A/N: Sorry for the late update! School's started up again, so I've been pretty busy. Updates won't be as frequent, but I promise they'll keep coming! Thank you for reviews x

When Ron awoke several mornings later, the manor was unusually quiet, the bustle in the kitchen he'd become accustomed to completely absent. Curiously, he edged out of bed and into the corridor, tossing a dressing robe on as he did so. Upon seeing that the hallway was positively empty, he quietly made his way downstairs.

He hadn't seen Hermione since breakfast a few days ago. Rodolphus had been enthusiastically dragging him to Death Eater meetings, where he was always forced to sit uncomfortably close to Voldemort. Ron had never been more grateful for the Occlumency lessons Kingsley Shacklebolt had given him after the war. Voldemort, he was sure, did not suspect a thing.

Bellatrix, on the other hand, was a different story. She always spoke to him in a brisk, clipped manner, narrowing her eyes whenever he asked questions and never prolonging a conversation for more than a few minutes. At times, it almost felt like she was keeping him from Hermione.

But that was impossible, he knew. She couldn't have caught onto him. He'd left no trail.

He reached the kitchen, and was surprised to find no one there. He glanced at the clock on the wall, an ornate black fixture with blood-red hands ticking ominously around it. Painfully, he remembered the clock at the burrow, and how at least two of the hands were pointed at "Lost" for good, and who knows how many more by now…

Shaking his head, he banished these thoughts for now. Thinking of his family was too painful. He hadn't seen his parents or remaining siblings—brothers, he corrected himself; they had killed his sister, his only sister—since he'd gone into hiding. The last time he'd seen Kingsley, he said they were all still alive and safe. News had been scarce since then. He could only hope things were still the same.

According to the Lestranges' clock, which he had quickly come to hate, breakfast ought to be served right about now, yet there was still no one around. Ron considered going back to bed, but then he realized…if Bellatrix was nowhere to be found, he might have a chance—

He bolted out of the kitchen, sprinting up the stairs—he knew exactly where she'd be.

Ron threw open the French doors to the library, and his heart rose at the sight of the beautiful young woman sitting inside. His sudden appearance had frightened her, though, and with a small squeal, she dropped the book she had been reading, her brown eyes wide.

"I—I'm sorry," he stammered, turning crimson. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

Hermione continued to stare at him, responding only with a small nod. Ron shifted awkwardly. It killed him, seeing her like this, having to start all over, just when they'd finally got it together…

It had been silent for several minutes, he realized. Clearing his throat, he made some excuse for his barging in. "Er…I was just wondering…erm…have I missed breakfast?"

Instantly, Hermione's expression softened. "Of course not, sir! The lord and lady are out of the house today…I didn't think you'd be up quite so early. I thought someone would have prepared you something…oh, but you must be starving!"

Ron began to deny this, but his growling stomach interrupted him. "Er…a bit, yeah," he mumbled. He wished his ears would stop burning.

Hermione smiled so sweetly he thought his heart would burst. "Then you ought to eat straight away, sir." She placed her fallen book back on its shelf with the utmost care, then glided across the room, opening the door in front of him. "If you'll follow me, please, I'll fix some breakfast for you, sir."

He couldn't bear her talking to him like this, and so he reached out and gently touched her arm. She looked up at him, somewhat startled, and he said softly, "You don't need to call me that." When she looked confused, he clarified, "Sir, I mean. None of that stuff."

Tentatively, Hermione asked, "What would you like me to call you, then?"

"Ro-" he bit his tongue, cleared his throat. "Hospes. Just Hospes is fine."

She gave him another small smile. "Hospes, then. If you'll follow me."

She led him downstairs to the kitchen, drew a chair for him, and, with the help of a house-elf, began making him breakfast.

Ron couldn't take his eyes off her. He couldn't believe that they were finally alone together—and in a sick way, he thought wryly, this is what he always imagined they'd be doing, starting the morning by having breakfast together. But in his mind, they'd be in a place of their own, maybe even married by now, having Harry and Ginny over…

But life hadn't turned out that way. The love of his life had been brainwashed into becoming a servant for a woman who had personally tortured her; she had no idea who he was anymore; they were dining as strangers in an even stranger place, and his best friend and sister were gone where he could not ever reach them.

It dawned on him that he had yet to start a conversation with her. He searched desperately for something to talk about, realizing that they might not have much time to be alone together. He had to get her to remember him as quickly as possible.

"So—so how long have you been here?" he asked.

She glanced at him for a moment. He savored the eye contact. "I have been here since the war ended."

It wasn't a straight answer. Had Bellatrix completely destroyed her sense of time? Remembering that he was a foreigner, he realized he had an excuse to question her further. He tried to lapse back into the proper form of speech he'd been using. Somehow he always seemed to forget it around her. "And how long ago was that, exactly? I haven't been over here long—I've been in Stockholm, you see."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, then closed it. "It was—" she gulped, clearly struggling to remember. "I—I don't remember exactly. Sometimes things are…a bit blurry…"

She bit her lip. Ron's heart cracked. "Do you—do you like it here?" he asked, trying to distract her from whatever pain she was feeling.

