A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black

This ended up as a continuation of the last chapter, somehow. Thank you to everyone who shared their story of villanious fowl-it's cool to know I wasn't the only one (mine were actually geese, but I can't imagine Lucius and Narcissa wanting such a common bird on their property).

'A woman's ideas can be valuable, so long as she understands the limits of her fragile understanding and defers to the greater sense and worldliness of her husband.'

Attilius Goyle

Draco's memory of the night of his change was blurry, which was probably best, in the end. He had a memory of necking with Parkinson, coming home, then...nothing, until his Hermione, freshly scrubbed and smelling intoxicating, crawled into bed for a nice rest.

'...was part veela. Is it possible that he was getting violent because he was separated from his mate?'

Draco shook his head to clear it. 'Mmm hmm.'

Hermione frowned. 'Draco?'

'Sorry, love. I'm listening, I am. Just thinking about that night, was all.'

'In the Manor?'

'Yes. Snape was...there, I think, but I can't recall what he was saying.' He frowned himself, nibbled some marzipan, and found in his memory only a shifting, amorphous mass.

'Would he have had some information?'

'Likely he would, but I don't know how we'd get to it. I don't even know his next of kin, for all he was my godfather.'

'Was he?'

'You didn't know?'

'No.'

Draco picked up a bon bon and tried to pop it into Hermione's mouth. She pulled her head back, deep in thought, and he glowered before he ate it himself. 'Hmmph.'

'Sorry. I'm just wondering if we could find out who his next of kin would be so we could try to get his notes.'

'Do you think it would do any good?'

'It might. I really do want to know.' Hermione was thoughtfully tugging at a curl, brain going at a speed that others would have found terrifying, had they been able to see into her mind.

Draco was also cogitating. He'd discarded the idea of finding the answer in his memory, and, as was his wont, had moved on to finding a solution without a twinge of regret. The past was the past. He'd ask Father, was all, and Father would know, because Father always knew these things.

Hermione looked round. Some people, she knew, believed that houses absorb the energy of those that live in them. If so, had this room taken in some of the pain and despair that Hypatos Black had felt? Had it taken hers? Narcissa's, when she thought Lucius might die?

When the event-whatever it was-had come upon them, the inhabitants of the castle had fled, feelings, perhaps, the stones themselves had become transmuted, feeling their own pain was a prison which they fled at the price of the castle and everything in it.

She stretched, cracking her neck, and gave Crooks a scratch on the chin. He snuffled happily, rolling on his back, and she dug her nails gently into his chest, into his downy undercoat. Crookshanks purred.

'Do you think' Hermione didn't want to offend 'the mate thing might have done it? Made him violent?'

Draco nodded immediately. 'Yes.' He thought of how he'd felt before she'd come home, pulse racing, heart hammering, soaked with sweat, head pounding, mouth dry. Without thinking about it, he reached up to touch his darling's face, cooing softly, filled with relief that she was with him.

Hermione was still thinking and absently rested her head a second. 'But what could have caused that sort of reaction? I'd imagine the Blacks could make anything they wanted to happen.'

'Of course they could. We'll do some research and then we'll see, hmm?'

Hermione felt a sort of gratitude that they had, at least, been spared that. Not that she felt it right, mind-she had been ill used by the law, and the fact her life was far from objectively terrible did nothing to ameliorate her sense of unfairness.

Draco was wondering something for the first time. 'Love?'

'Draco?'

'Were you very afraid?'

'Afraid?'

'After the hearing. I'd the impression you were more angry than anything.'

'At the time, I was. After it became obvious you weren't going to...well, I didn't get afraid until later.'

Draco knew what she was going to say. 'You thought I meant to, to hurt you?'

She saw no point in a lie, and wouldn't have if she had. If they couldn't be honest with one another, it was all moot anyway. 'You got on top of me. Yes, I thought...yes.'

Draco blinked. He didn't feel offended, exactly. He'd asked her to share, urged her to share, and he'd known at some level there were no guarantees that what she'd share would be salutary. But that didn't mean he liked it.

'I'm not sure I know what to say, angel.'

Hermione took a breath. 'It's past now.'

'Yes, but it's dreadful to know that you felt afraid at all. Angry I understand, but afraid...' He chewed his lip thoughtfully, nestling closer to take her hand.

Hermione inhaled deeply. 'After that night with-that night-I realised how much power you actually had, I suppose, and that there was no out. It was hard.'

She'd spent long, terrible nights almost alone with that knowledge. Not totally alone, because Draco had been dozing beside her, arm thrown over her like a child with a stuffed toy.

