A/N: Love to reviewers and to Countess Black

Plans have changed slightly-the second part of the two parter will be further on. Sorry for the confusion.

Also, keep in mind as you read that different characters experience different events differently. Narcissa's perceptions will differ wildly from Hermione's, say.

The inspiration for many of the stories discussed in this chapter is the book 'The Model Wife' by Rhona Randall. Many of them were gleaned from letters that real women wrote circa 1865 to Englishwomen's Domestic Magazine. I think it must have taken enormous courage for them to do so, even pseudo-anonymously. Many of them had loving marriages to good and decent men-some of them did not, and talked about it with candour.

Dedicated with gratitude and sadness to them.

It is both a law of nature and a cliché, in the dramatic sense, to say that for every action, there is one which is both equal and opposite, but the hackneyed nature of the thing doesn't discount it's veracity.

Especially when the thing at question is something as inflammatory as 'A Refutation to Letters to Wives', by Hermione Granger Malfoy. It was published a few days after the hearing, just as Hermione was experiencing her first serious symptom of pregnancy, bent over the seat of ease, Leesy holding her hair and shirring soothingly.

'Darling, you've made the front page! Darling, I-Hermione? What's the matter, precious?'

Hermione rinsed her mouth, took a phial of the breath sweetening potion most wizards use daily, and stepped out, smiling a bit. 'I'm alright, Draco. Just morning sickness.'

After having the concept explained to him, Draco showed her the paper. 'War hero Granger speaks out against Letters to Wives.' The story was about what one would expect from the Prophet. Hermione read it, nodded, and, apparently unconcerned, mentioned that her parents were due to visit that night.

That was only the beginning. Over the next few days, letters poured in, some of them denouncing Hermione as, at best, having been damaged by her war experiences, and the worst calling for all the Malfoys to be driven from Britain like plague rats.

And then the letters began to come to Cardiff, via the publisher. The elves checked them and disposed of any that had been hexed or coated in something poisonous; but that wasn't many, and it left the ones that were merely hateful.

Draco wanted terribly to assert his rights and open them all for her first, to only give her the ones that were supportive and kind and gentle; Hermione pre-empted the inevitable disagreement by asking if they could do it as a family.

So the four Malfoys, as many elves as could be fitted into Hermione's sitting room, and Crookshanks (as moral support) were slitting the letters with pen knives and sometimes reading excerpts from them if they were funny or touching or filled with bile.

The elves were not pleased with this activity by any means. They were somewhat mollified by the fact that Madam was stretched on her chaise longue and suitably rugged with furs and bolsters, but all this stress musn't be good for the baby. Their inclusion also helped, but most of them looked sour as they slit and sorted the letters into piles.

'...a disgrace to all decent ladies, a spider, a leech, and a monstrous, unnatural and depraved-' Hermione set down the letter in the pile to be burnt and selected the next one.

'I do wish' said Lucius, flinging another in a similar vein aside 'that these imbeciles could be bothered to have something more creative to say. Moral outrage is really very tiresome if it isn't one's own, I find.'

Draco set one aside to be read by the ladies. 'Being denounced is practically the family pastime, Father.'

'Draco Lucius!'

'Well, it is. And I speak as one who has been denounced regularly.'

Lucius tried to look stern and failed. 'I rather miss the days when I could turn you -over my knee when you were flippant, Draco.'

Draco blushed slightly. 'I meant no disrespect, Father.'

'Of course you didn't, and I'm the first one to admit you're right. But more generally, you were easier to convince in those days, weren't you?'

'Hmph. I was a very good boy, as I remember it.'

'Narcissa, darling, do back me up, won't you?'

Narcissa turned to her daughter in law and smiled. 'I don't hear any of this, and nor does Hermione, isn't that right, dearest?'

Draco looked outraged. 'Hermione, you believe me, don't you?'

'Mother, did you hear something?'

Both men hmmph'd pointedly and went back to sorting. 'Narcissa, do you remember Draco's third birthday?'

'I do. Wasn't he adorable in his little smock and short trousers, just like a big boy?'

'And he'd just started wearing pants, do you recall? He told everyone he wasn't in nappies anymore.'

Hermione darted her eyes at her husband, who was squirming a bit, trying to ignore what was going on. She read a few more letters, saved the most interesting, and then stood, legs tingling. 'Is anyone else ready for a break?'

The group stood as well. 'What did you have in mind, love?'

Hermione checked her pocket watch. 'It's almost time for dinner, so why don't we walk down a bit early?' Ten minutes later the elves were ladling oyster soup into bowels and pouring pumpkin juice as the family sat down, relaxing, the fire playing cosily on all of them.

'Well, darling, what do you think?'

'About the letters?'

'Amongst others, yes. Generally.'

'It's all very exciting, I suppose. I just hope I'm making more lives better than I am worse.'

Draco tasted his soup and added a little pepper, mentally reminding himself to ask Hermione to speak to the cook. 'Was it like this when you published your book, Father?'

'You've written a book, Father?'