Her eyes lit up a bit. "Oh, yes," she said, smiling radiantly. "Yes, Mistress Bellatrix was very kind to take me in. If not for her, I might—I might not even be alive."

Ron shuddered, because he knew this was true. Even if she had been reduced to this state, she was still alive. He never thought he'd feel grateful towards Bellatrix Lestrange.

"And Madame Lestrange—she's a good woman, is she not?"

Hermione gave a small gasp. "Of course she is!" she exclaimed, as if to suggest the opposite was preposterous.

"Sorry," Ron said quickly. "I didn't mean to offend—"

"No, no, that's all right," Hermione amended quickly, blushing slightly at her small outburst. This was certainly no way to treat a guest. "It's just that—I'm very grateful for Mistress Bella, and everything she's done for me." She turned back to making breakfast.

"Mistress Bella?" Ron repeated. "I don't hear any of the other servants call her that."

Hermione blushed more deeply. "She says only I am allowed to call her that," she admitted. "And I'm—I'm not meant to do it in company."

Ron grinned. "I won't tell." She smiled in return. "You and she seem to get on quite well," he offered, clearly sensing that Hermione took pride in this relationship.

She nodded. "I'm very grateful," she said again. "She's been so good to me."

"How so?" Ron asked.

Hermione paused. "There have been times," she said slowly, "when I've required… counsel. Or comfort." She cleared her throat. "Rather than punishing me for any weakness, Mistress Bella has obliged, and gladly given me what I need." Her eyes met Ron's. "It's very kind of her." She began piling food on his plate, and added, "And sometimes she's good enough to teach me spells."

"You mean you've still got a wand?" Ron asked in shocked animation.

Hermione blinked. "Why, yes."

Ron's head was spinning. Imagine how easy it would be for them to get out, with two wands instead of one! True, Bellatrix and Rodolphus were possibly the most skilled witch and wizard around, save Voldemort, but they could make it, if he could just gain her trust…

He realized she was still staring at him perplexedly. He cleared his throat. "That—that is very kind of her. Indeed." He flushed. Adding that word to anything made him sound more respectable, but also like a complete tosser.

Hermione served him his food. Ron thanked her, and then sensed that she was about to leave him. "Wait," he blurted, before she'd even moved. She raised an eyebrow at him expectantly. "Would you—would you join me?" he asked, gesturing to the chair across from him. She seemed surprised. "Please," he said earnestly. "I'd be honored if you would."

Her cheeks turned slightly pink. "If that is your wish, Hospes," she agreed, smiling as she took a seat across from him.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Ron asked. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but the little house-elf scurried to give her a portion, and she smiled sweetly as she thanked it. Ron's mind went back to her S.P.E.W. days, and he hoped more than ever that he'd be able to call Hermione back to the ghost of the girl sitting in front of him.

They ate quietly for a few minutes. Ron suspected that she would not speak unless spoken to, so he tried to keep the flow of conversation going. He asked her about trivial things: her favorite books, spells, colors…everything he already knew, of course. He felt a rush of gratitude at the fact that these things had not changed.

Slowly, he transitioned into more personal questions, attempts to trigger her memory. "Where did you study?" he asked her, and she frowned.

"I—I don't believe I ever did," she confessed. "Not really, anyway. Mistress Bellatrix says other Mudbloods tried to teach me when I was younger, but nothing they taught me really counts. She's been helping me make up for it, which is very kind of her, considering I'm a Mudblood, too."

Ron's grip on his cutlery tightened. "Don't call yourself that," he mumbled, and Hermione seemed surprised. "It's—it's sort of a slur," he covered. "In Stockholm."

She nodded, and continued to eat daintily. He watched her, his chest aching for the loss of all her happiest memories of Hogwarts. That's what had been their whole lives, really.

"What sort of things does Bellatrix teach you?" he asked quietly, realizing too late his failure to add any proper title before her name.

This did not go unnoticed by Hermione, but she answered him, anyway. "Simple things, mostly…charms to tidy up the manor, a few basic defensive spells, and…" her voice trailed off and her eyes glazed over momentarily as her mind drifted back to a few days ago, when Bellatrix had taken her down to the dungeons.

"Has she ever taught you anything…bad?" Ron pressed gently, and Hermione immediately locked her eyes with his.

"How did you…" she cut herself off, shaking her head. "No. No, of course not. Mistress Bellatrix wouldn't—she would never—" her hands began to tremble, and she slammed her fork down with more force than she'd intended.

"Hermione," Ron said, and again she raised her eyes up to him. "Bellatrix is known for being cruel."

She shook her head emphatically. "Don't say that."

"It's true." Ron stood and made his way over to her. Hermione looked at him with wide, desperate eyes.

"No, it isn't," she whispered.

He knelt down beside her. "Yes," he murmured. "It is. Everyone's heard of her, and they don't speak of her as kindly as you do."

"But that's because they don't know her like I do!" Hermione cried. "She is good to me; she is kind, and warm, and—"

Carefully, Ron placed his hand on her left forearm. Startled, Hermione looked down at it, then met his gaze again.

