Erstwhile on TUB:

"Hi, Harry," she whispered, smiling as she approached his body, which lay as limp and twisted as it had when she had left him. "Ready to go home?" Hermione kissed the top of his head and moved further down his body, to crawl over him. She straddled his waist and pressed her chest to his upper torso, latching her arms behind him, and apparated.

She had Harry landed standing in the middle of small, cabin-like structure with four rooms and a loft. Harry, being sound asleep as he was, fell ungracefully to the floor and continued his slumber. Hermione laughed at him, and used her wand to direct him into bed. She administered a few more drops of lotic acid, to keep him sleeping until a proper waking hour, and tucked him into bed before leaving the home and locking the door, then hurrying off to the little town down the road for supplies.

-

Chapter Fifteen: Always Second Winded

Hermione, lying wide awake in bed, stared at the raven haired man beside her in anticipation of his groggy return to consciousness. Harry stirred at nearly half past eight, just as she had anticipated, and brought a hand to rub at his face with a groan. Hermione smiled genuinely and kissed his temple, draping a comforting arm over his chest.

"Hey, Harry. How are you feeling?" she asked softly, resting the bridge of her nose against his head. Harry blinked his eyes open, looking curiously at his surroundings.

"Tired..." he breathed, blinking. "Where am I?" Hermione squeezed him close to her and pressed her lips to the curve of his neck.

"It's going to be all right, Harry. You're home now. I'm here, I'll help you," she whispered desperately into his ear and Harry's face grew understandably worried.

"Hermione? What's going on?" he asked, rubbing her forearm with his hand. She gasped and sat up, gazing at him with astonishment written plainly on her face.

"Harry? You remember me?" she asked, covering her mouth as if trying to contain herself. Harry sat up beside her, eyebrows knitted in absolute confusion.

"What are you on about? Of course I remember you. Why wouldn't I? What's going on?"

"Oh, Harry," she burst, forcing tears and throwing herself at him. He embraced her, holding her in his arms though he still did not know of the events which had caused her so much turmoil. When she finally pulled away, face damp and lip trembling, Hermione forced him into a passionate kiss. After some time, Harry reluctantly pulled back.

"Hermione what is going on?" This time, his tone was more demanding than questioning, as it had previously been. Hermione bit her bottom lip, searching his face while he held her at arm's length.

"Harry..." she started, sniffling and placing her hands on his chest. "Harry, you had a nervous breakdown. Last Friday, almost ten days ago... you opened a letter from one of your job agencies, I can't remember which, but you didn't get the job and you went off; raving about some madman named Mauriz and how it was all his fault that you were unhappy. I've tried to keep you happy, Harry, really I have... and I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't listen. You said I didn't know what I was talking about because I'd been locked up for too long, and that that was Maruiz's fault too. I was so scared, Harry."

"Hermione..." Harry tested, embracing her absentmindedly while a million thoughts and theories strangled his brain. "Hermione, you were... you were locked up in the establishment for almost six years. Maruiz killed Dumbledore, remember? The day I killed Voldemort..." he said, speaking slowly as if explaining something mildly complex to a child with limited capacity. Hermione sat straight up, tears falling freely down her cheeks, and shook her head.

"No... no, not again. No, Harry," she moaned, pounding on his chest with light and easy fists. He gently took one into his grasp.

"What?" Harry asked softly, whispering as if it would provide some sort of comfort. Hermione took his face within her palms, forcing him to stare into her eyes and listen to her words.

"That's not true, Harry. Mauriz doesn't exist; you did kill Voldemort, in seventh year, and we graduated, and I've taken care of you, Harry. I love you. Dumbledore died of natural causes last summer. You had nothing to do with it, Harry. I've been here, with you, for six years. Harry, please, you have to remember..." she rambled, shaking him to punctuate her points. "Look," Hermione said suddenly, spinning to point toward the window. "There's the brown spider outside the window, remember? We named her, she's our spirit protector. Then, there, that's where we put the empty cans before I take them into the village. Harry, please."