'Quite. It was just before Draco was born. And it wasn't like this, Draco, no. But my subject was much less controversial.'

'What was it?'

'Poisons. Various blends, methods of delivery. Commentary on Locusta of Gaul's text on tincture of bloodroot. That sort of thing.' Hermione was staring at Lucius with something like open shock, food forgot about.

'Something the matter, love?'

'You wrote about that and it got less attention than my treatise?'

Lucius laughed softly. 'Darling, there have always been books like that. Mainly so people could be prepared if they should think themselves likely to be poisoned. And I did use a pen name, after all.' He smiled and ate an oyster from his soup; much though he liked Hermione, it was rather nice to give the usually unflappable girl a shock once in a while.

Hermione was shaking her head when the second course came in. Just when she thought she understood the Malfoys, there was another layer to them, like onions.

After the meal, everyone withdrew to their own bedroom for the usual nap. Hermione was surprised that she felt tired, and settled back, eyes closed, and was sleeping in moments. Strangely, Draco was not tired in the least. So he did what seemed to him the natural course of things-he sought out his mother, who rarely slept during the day.

Narcissa knew her son, and she knew he sometimes thought deeply about things. She was not surprised to receive him in her sitting room, as Lucius and Hermione's gingery tom dozed on the bed, snoring gently.

'Mother' said Draco as they sat down 'may I ask you something?'

'Of course, love. Is everything all right?'

He nodded. 'Are all women unhappy?'

Narcissa inhaled slowly. 'Well...you must understand, Draco, that Father and I have a very good marriage in most part because we each work hard at it. Some people do not, and that can create misery very quickly, I would say.'

Draco processed this. 'It doesn't seem...you mean talking things over?'

'Yes, partly. But we also strive to be respectful and considerate of one another. And to make time to enjoy one another-sharing interests, talking about things, like that.'

Draco was nodding. 'Yes, Mother. It seems unlikely to me that the absence of those things alone could cause this sort of reaction.'

'Of course not. You and Father are honourable, Draco, and would not press your advantage cruelly to Hermione or I. Not all men are as you are. Some of them are violent or drunken or unkind.'

'I haven't always been...sometimes I regret...I think perhaps were I Hermione, I would not have dealt so calmly with all this.'

'No?'

'I would hate me. But even as I say that, I'd do it again. Ironic, wouldn't you agree?'

Narcissa sighed. 'Yours is a special case, I'd say. And have you ever told Hermione that, Draco?'

Draco looked at his hands. 'She would nod and say "Thank you, Draco. I appreciate your honesty" or something earnest and caring and I'd feel an ass. And I'd not want her to think that I regret that we're married. I don't.'

'Of course not.' Narcissa took his hand and held it a moment in hers. She wished she could help him through this and couldn't; the children would guide one another or be lost.

'It will get harder rather than easier, as the open session approaches.'

'Yes, my darling, it will. But as brave as you both are, I've faith you'll be fine.'

Draco licked his lips. 'Sometimes I feel...perhaps she's doing for other people what she can't for herself. Freeing them. She can't be, but she can help others.'

Narcissa had had that very thought. Hermione showed the world an incredibly brave face, but sometimes Narcissa wondered if the mask ever slipped. Didn't the child ever want to give up? Did she mean to continue indomitably for years? A lifetime?

'As I've said, Draco, it's different.'

'Is it?' Draco stood and gently pecked Mother's smoothly floral cheek, excused himself. The cat padded after and Draco, well trained, stooped to pick him up and carry him back to their rooms.

'Draco?'

'Shhh, back to sleep.'

Hermione shook herself the rest of the way awake and sat, grinning when she saw Crookshanks. 'Crookshanks!'

The cat permitted himself to be deposited on the bed, and then moved to his Girl's side, where he could guard her belly. He had a vague idea humans took the long way in these things, but he very much wanted to be near her in case she needed him at some point before she queaned.

Draco made a face at the furry menace and settled himself on the other side. 'How's the belly, love?'

'All right.' She seemed disinclined to say anything else, and Draco decided to proceed slowly. 'How are you doing with all the letters and things? Not too worked up?'

Hermione shrugged. 'I knew my views might upset people, Draco.'

'Like I've said, I've been denounced loads of times, so if it bothers you, we could talk about it.'

'Thanks. How about you?'

'If you're happy, I'm happy. Speaking of which, you did a very kind for Madam Crabbe by introducing her to all those others.'

'She's a nice woman.'

'Yes, she is. And I even rather enjoyed dinner.' This, for Draco, was something of a sacrifice, as he wouldn't want it to get round he'd enjoyed some hen party. But Hermione, he'd noticed, had a talent for drawing people out, and so the dinner had been pleasant to see, all those women-usually forgot about-laughing and chatting.

Madam Dinglebolt had even put him at the head of the table and asked him to carve. Her black dragon's bone teeth gleaming, she'd allowed the elf to renew her hearing charm and regaled them all with stories of her days as one of the Harpies.

'Really, Madam? You knew Harmonia Singer?'

