Love to reviewers and Countess Black.

Strange but true: Mature, fertile female cats as called Queens (Queans, in British English) and the act of littering is called 'Queening/Queaning'. Strangely appropriate, I would say.

Lucius Malfoy, comfortably ensconced in his easy chair, set down his glass and eyed the cat with speculative good humour. 'Well, cat, I'm to be a grandfather. What do you think about that?'

Crookshanks snorted. It's my Girl who's queening, you know.

'Nature just took her course, I'd say, but I wish this had happened a year from now. It seems like quite a lot, very fast.'

They'll figure it out. Younglings always do. We did, after all.

'Draco's a good, serious minded boy. But he'll be crushed if she doesn't reciprocate his feelings someday. I don't suppose you've any suggestions on that, hmm?'

Crookshanks pushed his head into the man's side and laid down, comfortably surrounded by warmth and the smell of the man's...stuff that humans wore. He grunted and settled down, finally lifting his head a bit.

None. I don't feel old enough for my Young to have littered, do you?

There were days Lucius could almost swear the cat understood him. He shook his head and sighed. 'They've got Narcissa and I, of course. And yourself.'

Crookshanks yawned and let his eyes slide shut. And that could make all the difference.

They also had the elves, who were over the moon to say the least. As soon as the carriage touched ground, the elves were fighting to help them out. Ushered into Lucius and Narcissa's sitting rooms, cloaks shed, the three apprised the patriarch of what had been said.

'...And the healer says five pounds a week. I daresay the cook will have some ideas about that.' Narcissa finally came up for air and smiled brightly at her husband. 'And how did you do while we were gone, love?'

Lucius shrugged elegantly. 'The same as usual. I'd ask how you are, Draco, but I see there's no need.' His son hadn't stopped smiling since he came in, and had been absolutely glowing the last few days.

Draco nodded cheerfully. 'Yes, Father.' He slid his hand into Hermione's and squeezed. 'Precious, I think there's a parcel for you. Shall we take it to the library and open it?'

Hermione nodded. She felt much as she ever had, except for her constant knowledge that another human being was growing under her heart. She rose, nodded politely to the Malfoys, and led the way.

As soon as the children had gone, Lucius turned to his wife, who was sipping at some of the hot tea the elves had brought her. 'How is she, Cissy?'

Narcissa looked down. 'Would that I knew. Struggling, I would say.'

'I don't blame her.'

'She's an awfully brave girl.'

'I think so, too. God help us if something should happen.'

'Happen?'

Lucius nodded and looked into the fire. 'I expect he thinks the baby will make it all better.'

Narcissa nodded. 'You noticed, too?'

'Of course. And I just don't think...'

His wife squeezed his hand just as their son had done his wife. 'We'll slay that dragon when it comes, hmm?'

'I love you, Cissy.'

'And I you. Since we were children.' And they sat together, in comfortable silence, and wished for a miracle.

Draco didn't much care about the mystery. It kept his wife occupied, and at least she wasn't writing another refutation. But he would do nearly anything to indulge her, especially something harmless that made her as happy as this seemed to make Hermione.

She slit the twine and raised her eyebrows. 'It's from Kingsley. Draco, did you ever talk to Snape about his heir?'

'No, of course not. I assume everything went to the school.'

'Most of it did, according to this. But his notes were preserved, and those go to you. Apparently, you're his heir.'

Draco hadn't expected that. 'That's...splendid, I suppose. So we've his notes now?'

Hermione nodded, handing him a small lump roughly the size of a pack of playing cards. Draco flipped it and studied the tiny, dense notations on it.

'We'll have to enlarge them. According to this, there's quite a lot there.'

Draco set it on the closest table and enlarged it. The thing exploded; the room was filled with what had to be at least five boxes of parchments and perhaps more.

Hermione picked up a sheath of paper and nodded thoughtfully. 'That's a clever spell. Some sort of variation on the Shrinking Charm, would you say?'