"May I?" he asked, and she nodded, not really knowing what she was agreeing to.

Ron began to roll up her sleeve, revealing a three-year-old scar that had barely faded with the passage of time. Letter by letter the hateful word was uncovered, and Hermione's eyes widened to see what she kept so carefully hidden. She stared at him in utter bewilderment. "How did you…?"

"Do you know who gave this to you?" Ron kept his blue eyes locked on Hermione's brown orbs.

"A…a…someone…during the war…" Hermione shook her head, frowning. "I don't understand; how did you know—?"

Ron shook his head. "It was Bellatrix, Hermione."

Hermione withdrew her arm sharply from him. "No! How—how dare you! How could you suggest—" but her voice did her angry words no justice; it had begun to break; her eyes were filling up with tears.

"You know," Ron said quietly. "You know what she's capable of…has she…has she ever hurt you?" He reached out and gently brushed her perfect face, and she blinked, unsure how to respond. So she remained silent.

"There are things you don't remember, am I right? Bits of your life you can't seem to recall…there's a reason, Hermione. She's not on your side."

A tear finally fell from her eyes. Ron reached up to brush it away, but she slapped his hand away. Surprised, he drew back, searching her face. "She is too!" she cried indignantly. "You—you know nothing. She cares for me like no one else has—she c-comes in and brushes my hair at night, she h-holds me and rubs my b-back when I have nightmares, she thinks I'm good enough for her to t-teach me…" her voice died away as her eyes flickered back to the wound on her arm. "She can't have," she said quietly. "She can't possibly have done this."

"You are good enough. Better, actually. You're brilliant. You were always the best in our year; you deserve to be taught anything you want…you're as good as she is, at least," Ron said earnestly, and Hermione was more confused than ever.

"Best in our…? Hospes, what are you talking about?" she asked in angry perplexity.

Just as Ron was about to try explaining, a crack sounded from the garden, and they both jumped to their feet. Ron scrambled for one final statement to convince her, something, anything…

Nothing came. So he took her face in his hands and kissed her.

It was beautiful, his hand in her soft brown curls, her soft lips pressed against his again, finally, finally—

And it was over in seconds. She pulled away, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. "Don't—you can't—" she stammered, also struggling for something to say.

They heard the front door open. The Lestranges had entered the manor.

Hermione whirled back to face Ron, looking more like the girl he loved than ever. "You had no right," she hissed, "no right to do that. I have—I have told you more than I should; opened up to you for—for some reason. It was foolish, I shouldn't have done. And I don't intend to speak to you again." She finished her vicious soliloquy just as Bellatrix and Rodolphus entered the kitchen.

"Oh, good morning," said Rodolphus, looking surprised to see his servant and guest in conversation. "Had a nice breakfast, did you?"

Ron was about to answer, but Bellatrix's deadly stare froze his voice in his throat.

"Yes, Master," Hermione replied smoothly. "It's just been finished. Shall I make some more for you?"

"No, no, we've eaten at Rosier's…ah, the Prophet's here, excellent." He sat down and instantly became engrossed in the paper, as was his wont.

"Hermione," said Bellatrix, her black eyes still locked on Ron's, "go upstairs for a bit, would you? I shall be up momentarily."

"Yes, Mistress." Hermione swept out of the room without so much as a second glance back at Ron.

Bellatrix stalked slowly towards Ron, who managed a shaky, "Madame Lestrange! How has your morning been?"

She ignored him. He gulped. This was not a good sign.

"I see you've been spending some time with my servant girl," she said almost conversationally. Memories of this woman killing Sirius, setting his house on fire, dueling and nearly killing his mother flashed through Ron's mind as he took an involuntary step backward. Bellatrix was clever at masking her madness.

"She made a most excellent breakfast," he said, nodding stupidly. He had to get back into her good graces…was he ever in them to begin with?

"Lovely," Bellatrix sneered. She leant in closer, successfully intimidating him despite the fact that she was a good seven or eight inches shorter than him. "I see you need reminding that you are a guest in this house, Peregrine. My servants are not up for grabs, this one in particular."

"Bellatrix," said Rodolphus admonishingly. She turned and sent him a withering stare, which he held for a few moments before returning his attention to the paper with a sigh.

"She's a fragile girl," Bellatrix said quietly. "I'll not have you sneaking about, filling her head with things she can't understand."

"She's brilliant," Ron shot back, staring at the floor.

Bellatrix snarled. "I beg your pardon?"

Ron realized he couldn't afford to fight with her. He would pay for it with his life. With great effort, he looked her in the eyes and nodded conciliatorily. "You're right. I apologize, madame." He shifted uncomfortably. "She's a beautiful girl. I was…taken with her. I am sorry if I came off as ungracious."

Bellatrix held his gaze for a few moments more before nodding slowly. "Very well, then," she said, her breathing returning back to normal. She made to exit, but turned back to Ron once more.

"I know she's brilliant," she said, before leaving the room to see the girl.