A/N: Love to reviewers and my dear Countess Black

Resolved: By order of the Wizengamot, a wife's correspondence with third parties does not constitute a protected communication, as no wife should be party to any activity her spouse would find objectionable, and the reading of personal mail would verify the harmlessness of such activities.

Klytemnestra Carter vs. Alphonsus Carter, 1846

Draco led them down the deep and winding stairs, into the belly of the castle. He was careful to see that Hermione's little feet didn't trip, holding her tightly in case she should stumble. He had to laugh at the look on her face: determined and not at all afraid, quite a good attempt to convince him that she wasn't scared.

She wasn't scared. Not at all, and why should she? Having fought Death Eaters, ridden a dragon, and lived with Malfoy without killing him, why should she shriek at a mere rat? She did rather wish Malfoy wasn't holding her so hard, though-she felt like a kitten being held by a too eager child.

Draco's senses were flaring wildly. He found that every noise attracted his attention and that every smell made him put his head up. It smelt like wet and mould and stone; in other words, much as one would expect a dungeon to smell.

They came to the iron banded door which marked the entrance to the dungeon. Draco raised his wand. "Alohamora." The door creaked outward and they walked into it, seeing the many branched pathways that could lead anywhere.

Hermione was nearly vibrating with delight. "This is wonderful."

"Wonderful?"

"Yes. So much to look at. Where shall we start?"

'Asking Mother to teach you needlepoint to distract you from this unwholesome desire to grub about in the dust' he thought, but aloud, said 'Where should you like to start?"

"Let's go from closest to farthest, does that make sense?"

"Eminently. Stick close to my side, darling, there could be vermin." The first pathway led to a series of cells which, to Draco's sensitive nose, still reeked of the last unfortunates to be imprisoned there.

Not wishing to linger, they went to the next one, which was a supply of barrels and baskets, things of that nature. Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "We'll have to tell the elves these are down here."

"Quite." Draco wondered whether Mother would want some to use at the Manor. It disturbed him to realise he cared about such things these days. He wondered whether Hermione felt the same and dismissed it as once; of course she didn't, women love doing things like that.

They walked on and found other, relatively prosaic things. At the end of that corridor was they found the store room. Draco opened it and they studied the huge number of supplies that had been laid up five centuries before either of them were born. Hermione read the labels, sometimes commenting on whatever was inside.

"Do you suppose Hogwarts would want this supply of bat toenails?"

"Probably. Though if we find the herbal for this place, I'd imagine you could use them to make home remedies."

"That's true."

They left the stores and explored a bit more. They finally came to a door dense with runes. Draco, who'd never taken ancient runes, turned to his wife and raised a brow. She smiled.

"Protection and luck. I think we've found the curios."

Draco spelled the door open. This room was shimmering, the wards untouched. Draco called for an elf, who undid them, lit the candles, and left.

The walls were covered with jars in bubbled, ancient glass. Was it? As they looked closer, Draco said 'Rock crystal'. Within the jars, strange and wizened creatures stared with fixed, frozen eyes at some point centuries past.

Hermione was fascinated. She read the hand written labels, translating the runes, horrified and amazed by what she was seeing. 'A blister beetle nest' she pointed to a crennelated structure. 'They've been extinct in Britain for three hundred years."

"I think this quite enough for today, don't you?"

She emphatically disagreed, but she also knew better than to push her luck with Malfoy. "All right. I'd like to find some chairs for the library anyway." They started back for the stairs. There was a soft skittering noise and Draco immediately took hold of Hermione, pulling her close. A great rat, sleekly brown, pink nose twitching, ran out in front of them, hissed, ran off.

Hermione blinked, not surprised to see a rat in a dungeon, and prepared to keep walking. She couldn't-Draco had wrapped both arms about her and simply lifted her up. "There there, shhh, it's only a rat, love."

"Of course it is. I'm not afraid of rats."

Draco chuckled and set her down slowly. "No? I shan't laugh at you, you know, if you are." Hermione shook her head again.

"Really, I'm fine."

"All the same, let's Apparate." He offered his arm and a second later, they were standing in the great hall. "You there, elf! There's a rat in the dungeons." The elf bowed low and immediately set off to find and kill it-house elves and rats being memories from times out of mind.

Hermione sat at the long table and asked for some pumpkin juice for them both. "What did you make of it?"

"Make of what? Below stairs?"

"Yes."

Draco shrugged. "Fine, I suppose. I'll want to ward it, naturally, but other than that, not much of interest."

"Don't you want to explore that room?"

Not really. Draco was admittedly a bit curious, but the idea of mucking about with bits of things, for no real reason, didn't thrill him. But Hermione's cheeks had a little colour, and she wasn't talking in that horrid near monotone. He nodded.

"We'll do a bit each day, hmmm?"

Hermione was speaking to the elf. "Tomorrow? Yes, that should be fine."

"Your parents. They want to come tomorrow for dinner."

"Dinner, love, or supper?"

"Dinner."

"Wonderful. We'll open a bottle of that nice white wine, does that sound good?"

