, but returned her attention to the task at hand, annoying Janelle more than relieving her. "What?" she repeated. "What the hell are you looking at?"

"I'm sorry," Hermione said softly, blushing and bowing her head. "It's just that I never pictured you like this."

"Oh yeah?" Janelle spat. "And what would you know about it?"

"Neville told me all about you," she answered, in fear of the reaction were she to leave a question unanswered. "I've known him for a long time, and never has he spoken with as much elation as he did while speaking about you. He loves you so much; I just... thought you'd be different." Hermione finished, trailing off as she placed another dish on a stack and plunged her hand back into the water. She suddenly looked up, as if alarmed. "I mean no offense, I..." she began, but Janelle ignored her.

"If Nevy loves me so much, why'd he leave us, then?" she asked, her irritated voice cracking into sadness. Janelle relaxed her shoulders, leaning of the sink with a firm frown and placing a hand on her protuberance. Hermione looked completely shocked.

"He what? I... when?" she asked, heart going out to the girl, though she couldn't believe her ears. Neville was not a do-and-drop kind of man; he was stable and reliable. Leaving his wife in the midst of pregnancy was too uncharacteristic for Hermione's mind to fathom. Janelle looked livid for a moment, as if prepared to curse.

"Don't be dense!" she yelled, then winced, as if she had startled herself. Hermione wondered fleetingly if perhaps the baby had jumped at its mother's outburst, and was overcome with anguish. "He's off right now, with the others, looking for your ruddy boyfriend, saving a thousand damsels in distress... probably getting himself killed and where am I? Left here, with you... carrying his child and cleaning his dishes," she said with disdain. "I need him here, with me; they could do with one less." Hermione nodded in understanding. That sounded more like Neville; determined and trustworthy, no matter the consequences.

"Have you told him?" she ventured quietly, hesitantly. Janelle seemed to be past her anger for the time being, and nodded sadly.

"Of course I have. He says it's his duty; he promised Harry. Well, I want those women out just as much as he does, but it's not like he's alone. There's a whole army out there working for them. What about what he promised me? His duty as my husband and the father of my baby?" Janelle asked, pleading her case, and Hermione couldn't help but feel sorry for her. As she waited for any response from Hermione, tears silently began to slide from below her closed eyelids over her cheeks and off her trembling chin. Hermione, feeling compelled to offer sympathy, set down her dishtowel and embraced the woman she'd barely met, letting her shed unbridled tears. Janelle complied eagerly, allowing herself to seek comfort in an unbiased shoulder.

The girls stayed in silence until Janelle felt herself ready to stand alone again, refreshed and relieved. She sniffled and pulled back, smiling.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her eyes. "It's this pregnancy; I can hardly control my emotions anymore." Hermione offered a sympathetic smile and waited while her blonde friend composed herself.

"If you want," she began, still slightly hesitant. "I could try to talk some sense into him for you. It might not hurt to have a little backup." For the first time since they'd met, Hermione saw Janelle smile.

"Thank you, Hermione. It's no wonder Harry loves you; you barely even know me and you're already trying to help me. I feel like I could tell you anything," Janelle praised as she shook her head, starting back in on the dishes. Hermione spared a moment to frown, but decided she liked a calm Janelle better than a livid one and bringing up the fact that Harry's feelings were one sided and his mission useless could spark a turn of the tables. She knew first hand what pregnancy could do to a woman's judgment. Instead, she opted to continue her chore in silence, much less troubled by the woman beside her. Janelle continued to sniffle periodically, but was all in all much friendlier.

After Janelle had handed the last dish to her partner and let the water drain from the sink, she sighed and turned to lean against the counter. Hermione silently completed her job, then turned to Janelle as if looking for an assignment. The blonde smiled in silence, as if taking into account all that was Hermione, before supporting her full weight on her feet once more.

"Tea?" she asked, walking toward the stove and putting a brimming pot of water onto a burner. Hermione smiled in thanks and made herself useful, taking two freshly washed cups and saucers from the stacks she had assisted in cleaning and bringing them to the tiny breakfast table in the corner. She moved slowly, hoping not to be caught in an awkward situation, as she did not yet know the customs of the house. She was jumpy and nervous and her hands didn't seem to want to stay still.

