A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black

I've sort of turned round on Rodolphus. Mainly because I perceive he's really trying hard to fix things. That, and he's just too damned cute with Bellatrix :)

When Viktor told his uncles what had happened, using the embassy's secure Floo connexion (which was actually pretty secure, according to Snape and the people he'd had check it), he had calmed enough to articulate his feelings.

Which was good, because his uncles were not calm at all. Uncle Penko actually had to step out for a moment. Viktor heard something shatter and something else fall over, and his normally refined, jocular uncle shouting words Viktor'd had no idea he even knew.

Uncle Rumen was quieter, but no less angry. 'Dementors.'

'Yes, Uncle.'

'Poor Barty half killed himself.'

'Yes, Uncle.'

'This is a serious violation of international law.'

'I know.'

'We have to tell the other countries.'

'I know.'

'It will be open war.'

'I know.'

'God damn it!'

Uncle Rumen turned away for a moment. Uncle Penko was still shouting and breaking things, but he seemed to have cooled enough to be coherent again, to judge by his lowered volume and the fact the crashes had mainly stopped. Viktor sat back on his heels a moment, wishing he could go to his wife. She was lying in bed at Grimmauld Place, not talking, pretending to sleep.

'Rinky was killed.'

'I'm sorry, Viktor.'

'Hermione is not taking it well.'

'Not taking it well how?'

'She's very quiet.'

Uncle Penko's head popped back up. 'I don't blame her. That elf was the only constant in her life for how long?'

Viktor thought. 'Three years? Four?'

'Poor thing.'

Viktor didn't know whether his uncle meant Rinky or Hermione. He nodded, worried and sad. He'd liked Rinky; moreover, Hermione had loved him.

'It's frightening, seeing her like this.'

'She's all right mentally, I take it? Snape's checked her?'

'She's fine, Uncle Penko. Just hurting.'

'You know about that.'

Viktor held up the first piece of parchment he'd written. "We have to go soon- it's not safe here anymore"

The uncles nodded at once, eyes on the door. The embassy was supposed to be safe, but who could say?

The second piece, after he'd fed the first into the fire. "I want to bring as many as will come"

'Can't' said Uncle Rumen at once. 'It's illegal.'

Viktor held up the last sheet. "FIND A WAY, PLEASE"

'Is that an order?'

'Yes.'

Uncle Rumen nodded. 'You know the implications of such a thing?'

'I know the implications of what happened yesterday.'

Viktor spoke a few minutes longer with his uncles about small things and then cut the connexion after the usual bout of promises as regarded being safe, eating properly and making sure to remind Hermione to do the same.

He went to the living quarters. Aside from some elves, he was the only person there. He laid down, reaching for a novel he'd brought left here the last time. It was quite a good book. It was some hours before he heard back, but that was all right.

At St. Mungo's, Barty was awake. He was sitting up in his bed, colouring a picture and waiting eagerly for the apprentice-healer to come round. He'd been promised a treat if he didn't complain about taking his potions, and he suspected it would be an egg-custard, or a boiled sweet. Either was fine with Barty.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps, and what he got was even better, because it was his family, and they were come to visit him. He beamed and held out his arms for Edric, who promptly bit him as soon as he was in range (Edric was still teething). Barty yelped but didn't stop hugging the baby. 'Edric, ouch!'

Rabastan sat down in the chair and took the baby back for a moment, handing her to Zdratza to change.

Eugenia had come too, and Narcissa, and Lucius, and Draco. They spread out, smiling, and sat down. 'How do you feel, Barty?'

'I feel better now you've all come!'

They chuckled. 'We've brought sweeties, too.'

'Oh, good!' Barty carefully set aside his picture and gestured them all closer. Draco came and sat on the bed with him. Rab sat on the other side, and handed him a package from Honeyduke's.

Barty carefully opened it and offered the ladies first. Everyone took whichever sweet they wanted, and it got very quiet aside from the sound of chewing and the hospital noises in the corridor.

'Is everyone all right?'

'Well, no. Rinky-Hermione's elf?-was killed.'

'Oh, no! Is she very upset?'

'She's upset, yes.'

Barty swallowed his sweet. 'Is she going to come here?' He wished he could make her feel better. He'd always liked Rinky, and it was sad that he'd died.

'Probably not today. Perhaps tomorrow.'

Sev came in. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept. Was he afraid, like Draco? Barty could hardly ask, so he decided to wait until he felt better and could get Sev in private. It's what a friend would do, he thought.

'Hello, Barty.'

'Hello, Sev! Come have some sweets, all right?'

Sev came and sat down in the chair Rab had evacuated. He took a sweet but didn't eat it, holding it in his hand.

