A/N: Thanks so much for all of your lovely reviews! Enjoy! x

Rodolphus was enjoying his lounge time as he read near the hearth. The manor had been quiet for some time now, Bellatrix's attention devoted solely to the girl. It had been three days since she had told her the boy was dead, and the girl had gone from hysterics into a sort of numb state of shock, which Bellatrix was determined to break. She forced her to eat and drink, something she certainly would not have done on her own, but the girl was not sleeping, and so Bella would stay with her all through the night ("To make sure she does nothing rash," she had told him. "Wouldn't do to lose a useful servant."). Rodolphus couldn't imagine how interesting that must be for his wife, seeing as the girl had yet to speak since she'd heard the news. He had little concern for the matter, and had been perfectly content to catch up on his reading.

A distinct pop from the courtyarddrew his attention from the book. With a frown, he closed it and paced to the front door to see who had Apparated onto his grounds.

Standing before him was a man clad entirely in black—an automatic plus for anyone hoping to enter. A hood was drawn up over his head, but Rodolphus could discern a pair of bright blue eyes staring fixedly back at him.

"Lestrange, I presume?" the man spoke in a throaty tone.

"Yes," replied Rodolphus in his own deep baritone. "Can I help you?"

The man straightened a bit, as if offended by his question. "Surely your Lord warned you of my impending visit?"

This was the foreigner, the one the Lestranges were to welcome into their home. Inwardly cursing himself for his lack of immediate hospitality, Rodolphus quickly recovered. "Of course, good sir. I apologize; we were not expecting you at this hour. Please, come in."

The man followed him over the threshold, and Rodolphus shut the door behind them. When he turned around, the man had removed his hood. He was broad, with a mane of thick, dark hair and boasted an equally dark beard. Interesting, Rodolphus thought, he looked to be considerably younger than himself; ten years, if not more. All very good. The Cause could use some fresh, foreign faces. He was a strapping lad, too; broad in the shoulders with that glint in his blue eyes. Rodolphus wasn't sure what that meant, but he thought he rather liked it.

He reached out a hand. "Rodolphus Lestrange. Welcome."

"Hospes Peregrine," the man reciprocated, shaking his hand in return. "Can't thank you enough, really. It means a great deal to be welcomed like this."

"Our home is always open to those who are of similar minds." Rodolphus assured him smoothly. "And our Lord assures us that you will be most beneficial to our cause."

The blue eyes locked on his once again. "I hope to be," Hospes said, and Rodolphus approved of the determination in his voice. "Is there a lady of the house?" he inquired.

A momentary pause ensued. Bellatrix was occupied with the girl. She would want to meet him, though; she must. They could have a house-elf watch in her place.

"Yes. I'll go and fetch her. There have been some—ah—difficulties with one of our servants that she's been attending to. Just a moment." He exited the room, and ascended the grand staircase, sincerely hoping that Bella would be in a decent state for their guest.

When he reached his destination, he found the door to the room slightly ajar, and he paused in the doorframe. The girl was sat up in bed, silent as usual. Bellatrix sat at her bedside, equally quiet, covering one of the girl's hands with her own. There was a plate of half-eaten food on the nightstand.

Rodolphus cleared his throat. Bellatrix whipped around, startled. "What is it?"

"Our guest has arrived. He is downstairs."

Bellatrix leapt to her feet. "Now? But the Dark Lord—I did not expect—at this hour?"

"I was just as surprised as you are."

"Well, come! We must—" Bella stopped just as she was about to shove her husband out of the way, and turned back to look at the girl. She was still staring blankly at her lap, unperturbed by her surroundings.

Rodolphus touched his wife's arm. "You can return in a few minutes. She'll be fine."

After a contemplative pause, she shook him off and called for an elf, which appeared at once.

"Keep an eye on her," Bellatrix ordered. "If anything happens, I'll burn your ridiculous ears off."

With a trembling bow, the elf gave a timid squeak in reply. After casting one look at the girl, Bellatrix swept from the room. Rodolphus followed.

Hospes had taken a seat in front of the hearth, skimming through one of Rodolphus's books. Upon the reentry of the couple, he got to his feet and crossed the room to greet Bella. "Madame Lestrange," he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

"Allow me to introduce my wife, Bellatrix. Bella, this is Hospes Peregrine."

"Peregrine?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you from Stockholm?"

Hospes chuckled. "I've been living there for the past several years, yes. But I originally hail from Britain, like yourselves."

"I see." Bellatrix was still scrutinizing him. "I have never encountered a Pureblood by that name."

"But surely you must have! My third uncle thrice removed, Vindex Peregrine, married a woman whom, I believe, was your sixth cousin? Vulpecula Black?"

Bellatrix racked her memory, searching for the family tree her mother had made her spend hours memorizing. "My aunt Walburga may have mentioned a Vulpecula. Is there no one in more recent generations?"

With a shake of his head, Hospes answered, "Unfortunately, no. Uncle Vindex was killed in a duel many years before I was born. I have his middle name."

Bellatrix nodded. "Hospes Vindex Peregrine." The scrutiny of her gaze had vanished, and Rodolphus knew she had conceded. "Welcome to our home."

"Thank you, my lady. I am so very grateful for your hospitality, and eager to learn from such esteemed people such as yourselves. You and your Lord are spoken about with awe by people in Stockholm. Your reputation precedes you," Hospes said with a nod.

