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

Sorry it took so long, everyone. It's midterms, and I'm taking Constitutional Law and Comparative European Politics at the same time.

Also, one of you asked me a question which I've attempted to answer in the chapter below.

Mouse fur false eyebrows were real things. Am I the only one who's shivering a little at the thought?

Hermione bent over the steaming cauldron and gave it nine very careful anti-clockwise stirs, pleased when it turned from a bright cyan to a sort of deep navy blue. She smiled and threw in the four ground bat toenails as the door opened and Draco, slightly damp, strode in.

"Hello, love. What's this?"

"Cough suppressor. You mentioned making home remedies, and today seemed a good day, since you'd gone out. Would you like to sit down?"

He did. 'What else have you got going?"

'Burn salve, dry skin ointment, headache potion, sour stomach draught, and oil of violets. Why?"

He shrugged and took her hand gently in his for a moment. 'No reason. Anything I can help with?"

Hermione handed him a tray of wet, foul smelling lumps of tissue. 'Could you mince these salamander galls for me? They're for sore throat lozenges."

Draco obediently set about mincing and cutting and paring. 'Darling?"

"Yes?"

"You're sure?"

"It started this morning."

Draco didn't know how he felt. Part of him, of course, was very disappointed, because he liked children and wanted them to have one. Another part was just as glad, perhaps, that it hadn't happened this time.

"May I ask you something?"

Hermione was stirring the headache potion. She stopped, raising her eyes. 'Of course."

"Why did you yield to me the other night, if you were afraid you were...?"

Hermione sat down. 'Because...' she felt as though she were sinking in quicksand. She wouldn't tell him it was sheer loneliness that had led to her surrender to him that night. Nor that, once the cat was out of the proverbial bag, stuffing it back in was impossible. And that her life now had the uniformity of a strand of pearls-shiny, perhaps, but meaningless in the bigger picture, and all alike. Anything that would relieve the boredom was welcome.

No, she couldn't tell him that. Hermione looked at her hands, not precisely wishing to lie, either. 'If we were to have been, one more wouldn't hurt. And if nothing came of it, then you'd be happy."

Draco smiled a little. 'My sweet girl." He set down the neatly minced galls and looked for something else to do. 'Shall I start the lozenges?"

Hermione smiled back. 'Would you?" The headache draught was nearly done; with a final sprinkle of willow bark powder, she spelled the heat off the cauldron and charmed the ladle to pour the stuff into rock crystal phials.

Draco watched this, in between the steps of his own project, with pleasure at his wife's industry and efficiency. An elf appeared to take the phials to the upstairs room which served as the potions pantry, and Hermione, dabbing her forehead with a man's handkerchief she'd probably taken from him. Not that he minded-he thought it simply too adorable, that she was slyly using something of his.

"How much is that?"

"A week's worth, assuming someone takes one every day. I'm making a week at a time every day for a month so we'll have plenty."

"Ambitious of you."

"It needs to be done, and we've all the ingredients right here."

"Quite. How's the refutation coming?" He tried to ask it casually, but Hermione stopped and gave him a penetrating look all the same.

"Fine. I should be done fairly soon."

"Ah. What did you want to do with it once you're done?"

Hermione didn't answer right away, being too busy stirring the ointment to keep it from scorching and being ruined. She finally set her stirrer down and said, very evenly 'I don't know."

"Have you given it any thought?"

"Yes, of course. But I'd imagine you wouldn't want me to publish it."

"That thought has crossed my mind, darling. But I'd certainly want to read it before I made any decisions."

"Oh." She spent another endless minute fiddling, this time asking an elf to start pouring the ointment into pottery jars and seal them for storage. 'I'm glad to hear that."

"Are you?"

She was, too. Without being prompted, Hermione came and sat next to him-not on his lap, perhaps, but not far from it- and said, very softly 'That you'd even try, I mean."

"You don't think much of me, love, if you don't think I'd give you a fair chance." Which was, perhaps, not quite true, but Draco was slowly mastering the art of figuring out what made Hermione tick.