"If you'd like." The enthusiasm had drained from her voice, and her face had attained that stone like smoothness. He groaned internally and reached to stroke a cheek.

"Now, what's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Hermione."

She shook her head. Draco, huffing with annoyance, stood and picked her up, sliding under her as easily as anything. Holding her against his heart, he murmured in her ear. "Tell me what's wrong."

Hermione knew she couldn't refuse a direct order. Cursing that stupid oath, she said, very flatly 'I rather miss my own parents."

"Ah. Well, why don't you write them?"

"It makes me uncomfortable to have someone reading my correspondence."

"It's for your own good, love. Should you like to talk to Mother about it?"

"That's all right."

Draco wondered why Hermione was still upset by this. She'd had quite a long time to get used to the idea. Still, anything that upset her was of interest to him, and he nuzzled gently at her cheeks, trying to make her smile.

"I just want so much for you to be safe, precious."

"My parents wouldn't hurt me."

"Of course not, angel. But I mean safe from bad things, not just safe physically."

"Bad things?"

"Mmm hmmm. Pernicious ideas, upsetting comments, that sort of thing." He dropped his face to her neck and inhaled. He felt a sudden, dizzy rush of pleasure and contentment at having, finally, possessed her fully.

"I'm not a child."

"Of course not, and we've had this argument. My position has not changed, and apparently neither has yours, so let's don't."

Hermione made herself nestle against him. Malfoy murmured and started to rock lightly. "This won't convince me to change my mind."

"You said once that everyone has a price. Do you still believe that?"

Draco rocked her another second. "Depends." This would be, he was sure, adorable. She'd try some transparent ploy, he'd humour her a little and then he'd find a way to make her think she'd got her way.

In a way, this was a relief. Perhaps she'd taken Mother's advice to heart and decided that being sweet and pleasing to him was the fastest way to get what she liked. He settled her more closely in the crook of his arm and waited.

"What would it take for me to receive letters-and send letters-to my parents without getting them vetted? Just my parents, no one else."

Draco frowned solemnly. "Suppose they should try to find some way to take you from me?"

"They wouldn't. I just want someone to talk to about...things."

"Things? Female things, you mean?"

"Among others."

"Talk to Mother, then."

"Please, I...just miss them." Hermione hadn't had a particularly good day. She'd been with her husband for the first time ever, and she felt cheated by the experience. Not only had she been forced to share herself with someone who wasn't her choice, she'd felt none of the pleasure or intimacy she'd always been led to believe was a part of that.

And she missed intimacy, emotional if not sexual. She missed having meaningful conversation, missed sharing ideas, was deeply, crushingly lonely. And as solicitous of her as Narcissa was (or played at being, she was never quite sure), she was yet another person Hermione hadn't chosen for herself.

Draco touched her cheek. It was all he could do to keep from giving in to her just so she didn't look so damned tragic. Poor little love. He started to rock again, murmuring softly, determined to fix this so she'd smile again.

"What's your proposed trade, darling?"

"What do you want?" Hermione blinked her tears away and made herself concentrate.

"Very clever question, that. Well...I'd like it if we shared more."

"Shared?"

"Mmm hmm. You've been holding your feelings inside, and I don't like it. Not a bit. So I suppose if I could trust you to be forthcoming about how you feel, I could trust your parents to be appropriate with you."

"It seems a bit out of character for you to be concerned about things like that."

"Does it? Muggles must conceive of things differently, then."

"How so?"

"Families share feelings, Hermione. It's a right. Father and Mother should be able to rely on me to trust them with my feelings, and I need to be able to rely on you to tell me yours. Fair?"

Hermione nodded, feeling her conception of the Malfoys shift a little. She'd thought, after the war, that she'd never have to see any of them again. Bitterness beckoned compellingly, urging her to give in to self pity. She fought it, fought it with all her heart.

"How do you feel right now?"

"Now? I...' Hermione didn't want to share with him. Wasn't her body enough? But this was her chance to talk to Mum and Dad in private. Maybe the only one she'd ever get. 'Do you ever struggle not to feel bitter?"

"Bitter? No." And he didn't. His life had changed, but his circumstances had allowed for the change to disrupt his daily routine nearly nothing at all. Draco genuinely never thought of what life might have been like in his wife's position.

"Bitter about what, my darling?"

Hermione breathed in and out evenly. "I'd...well, I'd rather planned it all out. My life. And it, well, it's hard to think of all those plans I'll never get to see to fruition."

Draco crooned and stroked her hair lightly. "What sort of plans?"

"I'd a job lined up in the Office of Magical Beings, for one. And McGonagall hinted that perhaps she'd ask me to take over teaching runes when the current professor retires in a few years' time."

Draco cocked his head. "But you couldn't have wanted to do all that. Why would you? It's hard work."

"I like hard work."

He'd have to have Mother explain all of this to the poor confused love. "But you've everything here you could ever need. Doesn't it make you happy to know that?"

Hermione knew she'd have to step carefully. "It's nice to be secure, but I like contributing something. To give back."