Draco nodded. 'Snape always was handy that way. Should we look at the books first?'

'That's more practical, definitely. We can ask the elves to store everything else and then categorise it later.'

She sat down and studied the things from the archive. 'Kingsley really went all out for us.'

Draco quite liked that his wife was on first names terms with the Minister of Magic. He looked everything over, watching Hermione from the corner of his eye, and noticed she had a strange look on her face, but only for a moment.

'Leesy' the elf appeared, bowing. 'Would you ask the other elves to box all this up and find a good place for it? It's very important.'

Leesy nodded. 'Then Madam is lying down?'

'No, of course not. I feel fine.' Hermione shook her head and gave the elf a sharp look to dissuade any further attempts.

Leesy would not be beaten so easily, however. She turned to Draco. 'Master is taking a nap?'

'No, Leesy. Madam and I want to explore.'

The elf frowned. 'Leesy is bringing something else, then?'

'That will do, but thank you.'

Hermione was only half listening. She picked up the first book, evidentially some sort of manifest or record book and started to skim, nodding absently. Draco finally couldn't take it anymore.

'Are you all right?'

'Fine, why?'

'You just seem off to me.'

'Oh. Are you?'

'Me? Very well. Happier than I've ever been.'

Hermione's eyes never left her reading. 'I'm glad.'

'You aren't. About the baby.'

'No.'

'Is it the pain, love?'

'Pain?'

'Do you fear it?'

'No.' She didn't, either. But nor was she filled with the excitement she had always assumed would be part of the experience. It made her feel guilty and tired and sad. At least her parents were happy, if not over the moon like the Malfoys seemed to be.

Draco was inclined to probe the matter further, but the look on her face dissuaded him. Not because it was sad, but because it tried so hard not to be. It was gallant, in a way; gallant in a way that Draco would have been hard pressed to define, but had he been pushed, he would have said because it denied hopelessness.

And so instead of digging about, Draco smiled at her and called for some tea for them. 'Tell me what we're looking for again?'

'Anything that could explain the pages ripped from Harry's books. Whatever happened has been erased from history. It must have been something terrible.'

Draco found himself a little glad he'd had to learn all those stupid runes. Hermione helped him when he needed, but she'd taught him well, and he found himself able to work out bits and pieces for himself.

Narcissa stuck her head in after about two hours. 'Hello, loves.'

'Hello, Mother.'

She came and sat next to them, looking solemn. 'Hermione, darling, you know how happy we are that you're expecting, don't you?'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, Mother.'

'We've some friends that would like very much to share your joy. Is there way we could ask you to consent to a brief visit of some kind? None of our friends have met Draco's wife, and usually it's the done thing.'

Hermione inhaled. 'Are they going to have a problem with the fact I'm a muggleborn?'

Narcissa squared her delicate shoulders. 'Not if they wish to be invited anywhere ever again.'

Draco was nodding. 'Darling, we wouldn't invite people who can't be nice.'

'And it will only be a luncheon, probably at the Manor, as Wales is a bit far for those with no carriages. Will day after tomorrow suit?'

Both young people nodded. Narcissa rose and pecked Hermione's cheek. 'I appreciate it, love, truly.'

As soon as she'd left, Draco turned to his wife and smiled brightly. 'Thank you, precious.'

'It's only a few hours, anyway.'

'Quite. And all those old ladies will want to pinch your cheeks and give us money.'

'We could donate it to the War Orphan Fund. Or the Halfblood Association.'

Draco nodded, then cocked his head. 'Certainly could. You know Parkinson might be there.'

'Oh. Will that be uncomfortable for you?'

He snorted, Crookshanks like. 'Not a bit. But God help her if she starts anything with anyone else.'

The morning of the luncheon, they travelled to Malfoy Manor early. Lucius had declined to come, pleading a slight fluttering of his heart. Narcissa gave him a look but he stared blandly ahead, pretending not to see, until she'd laughed and conceded.