'I explained to you. I explained everything.' Draco felt genuinely confused. He had explained, and she'd never told him she was afraid. He would have fixed it, had she had done. Somehow, he would have made it all better.

'Yes, you did. But that didn't necessarily make it easier.' Hermione was remembering things she didn't want to probe. She swallowed hard and shook her head briskly to clear it, curls bouncing.

'Something wrong, love? I'm so proud of how well you're sharing.'

Hermione shook her head again. 'It might be best to let sleeping dogs lie.'

'Sorry?'

'To talk about something else.'

Draco couldn't. He had to know, but he always wanted to keep from scaring her again. He ordered an elf to snuff the lights and take the remains of their lasts away. 'I would prefer to talk a bit more about this, if we could. We'll cuddle, and you needn't look at me.' He laid back and opened his arms to her, wanting her to come to him, wanting to understand.

Hermione slowly sat back, moving Crookshanks to her other side. 'Draco, I...' Her grief was healing, slowly, but it could rip open again like scar tissue. She couldn't bear that. She couldn't.

From her right ear, Draco's voice was low and rough. 'Love, please? I can't stand to know I made you scared.' Hermione felt a sort of wonder, and a terrible, dark pleasure, feeling her control over him, knowing she could refuse him this.

Wouldn't. She took a very deep breath. 'It was just very hard to adjust, was all. I felt trapped.'

Draco ran a hand through his hair, noticing absently he needed a haircut. 'I had that impression. Your reactions rather startled me, honestly.'

'How so?'

He kissed her neck. 'You just seemed so...closed off, I suppose. So angry.'

'I was.'

'Are you still?'

'Sometimes I am.'

'At me?'

'I was then. You were not always inclined to explain.' Hermione thought of how she'd seethed, those first weeks, the endless days of doing nothing, attached to Malfoy. How she'd hated him! How she'd hated everything and everyone!

'I didn't realise how different it was for you, I expect. Everyone I know lives like we do, and...'

'Did it never...you never had a moment of wavering, Draco? No regrets?'

Draco shook his head. 'No. It cut my life quite in two.'

Perhaps that was the trouble, Hermione thought. His life had been severed cleanly, and hers had not. She had carried things with her, forced to shed them like pioneers tossing their books and basins over the sides of their wagons as they crossed the burning plains in the books she'd read as a child.

'I went to speak to Him, and then...nothing until you climbed into bed, and smelt so good, and your hair all damp.' He smiled at the memory, a little, in the dark, and wished he could make her see what he did, how sweet she had looked, and how he'd only meant to make her feel safe.

Hermione's memory of that time was, to say the least, less rosy. Glad of the dark, she pulled the fur higher, jostling the snoozing Crookshanks and getting a pointed snort in reply.

Draco smelt her mood plunge and he decided to back off this subject for the moment. 'Love?'

'Yes?'

'When did Krum kiss you?'

Hermione turned to him. 'Sorry?'

'Viktor Krum. I want to know all about the world's greatest seeker. Is he a good kisser?'

'I suppose. He's very shy. Sweet, but very shy.'

'Mmm. I'm a little surprised you'd be attracted to someone like that. I mean, given that you and...well, you know.'

Hermione nodded. 'It was pleasant. He never asked anything of me, really. He just wanted us to enjoy one another's company.'

'And you didn't like that?'

'I did, but...it's nice to be needed, I suppose.'

'Is it? Must get tiring.'

'Yes. What about you and Parkinson?' Hermione felt a bit safer here-she knew it wouldn't hurt him, unlike his mentions, no matter how gentle, of Ron.

'Pansy's a very...she's quite...honestly, I have nothing.'

Hermione raised her eyebrows, unseen. 'You must. You almost married her.'

'Yes, of course. She's exactly what one might suspect she is.'

'Is that good?'

'It's not bad.' As Draco compared the two women in his mind, he considered what he knew of each of them. He'd cared about Pansy, certainly-she was a perfect exempla of their class, she had every social grace, and she looked good on his arm, dressed well, always knew what to say to flatter his vanity.

But then he thought about his Hermione, her silences, her frowns of concentration, her earnest, well scrubbed face. She didn't know much about fashion, but she could talk about things outside Pansy's scope. As hard as it had been to adjust to, Draco thought it rather pleasant to be able to discuss things with Hermione, be able to profit from her intelligence and good sense.

'I was raised with certain expectations, darling, and she met them. And she's not so bad, when one gets to know her.'

Hermione considered as she'd rather dig out both eyes with her knitting needles than get to know Parkinson, but she was too well bred to say a thing like that. She contented herself with a diplomatic nod.

'What did you expect to find in a husband?'