'I did. Quite the greatest Seeker I have ever known, and I have attended precisely one hundred world cup competitions.' Eudamia's face changed subtly, as an old pain sprung to life again. Hermione would have recognise the feeling at once, the resurrected sense of loss and sadness that was never far enough away for comfort.

'Of course, after she lost her eye, she couldn't play anymore. And the spell to fix that sort of thing was still twenty or so years in the future.'

The other women were nodding, faces still. Hermione raised an eyebrow, but it was Louisa Bulstrode who answered. 'Her husband drank. One day he hit her in the face with a bottle and half blinded her.'

No one was eating or drinking now. Hermione saw something else on the faces of the women-an understanding that things would be discussed in the course of this enterprise which might be painful and ugly.

Olive Crabbe sipped some wine. 'My Vince was always good to me, but my sister-she married that fellow Mudsley, the one with the side whiskers?- she's had to hide her jewellery from him. Otherwise he pawns it to buy whiskey.'

Other stories followed. Women mutilated, women starved or imprisoned in their own homes. The ladies wove a tapestry of suffering at the table, each of them joining their voices to the others in shared anger and grief.

'D'you remember Lotty Rowle, Bilquis? She was in my brother's year. Her husband left her for another woman and gave the mistress the children. Poor Lotty was absolutely going mad, of course, the idea of some Knockturn Alley slut raising her babies.' Louisa sipped her own wine and shook her head.

'Hermione, does this happen to muggle women too?'

'Sometimes. But our laws are different.' Hermione summarised, and when she was done a silence had fallen. 'My God' said Eudamia, who was a Halfblood and thought the idea of blood purity the biggest load of hippogriff's wallow imaginable 'and here we were raised to see them as animals.'

Bilquis Rochefort nodded sadly. 'Ironic. But we're trying to make it better, aren't we?'

Hermione nodded, face smooth and unafraid. 'Yes. We're-most of us-lucky enough to have resources to escape if we needed. But there are so many women who can't, who are stuck.'

'We're stuck, as much as them.'

Narcissa spoke up. 'Yes and no, Olive. Legally we are, but all of us have-had-people to intercede, to stop a scandal if nothing else. And there's a degree of social pressure, not to mention dowries to be withdrawn if it got bad enough. What have poorer women got?'

Draco was silent this whole time, absorbing. He hadn't ever thought of any of these things. He'd assumed that all men were like Father, or like he tried to be, lovingly protecting women from bad things, giving guidance.

Hermione was silent, too. He caught her eye and they both shared a thought: that no matter how much she changed for other women, she would never be free.

'What happened to Harmonia? Did she ever get her eye fixed?'

Eudamia's face worked. 'No, dear child. By the time it was available, she'd done away with herself.'

Hermione was nuzzling Crookshanks, burying her face in his soft ruff as he preened. The cat snorted and nuzzled back, utterly content to be with his Girl. He turned to Draco and miaowed an interrogative. You there, why don't you get in? My flank shan't warm itself.

Draco climbed in the bed and opened his arms. Hermione leant back, still cuddling the cat, and sighed, clearly thinking. 'Draco?'

'Love?'

'Those letters are hard to read. Not the angry ones, the sad ones.'

'They are. And all stories at Eudamia's.' He shook his head in disgust. Six months ago, he might have told Hermione this showed what a lucky girl she was, to be with someone who treated her nicely, rather than a sot like Mudsley or something even worse.

He didn't. Draco just snuggled closer and gently pressed his wife's belly. 'What story would the baby like today? Something light, I should hope.'

Hermione nodded. 'Do you understand now why I had to write it, Draco?'

'Yes.' He squeezed her convulsively and spelled the room warmer. The cat stood on his stubby legs and got closer to Hermione's side, anointing her belly. He wanted everyone to know that this kit was his. And he'd start it mousing the second its eyes had opened.

Hermione had spent the last few days immersed in other people's misery, and that wasn't even to count the mystery she was still intent on pursuing. She shut her eyes, mentally cataloguing the body of work ahead of her. It comforted her greatly sometimes, knowing that there was always more work to be done. Always another chapter to write, a shirt to mend, a baby to have, a meal to oversee. Thank God.

By the time Draco's rather sarcastic recitation of 'The Littlest Hippogriff' (this version, suspiciously, focused on a brave, resourceful and handsome wizard who defeated the "evil slashing hellbeast" with Slytherin cunning.)

'Draco, I suspect you've modified this somewhat.'

'I am hurt you'd say so, hurt.'

'That's hardly a denial.'

'You look lovely today, my angel.'

Hermione snorted and stood up. Another sack of mail had come in. The elves were under orders to open and discard anything full of vitriol, and they had. Hermione's face lit up as she read.

'Draco, three ladies' clubs want me to come and address them. One of them is Augusta Longbottom's. This is so wonderful.'

Draco swallowed a tetchy remark. He had a feeling there was a good many more hen parties in his future. 'You've made quite a splash, love.'

'We. We all have, wouldn't you say?' Draco beamed, but before he could say anything about how good he felt, the cat belched to remind them that his sides would not toast themselves.