Hermione managed to keep herself meagerly occupied until the teapot was ripe and whistled for assistance. Janelle lifted it by the wooden handle and came toward the table, holding in her hand two tea balls and a little bag of flakes. Hermione smiled and stepped to the side as her hostess set out the utensils and filled the cups with steaming water. Janelle sighed, sounding much more light-hearted than she hash to Hermione and let the water drain from the sink, she sighed and what pregnancy could do d previously, and sat down, though with much difficulty. It was only when she was comfortably seated, her body parallel with the table as to accommodate her stomach, that Hermione helped herself to a chair. Subsequently, she allowed Janelle to demonstrate use of the tea balls before filling her own and dipping it into her cup. The women lapsed into silence, as if counting the seconds until the boys returned.

"Do you know what you're having yet?" Hermione asked to lighten the mood; if this woman was anything like the goddess Neville had described, Hermione thought it would do her well to make friends. Janelle looked startled for a moment, then brought her eyes to her stomach, smiling. She shook her head.

"No; we wanted to be surprised. Nevy wants a girl; he's not much for sports and things, and he's afraid he'll not be a good father to a son. I don't care much either way, I just don't want any complications. So far, I've gotten my wish. I hope Nevy gets his too," she said, watching warmly as her fingers traced over her bulging midriff. Hermione's eyes glazed over slightly, and she looked into the space in front of her cup as she stirred the tea leaves and watched the water pale to a dirty brown.

"I was pregnant once, you know," she stated, but did not elaborate, and Janelle looked up in surprise. Hermione met her eyes with a sad smile and noticed with amusement the high speed confusion racing through the blonde's mind.

"I didn't know you had children," she finally stated, sounding utterly truthful. Hermione laughed softly.

"I don't. It was probably about two years ago; I was married to... or owned by, rather, a man named Hannan. I took on the habit of calling him Hannah and at one time too many, he confiscated my contraceptives. This didn't deter him any from calling for me, and, well..." Hermione looked up. "Do you know about the Maternity Campanile?" Janelle, who had been listening with a look of horrified interest on her face, could not make eye contact with Hermione and opted instead to look away, nodding. "Yes, well... I couldn't bear that type of fate for my daughter, so I spared her. I stopped eating. Hannan was a very sick man; he had... a fetish, I guess you could say. As soon as I informed him of our offspring, he started calling me more frequently. It got to the point where it was nearly nightly. I was thin and sickly, exhausted and stressed. I succeeded; she was stillborn."

"That's horrible," Janelle whispered, eyes closed as if it pained her to think of such a thing, and hands pressed firmly to her abdomen. "I'm so sorry."

"It was for the best," Hermione reminded. "I don't regret it. That spell; that spell is what's horrible. It's just... unnatural." There was silence again; Janelle stared at her stomach, tracing patters over her sweater and looking serene, as if praying for her baby's safety, while Hermione dipped her tea ball in and out of her cup, making the liquid inside a little stronger. "So, where did you meet Neville?" she asked, though she vaguely knew, if only to dissuade the silence. Janelle looked slightly alarmed at the change in topic, but seemed eager to discuss a new subject.

"Here, actually. My sister, Teige... have they told you about her?" she asked and Hermione nodded immediately. Janelle looked a little spiteful. "Of course they did; they all love her to death," she said, a bit bitterly, then sighed. "Teige was blessed with the gift of magic; my father suspects my mother may have had an affair when she was conceived, but... She went to school with you lot; graduated the year before the attack. She had a lot of friends in your year, so after all that happened, she wanted to help. I tagged along, I met Neville; at first I thought he was too old for me, but... after a while it didn't matter. My parents were supportive; they'd always liked him. Teige gave a good word, I suppose that helped. We've been married for two years, this spring." Hermione smiled softly.

"What does your sister think?" she asked curiously, sipping her tea. Janelle looked away, as if depressed.

"She thinks we're rushing things. She didn't want me to have the baby," she answered, near tears in wake of Hermione's heart wrenching story. The brunette looked shocked; she was beginning to think she'd received sugar- coated stories of everyone. She was almost afraid to meet Harry.

"She wanted you to..." she started, unable to complete her sentence, but Janelle shook her head furiously.