"I... I'm sorry, Hermione," he said softly, wiping her tears with his thumbs. "I don't remember anything." She dropped her head in despair, but he lifted her chin a moment later. "But that's all right; you can tell me everything. Soon everything will be back to normal. Don't cry, I hate to see you unhappy." Hermione did her best to offer a smile and Harry returned it, then complimented the moment with a sweet kiss. "All right?" She nodded softly, wiping her tears and sighing before falling back against his chest.

"I guess I should be grateful," she said softly, gripping a bit of his shirt in her fist. "The doctors weren't sure if you'd even remember who I was."

"Oh, baby," he said, embracing her tightly against him. "I'd never forget you. Never." She shivered against him.

"How do I know you haven't forgotten me? You remember my name, but what about me, Harry? Everything we've been through together, you remember none of it. What if, in this dream world you've created, I'm someone else? What if you don't love me anymore?"

"Of course I-" Harry began, though her logic made absolute sense. He couldn't bear the thought of harboring ill feelings toward Hermione, in whatever state he or she be in. Hermione, working on the adrenaline of her immense web of lies, initiated a kiss which took him by surprise in more areas than one.

"Show me."

-x-x-x-

"Hermione," Harry asked, nestled in front of their tiny fireplace with his room mate and listening contentedly as she read certain passages from the novel adhered to her fingers, and Hermione looked up with a smile. "Can I ask you some things?"

"Of course you can, Harry," she said, immediately marking her place and setting the book aside before draping her legs over his and giving him her full attention. "You should. It will be good for you." He smiled and gave a small sigh before beginning.

"How long have we lived here?"

"Here?" Hermione asked, glancing around. "Not very long. About a month, actually. We moved because I found a job in the down, down the road. Not much of one, of course, but enough to buy groceries and keep up this place. But then, you had trouble finding one of your own..." she trailed off, then started. "Oh, but don't you worry about that now, Harry. We'll be fine."

"Where did we live before?" Harry asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"We've lived a lot of places," she admitted, sighing in disappointment. When we left school, we decided to stay together... and we couldn't go to university and start a family at the same time, so we've been moving where work is since then." She looked up at him. "You told me it didn't matter to you as long as you had me with you." Harry smiled.

"That, I can see myself saying," he agreed, then kissed her before continuing. "Where's Ron?" Hermione tensed and Harry was instantly wary of his question.

"You don't remember," she said as if realizing it for the first time herself, then shook her head and kissed below his chin. "Of course you don't remember. You think some madman came in and kidnapped the lot of us. Harry, baby, I'm sorry- Ron's gone. We lost him the day you fought Voldemort." She heard him take a sharp breath and felt her heart break at his pain. "I'm sorry Harry," she said truthfully. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"Ron," he said, voice breathy with denial. "Ron's dead." Hermione held him in the silence that followed his realization, holding back tears that would not look completely out of place if shed. After a moment of grief and recovery of mild shock, Harry exhaled. "What about the others?"

"The others?"

"Yes, the others; Ginny and Draco- Teige, Janelle, Neville, Dean and Seamus... everyone," he asked. "What happened to them?"

"I... I don't know, Harry," Hermione said. "After the battle, we... we drifted apart. Everyone moved on; it was a long time ago."

"How many of them died? In the war?"

"Harry, please calm down. There were so many who died... none that you've named. Except perhaps Janelle and Teige- I'm sorry, love, but I don't remember them. Did they attend Hogwarts?"

Harry was breathing rapidly and Hermione felt exponentially horrible for doing this to him. He paused for a long moment to collect himself and slowed his breathing.

"No... I don't think they exist. Forget I mentioned them."

"Harry, I know it's hard for you, but I'm here. You can trust me, Harry," she said, swallowing hard. "I love you."

"I know, love," he said. "I know."

"I think that's enough questions," Hermione said, picking up her book from the tea table. "Where was I?"