Crookshanks on his lap, he bid them all a fond farewell and quietly settled back. 'We've dodged a bludger, cat.'

Crookshanks rolled on his side, yawning. A nap to celebrate, then, Man?

Lucius gently hooked his fingers into the cat's soft undercoat, rubbing his chest. 'To hell with running you for Minister, cat. I've decided to make you our new Dark Lord. Your sigil can be a mouse on a field of canary feathers. Does that sound good to you?'

You'll be my Minister of belly rubs and special treats, if this keeps up.

The carriage touched ground in time enough for them to check everything a final time before they went upstairs to get dressed. Hermione had chosen something relatively plain, but, at Narcissa's urging, not too sober.

Draco's face lit up at seeing her. 'You look lovely.' He hugged her gently, not wanting to muss her. 'It means a great deal to Mother that you consented to this, you know.'

Hermione looked away. 'It's only a few hours.'

'I know. And if you can duel a dozen Death Eaters at once, you can do this.'

The first guests began to arrive, and the Malfoys greeted them. Narcissa had taken special care not to include anyone who would upset Hermione, or Draco, by spouting off political opinions that might be...insalubrious.

She had, however, been virtually obliged to invite Xanthippe Parkinson and her daughter. Pansy swept in, wearing a robe of fuchsia, face sugared with so much resentment that she looked like a honey bee, poison and sweet.

Olive Crabbe was there, and Antigone Goyle (Greg's sister in law, not mother, as the first Mrs. Goyle had run off with a Halfblood years before). A handful of others, including Blaise Zabini's mother and the Bulstrode ladies, resplendent in dove grey velvet.

Hermione hadn't been prepared for the wave of affection which engulfed her. She was, as Draco had suggested, pinched a half hundred times by the many older ladies who'd been friends of Narcissa's mother. The wives of Lucius' friends and acquaintances came to kiss her cheeks, and the girls her own age, mainly Slytherins, even came and shook her hand.

Most of them. Parkinson at least didn't attack a pregnant woman, which would've pushed her from pathetic to villainous without much effort. Instead, she attached herself to Draco and would. not. let. go.

Draco tolerated this for about ten minutes and then, deeply annoyed, managed to shunt her off to his mother. Hermione was busy speaking to Madam Dinglebolt, the widow of Herman, Dinglebolt the captain of wizarding industry, who was 109 years old and hard of hearing.

'You may call me Eudamia, dear child ' bellowed the old woman, giving Hermione a friendly poke, her old fashioned dragon's bone false teeth gleaming black in the light from the solarium.

Hermione smiled. 'Thank you, Eudamia.'

'Sorry?' And so went the conversation for some time. Pansy managed to corner Bulstrode and was regaling her stories of she and Draco's perfect relationship and how Granger had wrecked it with her slutty mudblood ways.

Draco had just asked for a cup of the cook's very good champagne punch, and took a large fortifying swallow before he went to join Hermione with the loquacious but fundamentally good tempered Eudamia Dinglebolt.

'Darling, how do you feel?'

'Fine, Draco. Did you know Madam Dinglebolt was Beater for Slytherin on the 1905 team?'

'Eh?'

'Beater, Madam? Most interesting!' Draco decided to take a bludger for his wife and let her talk to someone a bit less...loud. Hermione smiled and decided go and talk to Olive Crabbe, who looked quietly sad, having lost husband and son in the space of a year. She was quite alone, and Hermione's native compassion made her want to console the woman.

Hermione picked up a cup of the punch and set it front of Madam Crabbe. 'I LIKE- I mean, I like those shoes, Madam Crabbe. Where did you get them?'

The woman brightened a bit. 'We've an elf that is quite talented in leather work, Madam Malfoy. His name is Snippy.'

'That must be useful. Please, call me Hermione.'

'And you must call me Olive. Oh, yes, most useful.' And they chatted on, the woman brightening at the attention and Hermione feeling quietly gratified that she could help.