"No, nothing like that. We tried for this baby; we've been trying for months," she said, smiling softly in reverie. "Nevy asked my father for my hand, and likewise discussed everything with him before he brought it up with me. Daddy loves him so much, and my mother was ecstatic. Teige has never in her twenty four years had a deep relationship; my mother thinks her lost cause, and that, in turn, puts all grand-child rearing on my shoulders. She couldn't have been happier was it her idea. Teige tried to talk them out of it, but they wouldn't be hindered and neither would we. She wasn't happy; she still wants me to foster it." Janelle's face grew determined. "But I won't. Never. She's the only one who doesn't think I'm ready. I don't think one person out of all Nevy's friends and both our families is quite enough to wave my decision. I couldn't give it up now; not after all this time growing inside me. Not when it's nearly here." Hermione nodded sympathetically as she watched Janelle work herself back into a fit of tears. She felt slightly regretful for having sparked the conversation which brought on this tizzy, but assured herself that the hormones guaranteed a mood change at about this time regardless. She preferred a waterlogged Janelle to a livid one. "I just wish Nevy would come back," Janelle sniffled, folding her arms over her chest and leaning her forehead on them.

"Do... Do you really think it's that dangerous?" Hermione asked, somewhat hesitantly. "Could they really be killed?" Janelle shook her head, lifting it again to view Hermione and reaching out for her comforting mug of tea.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I just don't know. We've never had a casualty before, but... this is different. This is the real thing, the big one. Mauriz. I hope to any god in heaven that I'm just being paranoid, but... I can't help but to worry. To think up worst case scenarios. To wonder... what would I do without him?"

"Hey," Hermione said, interrupting Janelle before she talked herself into hysteria. "Thinking like that isn't going to help anyone, least of all you. It isn't good for you to get so worked up all the time; don't think about what's going on out there, just... relax and enjoy the quiet. They'll be back before you know it and you'll not get much peace then; especially not after you've got a newborn." Not for the first time, the blonde woman took in her houseguest with a look of gratitude and joy. She was instantly eased.

"Thank you," Janelle repeated. "You're too kind for your own good." Hermione smiled widely, sipping at her lukewarm tea. There was an echoing pause until she placed the cup back onto her saucer and slouched down in her chair, for the first time at ease. "We should probably get you situated, then," Janelle suggested. "It looks as though you'll be here for a while." With substantial difficulty, she got to her feet and brought the dishes to the sink before turning toward the doorway. "Come on, then; this way, up the stairs."

Hermione hurriedly chased after her hostess, marveling at the world around her. The house was modest, made of plaster and wood, with beautiful hardwood floors and amazingly large rooms. Each room was decorated sparsely, making the house seem homey and spacious; there wasn't much need for knick-knacks and art work and most space was occupied with furniture and bookshelves. The stairs began in the middle of the foyer, just opposite the main entrance doors, and continued with wide steps, old fashioned banisters and a tatty carpet; it seemed to go on forever. Janelle led Hermione past the platform that allowed access to the second floor and continued up the steps until they reached the next in line. From the third floor, the staircase turned back the way in came while still inclining, as to accommodate the geometric shape of the house. On this second landing, Janelle stopped and momentarily caught her breath before gesturing for Hermione to follow her down the hallway. There were three rooms to either side of the hall and a single door at the end which was visibly open to reveal a bathroom.

Janelle sighed happily as she made it to her destination, turning to face her follower. Hermione looked completely lost, confused as to her place, and tentative to ask questions. Her tour guide simply smiled.

"This is your room, Hermione," she said, opening a door to reveal a room much smaller than that which Hermione had had when living with Draco, but just as comfortable. It was speckled with furniture and decorated tastefully, including a curtained window and various lighting systems. There was an overflowing bookshelf against the wall opposite the bed and, in the corner, a cage held a tiny snowy owl. It was sleeping with its head tucked below a wing and seemed annoyed at their intrusion. Janelle noticed the inquisitive look Hermione gave to the little bird and smiled. "Harry thought you might want to owl a few letters; send something to your family. If it's all the same to you, I'd ask you not to do any of that until he's come back and you've had a teary reunion." Hermione nodded.

"What happened to Hedwig?" she asked spontaneously, as though she had just been struck with the thought. Janelle laughed.

"She's in Harry's room. This is Fagan; her son. Only about two; fastest learner I've ever seen," she answered, smiling at the bird draped in shadow. Hermione, now over her outburst, began to consider more rational questions.