-x-x-x-

After the medi-witch (who looked to be about a century past her prime) had accounted for her absence by explaining that she was substituting for the Longbottoms' current medic, who was at present out of commission with a broken arm, and that she simply could not find her reading glasses, Draco left the bedroom emotionally spent and with no energy to listen to the old woman babble continuously. From what he could tell from Teige's explanation later that evening, the midwife handled the afterbirth and potion administration about as well as a toddler manages a semi-automatic, but got through the process without killing anyone. Apria, though a cute little thing, was amazingly obnoxious for a baby of magical blood. Normally, the immature magic of the child responds to the magic of its parents which provides a calming sensation, keeping the child at peace for a majority of its time.

Chuckling to himself, Draco wondered if the reaction might have had something to do with the fact that the only biological magic that could soothe the child would have to come from Neville and he had very little to speak of. That and he almost refused to come within more than a few feet of proximity to his child. He'd been the first to hold her, had passed her off to Draco before her sex could be identified, and hadn't held her since. Janelle was understanding, but Draco assumed that was because she was bedridden and full to the brim with potions for pain relief and comfort. He doubted a world war could spark her concern.

When all was said and done, the men decided it would be fitting to take Neville out for the evening and get him over his nerves. Draco had been invited and, being honorary godfather, agreed with only mild reluctance. As the men readied themselves to leave, Draco recalled that he had left his cloak in the front room and it sparked remembrance of the task he had been about to perform. After a moment of thought he sighed and went to retrieve his covering, deciding that Hermione would be safe enough with Harry for a while and that he could use a drink after such a horrid week.

When the barrage of men arrived back, many missing either for having gone off with one-night-stands or returning home to their wives, Draco seemed to be the only one sober enough to fit the key in the lock and open the door. He did, and led the troops into an all-out war zone. Evidently, Apria was not having a wonderful first day of life and, because Janelle had neither the energy nor the will to get out of bed and care for her, she was left for hours with a handful of equally exhausted women. Teige happened to be holding her niece as the men returned and, with eyes ablaze, handed her off to Draco before stomping up the staircase without a word.

The other women quietly followed and Ginny gave him a sympathetic look as she took care of her highly intoxicated brother. The other men seemed not to even have noticed the exchange and returned to their rooms, or flopped onto the floor, to sleep off their alcohol. With a sigh, Draco turned to the small blonde babe in his arms and gave her half a smile. She'd stopped crying after being given to the stranger who smelled of musk and, at the moment, fire whiskey.

"Well," he said, shifting her onto his shoulder. "Looks like it's just you and I, Appy pie. What say we turn in, hm?"

As Draco walked the three flights of stairs to his bedroom, starting very carefully to avoid any harm that may come to his cargo, he realized how incredibly sober he really was. He'd tried to drink, to join in the fun of the others, but his heart really wasn't into it. The bar was dark and cramped and reminded him of the Hogwarts dungeons, which in turn reminded him of his duty to the establishment, which, of course, brought on more thoughts of Hermione. The fire whiskey Blaise had ordered him made his stomach turn, and the white wine he exchanged it with tasted too much like Hermione, which he realized was preposterous, but felt it all the same. While the other men laughed and drank and beat on each other, he sat at the bar alone and thought about her.

It was the strangest thing to think about; the one thing he was sure would never happen to him had happened; not falling in love, he'd hoped optimistically for that, but he'd fallen head over heels before the object of his affection had any idea that such a possibility existed. And, not that alone, but she'd been taken. Not by law or power but, in her own heart, she already belonged to the infamous Harry Potter. He'd fallen for an untouchable, someone he could never have a future with, and the effects were painstakingly obvious. Draco Malfoy had never felt an ache quite like he felt when something reminded him of her, and yet, he knew how insane the entire situation would seem to any passerby. How careless and foolhardy could he be to fall so madly in love over the course of a few days? As unbelievable as it may seem to some, there was no mistaking the feeling deep in his stomach, no mistaking all the broken records playing on the turntable of his mind which told him that he had to see her, and no mistaking the constant visual of her face he held whenever his eyes drifted closed.