'Barty? What do you remember from yesterday?'

'The Dementors came and we chased them off.'

'Yes. Do you remember what you did?'

Barty frowned thoughtfully. 'A Dementor was trying to hurt Hermione. I made it go away.'

'Yes, you did, Barty. Do you recall how?'

Barty squinched up his face, trying to make the memories came back. 'I thought about how sad everyone would be if Hermione got hurt, and then I remembered how much fun we had in Bulgaria-we'd go and play with Bess, remember?-and then I tried to make it go away. And it did.'

'You used a happy memory to scare the Dementor?'

'Yes. And I felt-I felt big. Like a dragon.'

'Was it your magic, Barty?'

'Yes. It was big, Sev.'

'I believe that, Barty. You used a happy memory and then channelled your magic at the Dementor, is that right?'

'I think it is. Did I remember it wrong?'

'No. No, you did exactly right. Well done.'

Barty beamed, thrilled at the praise. He liked it when Sev was happy with him. He liked it when everyone was happy. He wasn't sure he liked the hospital, but that was all right. Gibbon had said he go home soon, and even if Nomascus was a swot, he was a clever swot, and probably he was right, more or less. About this, not about things that counted.

'Are Bellatrix and Rodolphus coming soon?'

'This evening. You've heard about Rinky?'

'I did. That's very sad. Should I send her a note? Hermione? To tell her I'm sorry?'

'That would be kind of you, Barty.'

So he did. He finished his picture and wrote her a condolence note on it, and by then it was time for potions and egg-custard, and that made him sleepy. He closed his eyes and slept, thinking about elves and how very nice it was to be loved.

At Grimmauld Place, the house was still. In the basement, Rodolphus was still questioning the auror. It was fortunate the house was well sound-proofed. His wife was with his daughter, consoling her in her husband's absence. The squashy cat, Rodolphus supposed, was curled up against her, purring and rubbing.

Rodolphus came upstairs just after the group left to see Barty. He and Bellatrix would make a special trip later to thank their mad friend. Rodolphus stripped off his bloodied clothing and left it in the downstairs bathroom, padded in his smalls upstairs to have a bath.

The hot water eased the ache from his limbs, but not the larger one from his soul. He'd known Hermione was dangerous, but it had stunned him, seeing what she could do up close.

His bath was cold by the time he climbed out and towelled off. Kreacher had left him clean clothes, and he donned them slowly, humming tunelessly. It occurred to him that he was, for lack of a better way to say it, avoiding his wife and daughter.

Could that be true? He had no reticence about killing, certainly. He'd long since lost track of how many he'd killed, but estimated it was probably in the triple digits, if one counted deaths he'd indirectly caused. He slept well at night, on the whole.

He hadn't the night before, to be sure. He'd tossed and turned for hours beside his wakeful wife, until she'd finally rolled over and given him a look.

'Well?'

'I can't sleep, Trixie, that's all.'

'Bollocks.'

'It's not.'

'Is.'

'What about you?'

'What about me?'

'You're upset as well.'

'I can't sleep with you flopping about this way.'

Rodolphus had sat up, flicking on the lights but low, so as not to rouse the house. Bellatrix sat up as well, tugging her nightgown closer to her neck.

'Trixie...'

'Out with it, Rodolphus. Hermione doesn't get this holding it in from me, you know.'

That was true, at least. He wished he could find the right way to begin this, to start their world anew after this latest and most terribly betrayal. If there had been even a flicker of doubt in Rodolphus about the Dark Lord, it was gone now.

So that's what he told her. 'Dementors.'

'Yes, Dementors.'

'How could he have...'

'He's done with us.' Her voice was dry and hard, without sorrow. He had always admired his wife, loved his wife, but now he hated her a little too. How could she feel nothing about what had happened?

'Doesn't it...aren't you angry, Trixie?'

'Angry? No. I was angry in December, Rodolphus. Now I am merely determined.'

'Determined to do what?'

'I will end this. If it kills me, that is fine, but I will end it. We should have ended it long ago.'

'When he sold her.'

'When he stepped over that Potter woman to get to the boy. It was an omen, Rodolphus. There is nothing he would not do. Then and now.'

'I know.'

Her eyes had that hectic fire he so loved. He had seen it reflected in burning buildings, scorched into flesh with magic, under him as he pumped into her the night their daughter was made, made in some bloody bed, made in Darkness and power and, yes, love, the love her father had for her mother and the love they each bore their Master-that-was.

'We helped him.'

'Yes. Bellatrix, may I ask you something?'

'What it is, Rodolphus?'

'If you had known you were in the family way, would you have gone with us that day?'