"Do you know of my parents?" she asked softly, looking toward the ground. Janelle nodded.

"Oh, yes, of course. They stayed in touch with Harry; amazingly understanding about the whole thing. They've helped us quite a bit financially."

"So they're all right then?" she asked hopefully and Janelle nodded. "Do they know I've been found?" At this, the blonde frowned.

"No... Harry's been so caught up in you yourself that he hasn't thought about it. The rest of us are in no position to make that kind of announcement; not even Ron, really. Plus, I think Harry just wants you to himself for a while before he shares you with the world. I don't blame the poor guy."

"So, where do they think I am?" Hermione asked, confused. Janelle tried to smile for her benefit, but it was unconvincing.

"They think you've died," she admitted and Hermione gasped. "You have to understand," Janelle told her, "that's what everyone thought. Harry was so convinced, we couldn't disagree. There was a service for you, at your muggle church in London. They've come to terms; it'll come as quite a shock to see you alive again; that's why no one dared owl them. None of us are in close enough contact to blurt out that we've found their dead daughter. Harry should go in person, in my opinion; that's the best way. Be damned if he listen to me, though." Hermione held a hand loosely over her gaping mouth as she listened and Janelle felt slightly regretful for having broken the news so bluntly. The situation had become awkward and she wanted nothing more than a get away. "Well," she stated. "I think that's all. The kitchen's always open, the bathroom is right down the hall, and if there's anything else you need, just ask me. I'm sorry we don't have any clothes for you; we can go shopping with Mrs. Sergio whenever everything boils down. Until then, I'll get you some of mine, from before all this," Janelle said airily, gesturing to her stomach with a smile. Hermione, barely over her shock, let her shaky hand fall from her mouth.

"Thank you," she said softly. "That's very kind." Janelle waved her comment away and started back toward the staircase, but turned around before she made it past the first step.

"Oh, right," she cursed. "I almost forgot; Harry got you a wand, it's in the drawer by your bed. He sent Ron to that wand shop in London and 'the wand chooses the master' so it's supposed to work just like your old one, but I really don't know much about it. It's not like I've ever had one." Hermione's eyes filled with delight.

"A wand? Really?"

"So I've heard," Janelle confirmed, smiling and continuing her trip down the staircase. Hermione turned into her room and leaped onto the bed, startling Fagan and making him squawk. Without a moment to spare for thought, Hermione threw open the drawer in the bedside table and felt a rush of adrenaline as she revealed the black velvet box which could only hold one destiny. Her heart pounding and breath sharp, Hermione leaned back against the wall and opened the box with bated exhale. She couldn't control the watering of her eyes as her gaze touched the shined mahogany surface concealing manticore eyelash; sturdy, good for hexes and transfigurations. With shaking and tentative fingers, she lifted the perfect replica of the one instrument around which her life had once revolved and allowed the salty tears to course down her cheeks. The moment her fingertips grasped the handle and the magic within her reawakened, she felt it. She felt the surge of life course through her body; she felt like a witch again, like a person. Hermione Granger had returned, rusty and shaken, but very much alive.

-x-x-x-

"FestINA Lente," Hermione chanted from her cross legged position a foot and a half above the surface of her bed. So far, she had successfully turned Fagan green, purple, orange, back to his original snowy white, and orange again, simply because she thought him cute that way; switched her dirty outfit for one of the fresh new dresses borrowed from Janelle, cleansed her hair, painted her toe nails, levitated a plethora of things, cleaned the dust from under the bed, filled her water picture, and alphabetically categorized the books in her bookcase all without so much as a flick of her wrist. It had been difficult at first, remembering each incantation correctly while at the same time experimenting with wrist motions, but after a few spells, she fell back into the grove. Like riding a bike; one could never forget. The few spells she did manage to perform inaccurately were usually harmless and therefore all damage was easily fixable. "FESTina Lente," she tried again, changing the stress of the syllables, anticipative of their outcome. Hermione grinned as the dark blue draperies slowly moved aside, letting sunlight flood the room and ultimately disturbing Fagan. He didn't seem to enjoy the constant interference of his nap and made his annoyance known, squawking and biting the metal of his cage. Hermione laughed softly. "Sorry, Fagan," she said, then directed his cage's night cloth to drape over the bars. "Better?" Fagan hooted his approval and ruffled his feathers before growing quiet again. Hermione, assuming he had gone back to sleep, sighed and turned toward the window. Her breath caught in her throat.