Madam Dinglebolt finally toddled off to speak to an even older friend of hers, freeing Draco. He started toward Mother to ask her something, then heard Pansy's strident voice, and stopped to listen.

'...Not surprised she fell pregnant so quickly. Everyone knows muggles are like clever animals, look at who raised her.'

Bulstrode looked quietly appalled. 'Really, Pansy, he didn't start this. And nor did she. They're our hosts, for God's sakes.'

'All I'm saying is it ought to have been me. She's hardly qualified to run the house, or be a social hostess. Look who she's spent the party talking to.'

Milicent had finally had enough. She set down her cup and walked away without another word. 'Draco? I've a headache. Thank you for having me.'

'Thank you for coming, Millicent.' Bulstrode thanked Narcissa and Hermione, had a quick, hissed conversation with her mother, and Floo'd home to Limerick as rapidly as possible.

Hermione was still talking with Madam Crabbe. The woman was actually smiling, and Draco felt a pride in his wife which made him flush with pleasure.

Rather than dwelling on it, he approached Parkinson, prepared to put a grindylow in her ear that would make her head wobble. 'Pansy.'

'Draco, darling!'

'I heard what you said.'

'Oh?' Pansy cocked her head and smiled, hoping he meant he agreed with her. His face never changed.

'I want you to leave. You insulted my wife.'

Pansy's eyes filled. 'Draco, you can't be happy like this. Look at her.' She pointed to Hermione, who'd introduced Eudamia and Olive. The ladies were speaking softly to one another, and she rose, resplendent in her robes, and approached Narcissa to ask her something.

'I most certainly could. I'm sorry it didn't work out, Pansy, but you mustn't impugn my wife. Hermione has done flawlessly.'

Pansy sniffed. 'You're only being gallant, Draco.'

'Certainly not. But Pansy, get it through your head that we're done, won't you?'

As Draco was speaking to Pansy, Hermione approached Narcissa. 'Mother, Madam Crabbe and Madam Dinglebolt have both asked to call on us. Is that all right?'

Narcissa's face lit up. 'Angel, what a good girl you are! Tell them certainly they may.'

The rest of the party was quite as dull as the first part. Draco had some low, intense words with Pansy and was quiet the rest of the day.

Madam Dinglebolt came to call the next day, as Hermione was deciding the menu with some elves. 'Hello, dear child. The view as one flies in is superb.'

As it happened, Hermione had left her copy of Virgillia Malfoy on the table in her sittign room. It had been there for some time, without thought, unmoved by the elves in case Madam should need it.

The elderly woman sat on the divan and picked it up. 'Letters to Wives? Always thought it was dreadful pap, myself.'

Hermione raised her voice. 'So do I, actually.'

'Oh? I see you've annoted it. To what cause?'

Hermione explained, with some trepidation, about her refutatation. Madam Dinglebolt nodded solemnly.

'I thought you seemed a clever girl. May I borrow it?'

Hermione asked an elf to bring it forth, and it was. It went home with Eudamia Dinglebolt, who read it in a single night.

She passed it onto Olive Crabbe, who gave it to Louisa Bulstrode, who gave it to her good friend Bilquis Rocheford, who gave it to her brother, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Draco was a bit startled when Hermione received a letter from the Minister.

'Darling? Everything all right?'

'Fine, Draco. Kingsley's been wanting to review some of the laws about women, and he wants me to speak to the Wizengamot, is all.'

Draco blinked multiple times. 'Is that all? Well, then...' He grinned suddenly and hugged her, full of love and pride. 'I think it's time we see about publishing this thing, don't you?'

Hermione hugged him back. 'But what about the mystery?'

'The dead will wait, love.' And Lucius and Narcissa, who had their doubts, feigned delight to please the children.

'Lucius' asked Narcissa that night in bed 'you don't think it will ruin her health?'

'Not before she ruins mine, darling.' Crookshanks snorted pointedly from the place on Lucius' pillow.

'Oh, pooh' said Narcissa, and showed him how healthy he was, after all.