'Muggle or magical?'

'Muggle, I suppose. I don't know how these things are done amongst muggles.' He wondered if Hermione had expected to be sold, auctioned off to the highest bidder. Did muggles marry at all? Did they just mate like animals in the fields?

'A companion. Someone with similar interests and life goals, and the same sort of philosophy, probably. Muggles usually marry someone more or less like themselves.'

'Ah. Not so different, then. Had your father picked someone out already?'

Hermione thought he was teasing. 'No, of course not. Muggles don't do things that way.'

'Really? How do they choose, then?'

'People find someone they like and that's that. Mum and Dad met at the school canteen. Dad asked Mum to go for a walk with him and that was that.'

Draco felt genuinely appalled. 'Truly? Is that why they married? Did they have to?'

'No. Have to?'

Draco stepped carefully. 'Did her family find out and make them marry?'

'Because they'd taken a walk?'

'Alone, yes. Not to imply that your father...' which was exactly what he was implying, naturally.

'No. They dated-went places together- a while and then decided to marry. It was 1976. They were both twenty.'

'What did your father give your mother's family?'

'You mean like gifts?'

'Of course.' His own family's gifts had been quite lavish- did muggles expect nice things from other muggles for bride price?

'Nothing. Muggles don't do that, either.' Hermione felt as though she'd fallen down the rabbit hole again. Beside her, Crookshanks yawned and flipped onto his side in order to knead her belly better.

'Oh.' He wondered whether it would upset Hermione for him to probe a bit more. 'Darling, is it true that muggles sometimes, ah, act as husband and wife, together before marriage?'

'Yes, most people do.' She and Ron had, after all, though not without some gentle encouragement on her part. And Mum and Dad had lived together a year before they decided to marry, though she'd conveniently forgot to tell Draco that.

'I can't even imagine. How terrible that must be.'

'Terrible?'

'Of course. A person can't be prepared for a thing like that unless he's got support from someone older and wiser.'

Something occurred to Hermione. She smothered a grin. 'Draco, how old were you when you found out where babies come from?'

Draco felt his face flushing, even in the dark. 'Eighteen.'

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from giggling. 'Your father never...?'

'Before the wedding he did, of course. But I mean, why would someone...it's not something we discuss, really.'

'Ever?'

'No need. Telling children about it would just make them curious.' He remembered his half furtive, half daring attempts to brush Parkinson's skirt covered thigh or touch her foot with his under a table.

'You?'

'Five. I asked Dad one day and he told me.'

Draco sat up straight, shocked beyond shocked. 'What?'

'Draco?'

He relaxed a bit. 'Hush, it's all right. I mean, he just told you everything?'

'Not everything all at once, but if I had a question, my parents answered it. Didn't you ever ask your parents anything?'

'Well, sometimes. What made you ask?'

Hermione felt slightly annoyed he'd brushed her off. 'A friend of my mother's, Mrs. Smyth, was pregnant, and I asked how the baby got in her belly.'

'Oh. One never sees a Pureblood lady in that state.'

'What?' It was her turn to be shocked. 'How do you mean?'

Draco patted her arm. 'Once a lady is too far advanced to conceal her condition, she stays in private until the baby comes. And then the baby stays inside until it's old enough to go out.'

'You've never seen a pregnant woman, Draco?'

'At some point, surely, but it's never been pointed out to me as such.' Robes, he knew, could hide a great deal, and he'd surely been in contact with a woman in the family way without realising.

Hermione was thinking much the same. 'Muggles used to do that.'

'Conceal these things?'

'Yes.' She suddenly wondered whether she would have to do a thing like that someday. Without meaning to, she reached down and patted her stomach, contemplating months of boredom, surrounded by elves who thought it a holy mission to keep her from any useful work.

Draco felt her move. 'You aren't...?'

'Not that I know of. You'd have smelt it, wouldn't you?'

'I should think. Not that I'd mind a bit, you understand.'

'I know.'

'You'd mind.'

'For now.'

He shrugged. They had decades. Wizarding people could have children into their seventies and eighties, after all, and neither of them was twenty yet.

'We'd do everything we could to see you were comfortable, you know. During.'

'I know. I'd miss doing things, though.'

Draco nuzzled her neck. 'Mmm, but then we'd have an excuse to stay in bed all the time.'

Hermione snorted. 'You'd be very proficient in runes by the time it was born.'

Draco sighed with horror. 'That backfired with startling rapidity, didn't it?'

'We've still the last twelve, you know.' Hermione spelled the candles back up, and Draco, wishing for a final time that he was standing poised on the lip of the tower's roof, obediently took up his quill.