"Our family donates money to any number of worthy causes."

"It's not the same."

"Mother will teach you how to oversee the charities that Malfoy ladies are traditionally the heads of. You'll have plenty to do." It passed through his mind that Parkinson would likely be there, if not now then after she married.

"It's not...it's about...any number of things." It was about the fact she'd been reduced to a child. Legally, and no one could help her. It was about free agency and what was right and the fact she'd been handed over to a stranger like a wheel of cheese. She wanted to reclaim her own destiny, fight her own battles, and make money only she could touch.

His poor Hermione! She was shivering. Without another word, Draco rose and Apparated them to the bedroom. "All right, shhhh. That horrible rat shan't get you, love."

"M-Draco! I'm not scared of the rat. I'm just very frustrated by this situation."

He carried her to the bed anyway, and climbed on top of their robes. "I have to say, I don't quite understand why. It's all worked out."

Hermione inhaled deeply. "May I write a letter now? I did as you asked."

Draco laid back. "All right, my dear. I'll rest right here. Shall we see to furniture for the library after?"

"I'd like that." She sat down at her vanity and dashed off a quick note to her parents, letting them know where she was and why. '...it's really lovely here. Perhaps sometime you'll come and visit. Kiss Crookshanks for me."

She finished and looked to Draco. "Is it...is there sealing wax?"

Draco sent the elf for some and handed her his ring. "We'll get you your own seal, darling." He sat down on the other side of the little bench and watched her little hands move.

Hermione didn't especially care about that. She let the elf apply the blob of wax and then stamped down the ring after wetting it on the tiny sponge the elf held out for her.

"Do you know what it means?"

Hermione shook her head. Draco came over, waved the elf to take the letter to Phoebe to send, and held the ring in his hand so he could point. "Two bats and a crow holding a scroll on a field tenne. The bats mean 'awareness of chaos' and the crow means 'watchfulness for friends'. He's holding letters because letters signify 'keeping ones affaires secret'. And that's the family motto."

Hermione squinted. "Familia nos defendit'. Family defends us."

"Well done. And it's true, you know."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, that's what families are like."

"Yours, too?"

"Of course." Hermione missed her parents very much, and she wanted to see them again. She loved them dearly, and the irony of having them back in her life for such a brief time, only to lose them, was biting.

"I should have thought they'd be upset you were magical. They didn't beat you or something?" If they had, he didn't know what he do, but he suspected it would be ugly. Hermione was violently shaking her head, which reassured him somewhat, but he still felt tetchy.

"They were thrilled. They always said they'd be proud of me as long as I did my best. And they have been."

Draco tilted his head back. "Who taught you all the things you know?"

"How do you mean?"

"I know you used to stay with Weasley's family a lot. Did Madam Weasley teach you all about...the things you had to know?"

"Draco, I don't know what you mean."

"Well, about...muggles aren't clean like us, are they?"

Hermione's first impulse involved a knee to a particularly vulnerable place. She forced it down, knowing it was contraindicated by her vow, and said as evenly as she could 'That isn't true, Draco, and it hurts my feelings that you'd say that."

He sincerely hadn't meant to hurt her. His brow wrinkled. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, darling." He moved closer and inhaled her scent, lavender water and that warm, sweet-metallic smell, overlaid sweetly with his own earthier, muskier trace.

"My parents are nice people, good people. And as clean as wizarding people are."

Draco wanted to soothe Hermione's temper, but he also didn't believe that load of hippogriff's wallow.

"They can't be, love. Muggles don't understand how certain things work. Did they know to close your pores after you bathed as child, to keep you from getting spattergroit?"

"Close my pores?"

"Of course. Didn't they have your nurse bathe you every day?"

"I didn't have a nurse. My Mum bathed me, or my Dad."

"Your father?"

"Only until I was four or five, Draco."

Draco was shaking his head. He couldn't imagine such a thing. "Why didn't your parents have a nurse for you?"

"We couldn't afford it. My parents are dentists-medi-muggles who fix people's teeth."

"Oh." He wondered if medi-muggles were all desperately poor, or the Grangers were just bad with their money.

"I certainly shan't burden you with that sort of work."

"It's not a burden. It's just part of being a parent."

Draco couldn't wrap his mind about what he'd heard. "Wait, your mother works as well?"

"Yes, of course."

Hermione wondered whether her husband's brain was overloaded. He looked more than a little disturbed. "Draco?"

"Darling, I...what a terrible life. I am so, so sorry you had to live that way."

"It wasn't terrible. It was a very normal muggle life. I liked it. My mother loves what she does and is good at it. And my father liked helping me."

Draco shook his head and wondered if he'd made an error in judgement in letting Hermione correspond with her parents without oversight. Who knew what these people were capable of, after hearing all that? He shook his head to clear it and resolved to think about it another time.

"Shall we see to the library now?"

"Yes, let's." Writing her parents a letter had lightened her heart enough that Hermione didn't even mind very much, being so close to him as they Apparated to the library.