On the same leaf, no one could overlook the fact that she did not return any of his feelings. Draco was absolutely certain that he'd become a statistic; a heart-broken, ambitionless sap- burned by love but too enchanted to find any other fire to warm him. He was sure that Hermione felt nothing for him, except possible friendship. They'd held an awkward bond because of their unorthodox situation, but that was all it ever had been to her. She'd laugh at him now, sitting in the middle of a party and sulking over her. It was then that he decided not to look for her. The address that had burned a hole in his pocket all evening was in that instant shredded on the bar and dumped ceremoniously into his wine. The bartender looked at him oddly, but did not comment and Draco completely ignored all other presence in the room but his own. If Hermione could be so happy without him, with Harry to take care of her, he certainly wasn't going to go begging for her to return. It was different this time; she had help, she didn't need him and, though he ached at the thought of needing her, Draco vowed on a barstool confessional that he would do the right thing. He would love her, and he would leave her alone.

It was as he was readying Apria in the long-time baby-stocked bathroom that he recalled this and realized he'd had only a sip of alcohol the entire night. As an afterthought, he kicked himself for letting Justin apparate them home. Amazing they didn't all end up on separate corners of the earth. Fresh from a bath in the perfectly sized sink and dressed in the pajama's he'd given her at her shower, Apria Longbottom laid peacefully on the plush bathroom rug, no more than a blob of skin with outcroppings of blonde locks on her crown. Her eyes were partly open, which Draco already knew was a good sign she didn't take too much after her father, and he couldn't help but smile at her.

Startled by something falling from a nearby shelf, the baby let out a small wail and stretched her neck as if just waking up from a wonderfully deep sleep. Draco frowned. Though she looked nothing like her and had no reason to whatsoever, he saw Hermione in the tiny child.

When her stretching was finished, the discomfort of being startled caught up with Apria and she began to whimper and cry. Draco picked her up from the cold floor immediately, hoisting her onto his shoulder and resting a hand securely on the bottom of her freshly changed diaper. He spoke in low tones, shushing her, and felt his heart go out to her as she was in such distress. He guessed his magical energy meshed well enough with hers to act as a surrogate parent, because Apria calmed instantly and fell into a steady rhythm of sucking her thumb as she rested against his shoulder and it occurred to Draco that she'd calmed instantly when first introduced to his arms as well. At this realization, he couldn't help but feel a little smug.

After situating her safely in the bed for temporary safe keeping, Draco dashed about the house and summoned the things he would need to keep her happy for the rest of the night, so that he would not have to venture too far from his room to aid her. Apria noticed his absence in due time and began fussing again, to which Draco came immediately to the rescue; joining her in bed and resting her on his chest so that he could stroke her back and soothe her. When she had settled into sleep again, he sighed.

"Well, kid, I'm... a friend, I guess. Your godfather, as well, but for the life of me I hope I never have to take up that offer and keep you. You've got some great parents, you know. A little unorthodox, I'll admit, but about as good as they come," he told her, keeping his voice soft and soothing. He paused before speaking again with new vigor. "You know, I wonder if you'll have any magic in you at all, love. I'd have to say your father's lucky he can even access his. As second in command to your parents, I suppose it's as much my responsibility as theirs to make sure you get off to a good start and, regarding the circumstances, it might be best if we start practicing early. What'd you say? Can you say wingardium leviosa? No? Well, perhaps you're a bit too young." He sighed. "Let's make a deal. I'll help you out with this whole... growing up thing, and you help me keep my mind off some things. That sound all right?"

Draco paused as if he expected an answer and noted with slight amusement that she had already fallen quite deeply asleep and was emitting soft snores as she covered the expanse of his chest with a comfortable weight.

"You know, Ap; I think you came just in time. I'm glad you're finally here and I happen to know that your father will be immensely happy that you lack undercarriage once he comes out of his drunken stupor and realizes what happened tonight. We'll show him, though, won't we? You'll be a star seeker. Maybe by the time you're ready, we'll even have Hogwarts up and running again. I bet anything you'll be a Ravenclaw. Your mother would have been a Ravenclaw, I don't doubt that." He paused. "I'm going to stick to this deal, you know. No matter what happens, I'll be right here keeping you out of trouble. Always."