Hermione went pink. 'I'm sorry, Draco. I never meant-"

He could have accepted the apology, but he kissed her instead. And it was good.

The moment was interrupted by a sharp yell from next door and a clashing noise. Draco and Hermione both leapt to their feet, drawing as they ran, and found Leesy bent over a mortar and pestle, glaring with enormous hostility at the fat orange dumpling that was Crookshanks.

"Crookshanks is evil cat! Scaring Leesy! Stealing mouse ears for tonic!"

Hermione bent and scooped the cat up, trying not to laugh. Now that she was closer, his mouth did seem to be fairly full. She called for an elf to tend the cauldrons in the other room.

'Crooks! That's very naughty of you, to scare poor Leesy that way."

Crookshanks' looked impenitent. He finished chewing his mouse ears and yawned, feeling quite full and rather sleepy. Settling his head on Hermione's shoulder, he closed his eyes for a nap.

'What is it you were making, Leesy?"

Leesy, dignity wounded by the nasty cat, proudly showed the foul smelling red stew bubbling on the counter top. 'Is being rouge, for the ladies. And this one is being pomade for hair, and this one' she pointed to a seething mass of white, which smelt even worse than the rouge 'is being soap for Madam."

Hermione forced herself to not appreciatively. 'Thank you, Leesy. You needn't worry, though. We've adequate stores of-"

Leesy was shaking her head. 'No, Madam. Leesy is being lady's maid, is knowing what is needed." She gave a satisfied nod and went back to stirring. Hermione, knowing when she'd been beaten, nodded defeatedly.

'There aren't any mouse ears in that, I should hope." Draco's eyes were twinkling, and Hermione couldn't help but snort. She bit her lip and glared sternly at her husband.

'No! Is all being in nasty cat! Leesy is catching more mice later! None for nasty cat!"

"That's not necessary, Leesy."

"But Leesy is making tonic for Madam! To be increasing milk for baby when it is coming!"

"I'll be fine without." Hermione gave Draco an even sterner glare, but being Draco, this encouraged him.

'Mmm, I don't know. Perhaps Madam might prefer some mouse tea, Leesy? Or some false eyebrows of mousehair?"

"Draco! You aren't helping!"

"I'm just looking after your best interests, darling."

Hermione, who, after all, had had two male best friends, knew precisely how to combat this. Raising her wand, she flicked disinterestedly at his chest and watched, smiling slightly, as he doubled over, laughing.

'H-Hermione! N-no! Stop!"

"Sorry? Did you say you'd stop egging Leesy on?" She grinned and watched as Draco danced in place, her rictusempra.

"Yes! No! Hermione!"

Hermione grinned as she undid the curse. Draco, panting, stood holding his sides, trying to get enough air to retaliate. Hermione, seeing the light in his eye, feinted left and tried to run right, past her husband and toward the stairs.

Draco was too quick for her. He caught her, laughing, and scooped her up, covering her cheeks with kisses. 'Going somewhere?"

"I've no idea what you mean!"

Draco carried Hermione to the other room and sat down on the bench, holding her in his lap. Pinning her against him, he tickled her belly and under her arms, grinning as she wriggled, shrieking protests, and tried to get away.

"Ah ah ah. Now, what would Mrs. Leek say?"

"Draco!"

"No, darling, she'd not sat 'Draco'. She'd say something about wives who sneak hex their husbands, hmm?"

"Don't remember!"

He laughed again and stopped tickling her long enough to kiss her as he had before. Hermione, blood pounding from their...play?... found herself allowing it more willingly than ever before. Found herself leaning into him a little. Just to be polite, she told herself. Just to be polite.

Draco felt her move. His heart jumped and he kissed her more deeply, not daring to go too far but wanting to get close to her, wanting to show her how much he loved her. He'd never told her that, he realised suddenly. That he loved her.

Draco pulled his head back and studied her. 'Precious?"

Hermione blinked and shook her head. 'Sorry?"

"No, no, nothing to be sorry for. Darling, that was wonderful."

"You deserved it."

"Hmmph. Didn't either."

"Yes, you did."

"Not."