Hermione's room was located in the back of the house and her window gave her a most spectacular view of the yard. There was a brick patio to the rear of the house, just large enough for a line of three picnic tables to be assembled perpendicularly with the whitewashed siding. Beyond this, an expanse of fresh green grass stretched out for at least two kilometers, cut by a narrow stream about a Quidditch pitch's distance from the patio. To her mirth, Hermione saw a large cow tied to a tree near the brook, swinging its tail and contentedly chewing on the grass near the bank. Her eyes followed the river to where it passed through a water wheel, which was connected to a large red barn. The area immediately in front of the shed was closed off, containing a crowd of chickens scouring the ground for grain.

The drizzle of rain dripping from the bright blue sky didn't seem to bother the fowl in the slightest; even the cock that stood in the window of the loft, cut into the second story of the shed, seemed not to mind the splatters in his feathers. Hermione was overcome with a magnificent urge to explore; she hadn't been in the sunlight in years, a barn full of chickens was like a fine art museum. Just as she had decided and finished fixing all her wayward spells, Hermione's euphoria was interrupted by a solid knock at her door. Assuming Janelle had come bearing more clothes, Hermione slid her wand into her dress and opened the door with a gratified comment on her lips. As she opened it, however, her breath was taken for the umpteenth time that day.

"Ron?" she asked, slack jawed. The tall red-headed man in the doorway grinned.

"Hey, Hermione," he said, as calmly as ever, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Hermione gaped like a suffocating fish.

"R-Ron? I, oh... Ron," she babbled, causing him to chuckle at her expense.

"Well, come here, then," he said, opening his arms. Hermione threw him into a hug so quickly that Ron was slightly winded. He laughed heartily and squeezed her to him, spinning her out into the hallway. "Oh, we missed you, Hermione," he told her, voice husky and deep. Hermione didn't reply; she simply savored the embrace until in was broken, minutes later, by Ron. "Come on," he said, taking her hand. "Everyone wants to see you." As he started away, dragging her behind, Hermione pulled on his hand, stopping him.

"What do you mean, everyone? You're back already?"

"Something like that," Ron said with a shrug. "We couldn't get in; we're regrouping. When you flooed out, you tripped the alarms; no one in, no one out. Luckily, we noticed this all before we got too close; Mauriz isn't any wiser to us."

"So everyone just... came back?"

"Yes, technically; everyone but Harry and Draco. We weren't ready to attack; Harry went ballistic this morning, I still don't know what he was thinking," Ron rambled, but Hermione hadn't heard more than a sentence. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach and Janelle's fears regenerated within her.

"Where're Harry and Draco?" she asked tentatively, trying desperately to keep herself calm. Ron shook his head with a sigh.

"Well, when Harry couldn't get in, I suppose he flew off in a tyrant... he'll be back before dusk, I wouldn't worry about him," he explained. "As for Draco, well..." Hermione held her breath; her heart was pounding and she could feel her hands start to shake again. "He flooed back in and didn't come out." She scarcely dared to breathe.

"What... what does that mean?" she asked tentatively. "Is he..." Ron looked at her quizzically, as if she were speaking gibberish, putting Hermione near tears at his lack of answer. "They'll take him to Mauriz," she stated. "It's treason. They'll kill him." At this revelation, Ron's eyebrows shot into his hair. Humor overrode his shock and he laughed aloud, pulling Hermione back into him.

"No! Malfoy isn't dead, Hermione. He can talk his way out of it, I promise you. They won't kill him; he's a husband, remember? Practically royalty? He'll be fine. Don't worry yourself about Malfoy," Ron instructed, patting the back of her head and rocking slightly. Hermione crumbled a wad of his shirt in her hand, squeezing in an attempt to quell her shaking fingers. "That isn't like you. Since when do you give a rat's ass about him, anyway?" Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, holding on to her best friend as if he were her source of life. There was a pregnant pause in which Hermione tried to word what she was feeling, but soon gave up and dramatically understated the ache in her heart.

"He saved me, Ron. He saved me from everything."

-

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