-x-x-x-

Days turned quickly into weeks and they, inevitably, bled into months. Draco threw himself wholly into Apria, noting her every movement and keeping tabs on everything she did. Neville had taken only a week off before returning to his job and Janelle soon spent her maternity leave and was forced to go as well. They had talked of some type of daycare program, but Draco had volunteered and was hired at nearly half the price of all competitors. He had originally refused money on motive that he was practically family, but they had insisted and he reluctantly accepted, spending only what he needed for his share of grocery and bills at the end of each month, and putting the rest away to earn interest.

He toyed with ideas of how he would spend it, imagining Apria at sixteen with a brand new car in her driveway, or enough of a start on college to get into the best schools in Britain, and, late at night, even the smiling face of Hermione as he handed her the key to a refurnished Victorian cottage with white picket fencing and a tire swing in a tree.

Draco remained a firm believer in starting out early with thoughts of magic and trying, for the most part unsuccessfully, to get the small girl to say a spell. The day she crawled across the entire foyer of the farmhouse while chasing a ball was held in almost the same regard as the day she sneezed and accidentally set the couch ablaze.

As the months passed, thoughts of attacking the establishment began to circulate once again and the mood of the house was significantly deteriorated. Many of the occupants and come-and-gos held grudges against Harry, claiming that he no longer cared about the cause and was no longer their concern. Draco forced himself to agree on those principals alone and tried his very hardest not to let his personal feelings alter his judgment.

For the most part, Draco was so distracted by Apria that he was left out of most of the planning. It wasn't until Justin stood up in the middle of a rather large group at the dinner table and cleared his throat, forcing those around him to turn their attention from their coffee cups.

"As you know, it's been almost nine months since the... 'battle' and rescue. We've got a plan of attack that should be ready within the week, and we're counting on this Saturday to put it into action. I'm not requiring any of you to be there, but we need as many men as we can... women too, of course. Spread the word; recruit," he stated professionally, then cleared his throat and shifted. "Erm, dinner was excellent, Janelle." She smiled her thank you and Justin sat down, allowing the table to be bathed in silence until, eventually, everyone drifted off to do their own planning and resting for battle. Apria was left in the care of Draco, who was determined to get her to eat more of the baby-friendly jarred meal than the half a spoonful she'd agreed to. Janelle and Neville allowed themselves leave at Janelle's insistence that they needed to have a 'talk' in the next room. Draco rolled his eyes as they walked away, sure he knew what the topic of conversation was to be.

"Cocoa!" Apria wailed, slamming her spoon against the table in annoyance at Draco's blatant ignorance when she was evidently in desperate need of mashed chicken and peas. He laughed and gave forth his full attention.

"Yes, yes, Appy, all right. Can't you do this on your own? Hm?"

Apria sat on her hands and opened her mouth, forcing Draco to feed her. He rolled his eyes and stuffed her mouth with a spoonful of chicken pot pie, which she promptly allowed to dribble completely down her front, then laughed amusedly at Draco's exasperation.

Meanwhile, in the other room, Janelle and Neville were having a heated conversation while trying unsuccessfully to keep their angry voices to a roaring minimum.

"Janelle, love, please be practical. You can't fight with us," he said, pleading with her to agree with him, and Janelle crossed her arms, looking to the ceiling as if trying to keep her emotions in check.

"Neville. I allowed it when I was pregnant. I allowed it afterward, when you wouldn't let me leave the bloody house... but I am in perfect health and fine enough physical condition. I will not let you treat me like a child! I can do this!"

"No you can't! Nell, you're a muggle. How can you possibly expect to fight a war without a wand?"

"Get me a gun! I don't care, Nev- I will not sit around washing dishes while you all go off to fight against the one madman that has made life in general a living hell. I want him dead just as much as you do; I want to be a part of it, just as much. If you loved me at all, you'd understand that," Janelle countered, turning away and walking toward the kitchen, but Neville caught her arm and drew her back.