"Did."

"Not."

"Did."

"Not not not."

"Did did did." Hermione moved toward her wand and Draco, laughing, pushed her hand aside. She laughed too, and they were, for the first time, at ease with one another. The moment seemed to stretch longer than it was to them both-but it signified radically different things.

For Hermione, she wondered if this meant she was giving in. Had she stopped fighting what had happened to her? Would she ever?

Hermione wondered, not for the first time, whether it was a surrender for her to feel happiness again. Not the deep contentment she'd sometimes felt with Ron. This was bubblier, more light-hearted, almost childlike. .

Draco wondered whether Hermione had ever played before. She looked almost shell shocked. Her parents hadn't exactly overflowed with warmth, like his own, but they couldn't have denied her even this, could they? Had that place they made her go, to 'care', had it warped her somehow? He had images of rag clad children forced to stay in a filthy, spidery cellar for hours, being beaten with sticks, made to...do muggle things of some sort.

Hermione shook it off. This was her life now. She'd read Dickens, and understood the risk of becoming Miss Havisham, trapped in the decaying ruins of her former life by her own self pity. Rising, Hermione turned to the various cauldron, dismissed the elf, and set to putting the things that were done into phials, pots and pans for finishing.

Draco stood to help her, writing labels in his neat hand. 'Love?"

"Draco?"

"What else have you got planned for today?"

"Translating a bit more of that diary. Why?"

"No reason. If you wanted to, you could bring it down here and we could work on another batch. If you weren't too tired."

Hermione smiled. 'I would like that."

Ten minutes later, diary in hand, Hermione was reading busily as they waited for the lozenges to cool sufficiently to be cut, the salve to gel enough to be put away, and the oil of violets to take on the characteristic smell that would signify it was ready to be simmered over low heat for the next three days.

"What's happened?"

"He's still talking about his son. Would the Ministry have any information, do you suppose?"

"Might. Or Potter." Draco tried to sound casual, but Hermione's head snapped up. She wouldn't get excited, she wouldn't.

'May I write the office of Magical Records and ask? I'm terribly curious."

"I am too, actually. Why don't you write the Ministry and Potter both?"

Hermione's face lit up. Without warning, she half flung herself at him. He caught her easily, heart glowing with pleasure, as she kissed his cheek and said 'Truly? You mean that?"

"Yes, of course." Having laid claim to her, Draco could contemplate a letter without homicidal fury.

"But you have to let me read the letters, understood?"

Hermione nodded, knowing that half a loaf was better than none. 'All right."

"And play in the snow with me."

"Sorry?"

"The first big snow storm, let's go and play in the snow."

Hermione snorted. "All right."

"What? It's fun. You do know what that is, I trust?"

"Of course I do."

Draco sniffed. 'Don't believe it."

"Well, I do."

"Hmmph." He crossed his arms and turned his head away, pouting playfully. Hermione giggled. She couldn't help it. She'd never seen him this way before.

"What do you do, then, that's so much fun?"

Draco considered. 'Fly. Play quidditch-that's loads of fun. Dancing is fun. And spending time with Father and Mother. You?"

"Reading. Writing. I quite like listening to music. And my friends."

"Not your family?"

"Draco' Hermione struggled to explain 'I live in a completely different world. Suppose you had a child who left home at eleven and came back at eighteen? So much changed for me during school that we...well, we love one another very much, but it's hard for us to relate to one another."

Draco nodded. 'But they helped you have fun?"

"Of course. We went to the library and played in the garden and took walks in the woods. My Dad can identify almost every plant and flower that grows wild in Britain."

"Really?"

"This summer, I'm going to ask him to gather some things for us to use. And we'll send them some of it, too. But he can find a lot of what we need easily."

Draco was slightly impressed despite himself. 'That's interesting. But what do you do that's fun?"

"I've just told you."

"Darling, those things are like school. Didn't you ever do something just for it's own sake?"

Hermione huffed. 'I like those things I told you."

He shook his head. 'When the snow comes, I'll show you real fun. And I want to take you on my broom one of these days."