"Yours, unfortunately, does not," Bellatrix replied somewhat coolly, but then she gave a small smile. "I am sure we shall get to know one another soon, though." She sized him up one final time, then said, "Come. We will show you to your quarters."

The men followed her back up the staircase, Rodolphus pointing out some of the interesting artwork on the wall, Hospes nodding and questioning him with interest. Good, Bella thought. The men seemed to get on nicely.

When she passed Hermione's room, she took a quick peek in to see if she was all right. She had not moved from her previous stance, and the elf was watching her intently. As was, she realized, Hospes, who had stopped walking altogether and was looking in at her as well.

The girl looked up, looked past Bella at their guest. Something in her shifted. Her mouth opened slightly, but not to speak, only to gaze with confused wonder. If the girl made some sort of scene in front of this man…

"Rodolphus," she hissed. "Show our guest to his room." She turned to Hospes. "Breakfast will be served at seven o'clock. I certainly hope you will join us."

He nodded rather vacantly, still looking at the girl. Bellatrix gave him a winning hostess smile, then shut the door in his face.

"Who was that?" came a weak voice.

Bellatrix turned abruptly. The girl had spoken. "A guest," she replied.

The girl still had that strange look on her face. What was wrong with her?

Just as Bella was about to make her finish the rest of her dinner, the girl made to get up from the bed. Bellatrix went to the bed at once. "Absolutely not. Lay back down."

"Can I—can I see him?" she asked breathlessly.

Bella frowned. "See whom?"

"That man."

"What? Certainly not. Rodolphus is showing him to his room. He'll be down for breakfast in the morning. He's—what do you think you're doing, girl?" she asked fiercely as the girl tried to stand up. Bellatrix took hold of the girl's arms, and the little chit was actually fighting her, struggling to break free of her grasp.

"No—no—I want to see him—"

"What's gotten into you? He is a guest in our manor, in which you are our servant! You have no business seeing him! Now get back in bed this instant or I'll see to it that you don't meet him tomorrow, either!"

That got to her. The young witch finally stopped resisting and listlessly fell back into bed. She allowed Bellatrix to tuck her in, who felt a small pang of guilt for shouting at the girl. She hadn't had to do so in ages.

"I know I wasn't able to teach you any new spells the other day," she offered. "Perhaps tomorrow?"

The girl blinked. Bellatrix assumed that was her response. "Are you going back to not speaking now?" Still no reply. Bellatrix sighed. At least when the girl had been crying, she'd given Bella something to do—she could try to calm her, comfort her, give her words that she hoped might help. But this perpetual, unbreakable silence—that stumped her. She had stayed by the girl's side for hours on end, trying to strike up the occasional conversation, but when the child would not speak, what more could she do but hold her hand or tuck the occasional loose curl behind her ear?

This would never do, Bella concluded. The girl was never going to get past this, and Bellatrix certainly could not keep this constant watch over her until she did. There was only one way to solve it.

She drew her wand. It had to be done. Having the girl in this state was too confusing and painful, for the both of them.

Hermione eyed Bella's wand warily.

"I'm sorry to have to do this, love," said Bellatrix. She pointed her wand at Hermione.

"Obliviate."


Rodolphus glanced at Hospes out of the corner of his eye. He had gazed so raptly at that girl, and was responding to his paintings with much less enthusiasm than before.

"She is a pretty one, isn't she?" Rodolphus commented, and Hospes turned to him as if waking from a dream.

"Sorry?"

Rodolphus smirked. "Our servant," he elaborated. "I don't blame you for being a bit entranced. Surprising, really, considering she's a Mudblood…"

Hospes's jaw twitched as Rodolphus came to a halt outside a grand set of doors. "Ah," he said. "Here we are." He swung open the doors grandly to reveal a luxurious guest room.

After thanking Rodolphus once again for his and his wife's overwhelming generosity, bidding him good night, Hospes sat down on the bed and covered his face with his hands.

He was here. He was in. The months of training his voice, of essentially re-learning the English language and perfecting it to sound like a pompous prat, had paid off. They didn't suspect a thing. Bellatrix had, at first, but he'd expected she would be difficult to convince. It had worked, though. He was here. The thought left him terrified and exhilarated.

There was a mirror opposite the bed. He looked into it, studied his own face, and marveled at how much he'd changed.

The hair had been the easiest; the simplest of spells brought him several shades darker. He had lost a bit of weight, but gained it back in muscle, and was in far better shape than he'd ever been, even during the peak of Quidditch season. A run-in with some Snatchers had left his nose broken, but the slightly changed shape added to the disguise, so he'd kept it. The only thing he'd left untouched were his eyes, in the hopes that she might still recognize him.

Had it worked? He had been so shocked and overcome just by the mere sight of her; he hadn't been able to tell if she knew. But then he remembered her face when she'd looked up, how she had suddenly become more alert, how her beautiful brown eyes had widened ever so slightly, how her perfect lips had parted—

She knew.

The thought filled him with liquid hope that bubbled and frothed up inside him, and he actually smiled.

If it was true, if she truly recognized him, their escape shouldn't be too hard to manage. Tricky, yes—but not impossible.

There was hope. She had not forgotten him. If she'd ever thought he had forgotten her, now she would know he hadn't. Soon, once they could speak, she would know that every thought that crossed through his mind, every breath he took, every beat of his heart was for her, all of her, and would be until the end of time.

For the first night in years, Ron Weasley slept considerably well.