"Nell," he said, taking a step closer to her. "I do understand, and I do love you. That's why I don't want you there. I want to know that you're safe, home. You know I don't want you unhappy."

"Have you ever thought that maybe I want to know that you're safe as well? Maybe I like knowing that I can just glance to my left and be absolutely sure that you're all right. Maybe I want to be there, fighting beside you, so that if something does happen, I can live with peace of mind that I did absolutely everything that I could to stop it," she confessed, eyes on one of the buttons of his shirt, which was in desperate need of re-sewing. Neville was left speechless, his hand still resting limply on her arm. "Or," Janelle began again. "Or maybe I just want to feel included. I don't want to be the outsider anymore, Nev. I don't want to be the only one who can't contribute; who doesn't have the capabilities. I know, being a muggle is a handicap, but I've seen men with no legs run marathons. I should be able to fight in a war. Millions of muggles do that everyday."

"This is different, baby. If you're hit with the right curse, you will die. There's no surviving an Avada... unless, of course, you're Harry. Janelle, there're even some, more minor, spells that could kill you. You don't have any experience with hexes or curses- you haven't built up any immunity. Honey, the truth is that there's a greater chance you'll perish than there is of coming out with even a thread of life left... much less end up unscathed."

"I don't care. I don't care about any of that; this is more important than a few bumps and bruises."

"Nell," Neville sighed. "I..." He struggled for words, searching his mind for something that could strengthen his defense. "Baby, think about Appy." Janelle's heart skipped a beat and she spun to view the dining room, where her tiny daughter sat contentedly and safe in her highchair while her favorite godfather had a wonderfully exhausting time trying to give her adequate nutrition. She let out a breath when sure that the baby was in no immediate danger and turned back to her husband.

"What about her?"

"Well," Neville started. "What if something happened to you? It would be terrible for her..."

"No more so than growing up without a father," Janelle quickly shot back. "You'll be in danger too, Nev. You seem to think that you're invincible. Well, I've a news flash. You're not." She pulled her arm away from him and spun around, walking with conviction into the next room. Neville followed, hot on her heels.

"Love, please consider-"

"If you'll excuse me," she stated, taking Apria from her chair and relieving Draco of chicken-duty. "I've got to nurse our daughter." As she started toward the bathroom, Apria propped on her shoulder, the little girl began to whine and fuss, reaching her arms out toward Draco.

"Cocoa!" she demanded. "Cocoa, cocoa, cocoa, cocoa!" Janelle sighed in defeat and brought her daughter in front of her to view.

"Appy, say 'Mama'. Come on, love. 'Dada' even," she pleaded and the baby stared for a moment at her mother before succumbing to her quivering bottom lip and bursting into yet another cry.

"Cocoa!"

"All right!" Janelle said, giving up and handing her baby over to Draco, as requested. She curled up on his chest and tucked her head below his chin, clutching his sweater as she continued tearing softly. "Why don't you want me anymore? I remember when I used to sleep without my shirt on just to nurse every hour and now you don't need me at all? That's it, then? Not even a year old and done completely with your mother?"

"Janelle," Draco started, voice suggesting he thought her speech an overreaction. "She's just upset because you're fighting. You know that."

"That doesn't make it better, Draco. I'm sick of being second thought for everyone," Janelle said, sighing and turning away. "First my husband and now my daughter. Some great use I am." Before either of the men could react with words of comfort, Janelle fled the room and dashed up the stairs, slamming their bedroom door behind her. Neville sighed and dropped himself into a table chair.

"What am I supposed to say to that, Draco?" he asked, words muffled by the hands which covered his face. "How am I supposed to make everything better? Make her happy?" Draco gave a slight chuckle and handed Apria to her father. She was much more willing to be held by a parent who wasn't radiating anger and yelling at the other.

"I am the wrong man to ask about women, Longbottom," he said, sighing and running the back of his index finger over Apria's tiny foot. "The wrong man."

-

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