Hermione shook her head. 'Oh, no. I've always been terrible on a broom."

"Not what I heard. Assuming you were one of the Potters that night, then you're not half bad."

"You mean the night we took Harry from his house?"

"Yes. I heard it from Jugson and Wilkes."

"Oh. Yes, I was."

"They said all of them-all of you-were quite good."

Hermione shook her head. 'It was luck, more than anything." She didn't tell him that she'd been so scared that her hands had been damp; that she'd come close to slipping off; that she'd felt wild, fierce joy when she'd aimed her first hex and hit one of them, knocking them off the broom, sending them spiralling down.

"You needn't be so self effacing, my love. We both know skill played as much part as luck did."

Hermione was shaking her head. 'It was all of us, Draco. All of us working together."

"Mmm hmm. Anyway, first snowfall, we're making a snow witch in the courtyard."

"A snow witch?" Hermione smiled and shook her head a little.

"Haven't you ever...don't muggles do that?"

"Of course they do."

Draco grinned nostalgically. 'And a snowball fight, as well. A really good one."

Hermione was cutting the lozenges into uniform squares. 'I never realised you liked winter so much."

"Oh, I love it. Everything is clean and fresh, and it looks nice, as well. Don't you find?"

Hermione nodded distantly. 'I prefer early autumn. Everything crisp and clear, and school starting. New clothes. Mum and Dad and I would make a trip to London in August to see the British Museum and shop a bit."

Draco stood up and walked behind his wife. 'Darling, that sounds...' dull and bourgeois, he thought 'nice. Perhaps next year we'll do something like that."

She cut the final square and set the lozenges into a wooden box until they were needed. 'We could."

"Don't you want to?"

"It seems a long time from now."

"It does, at that. But it isn't. Christmas is soon, you know."

"I know. What should we do for your parents? What do they like?"

Draco cocked his head. 'I don't know. Let me ask them about one another, hmm?"

Hermione nodded and wondered what she would get Draco, now that she had no secrets. And to be honest, she felt more warmth toward him than she had, but there were lingering feelings which prevented effusive displays of sentiment. Perhaps she'd knit him a scarf or some gloves.

Draco wondered what he ought to get his wife. If he asked Father or Mother, they'd tell him to get her a necklace or something, because that's what women liked. He wasn't sure, though. Hermione didn't seem to think much about that sort of thing, for one.

He resolved to ask Leesy, as absurd as he knew that to be. How silly, to ask an elf's opinion on something. He bent and smelt the back of his wife's neck. He could smell a bit of perspiration under the lavender and soap. It was actually a little pleasant.

But she was quiet again. Draco rested his head on her neck and sighed. 'Something the matter?"

She shook her head. 'Not at all. The salve has gelled, I think." She summoned what she needed and set to scraping it into a cask.

"It wasn't Leesy, was it?"

"Leesy?"

"She means well, darling. And just because it didn't happen this month...we're still young."

Hermione nodded, swallowing. 'Suppose I can't?"

"Can't what? Conceive?"

She nodded. Draco let his hand drift to her belly. 'What makes you say that?"

She didn't answer right away. 'Mum and Dad had some problems."

"Oh. Well, then we'll find a way round it, won't we?"

Hermione couldn't feel nearly as confident. She was deeply glad she hadn't fallen pregnant this time. She wasn't ready for a baby, nor for any other sort of change.

'How was flying this morning?"

"All right. The sea was quite turbulent. Must be the winter coming."

He kissed the nape of her neck. 'Oh, angel, promise you'll not worry, will you? Please?"

Hermione turned and looked at him a moment. 'I know it's silly. I just can't bear for anything else to happen."

Draco nodded and embraced her, enormously relieved she'd actually brought a problem to him, rather than hiding it inside. He was bursting with pride and pleasure, but this would not be the time for him to say that.

"We'll slay those dragons when we come to them, darling. Just take things a bit at a time, hmm?"

And they might have said more, but in the corridor, Leesy was chasing a mouse, and shouting at Crookshanks to leave her alone. And so they went to watch, and stop worrying for a while.