Bellatrix closed her eyes. She seemed very beautiful to him, fragile yet ardent, the strongest, bravest person he'd ever met. He loved her with the force of the tide, the endlessly vastness of the skies.

'Yes.'

'I regret, every day, every day that we didn't know you were...'

'So do I. If I'd known then what I know now, I would not have gone. But as it was, yes, Rodolphus, I would have chosen him over her.'

He touched her hair. 'But you didn't, Trixie. Neither of us did.'

'We would have.'

'Yes, we would.'

He touched her shoulder and she let him. Rodolphus couldn't look at her. They'd said it, finally. The depths of it could be dealt with, because it had been admitted to, and light and air could perhaps do what darkness and airless silence could not.

'Rodolphus?'

'Hmmm?'

'What about you? You don't talk about things.'

'I do.'

'Like what?'

He looked at the duvet. 'I suppose I talk about...'

'Magic, and the Dark Lord, and Hermione, and me. Not about you, never about you.' She reached up and gently poked him in the chest. Her finger was bony and sharp, but he raised it to his mouth anyhow to kiss it.

'No. Never about me.'

'Why not, Rodolphus?'

'I don't know.'

She made a face at him, scrunching her face up in the way he found so endearing. 'Bollocks. Do so.'

'I'd rather talk about you.'

Bellatrix leant over a little, stretching her spine. Rodolphus ghosted his fingers up her spine, feeling the bones, fragile as a bird's. She didn't react, perhaps seeing a past self and a chain of things she wished she could undo. Rodolphus wished he could undo them, for her and himself both.

'Why couldn't you sleep, Rodolphus?'

'I don't know what our next step is. How do we...what is there for us now, Trixie? This was the only place in the world we belonged.'

She looked him in the eye. 'I don't know. We'll find something.'

'No. I mean, yes, of course, but Trixie, I'm not sure...I don't know what's normal anymore.'

She nodded briskly. 'One thing at a time, Rodolphus.'

'And Hermione...I love her so much, Trixie. But I'm afraid. For her, and...of her, a little.'

'She'd never hurt either of us. You know that.'

'No, she wouldn't. She's strong, Bellatrix. Powerful.'

'We knew that, too.'

'Yes, but this was not-what have we turned her in to, precisely?'

Bellatrix laughed a small, bitter, hurting laugh. 'Don't you see, Rodolphus? We've turned her into us.'

Now, dressed and freshly splashed with cologne, Rodolphus padded down the corridor and knocked on the door. It opened, the ancient Black elf bowing him inside with a look that implied that he held Rodolphus personally responsible for whatever was brewing inside.

Bellatrix was half sitting against the headboard, one hand resting protectively on Hermione's back. His daughter was asleep, fat familiar indeed curled up next to her. Her breathing was deep, and she was making a soft huffing sound, like it was a struggle. Rodolphus moved closer, concerned.

Bellatrix snapped her wand and encased Hermione in a Silence-bubble. Rodolphus sat down on the bed, careful not to jar his sleeping child. His wife was looking at him with her endless eyes.

'Trixie? Is she all right?'

'No.'

Her hand was caressing Hermione's back steadily. Her sleep was clearly shallow, face swollen with weeping. Rodolphus summoned a blanket from the chair and spread it on her, lest she take a chill.

'Is she sick?'

'No. Just sad.'

Rodolphus wished his wife was a bit more communicative sometimes. Hermione stirred, nestling into her mother's lap, holding onto her even as she slept. Bellatrix kept stroking, making a soft toneless hum as she did.

'I've never known of her to...'

'That elf was special to her, Rodolphus. Her oldest friend, I think.'

'Well, yes, but-'

'Her last link with them.'

'The muggles.'

'Yes. He took care of her before we could be trusted.'

'She told you all this?'

'There was no need for her to. I'm her mother.'

'I know. What can I do?'

'I need to use the WC. Would you mind taking her?'

Rodolphus carefully steadied his daughter as his wife climbed slowly out. Hermione mumbled and shuddered, feeling her mother stand up. He'd never seen his child so nakedly vulnerable. It was oddly frightening; she'd always been so self composed and hardy, seemingly untouched by the slings and arrows of life.

'Shhhh, love, shhhhh.'

'Father?' He flicked to remove the bubble when he saw her mouth move.

'Yes, shhhh.'

Her eyes opened. 'What time is it?'

'Doesn't matter. Do you need to sleep a bit more?'

She shook her head and sat slowly. 'No, Father.' Her eyes were swollen, and she reached up and brushed her face lightly, itching a bit. Rodolphus knew how prolonged crying could make a person's face ache and burn, and he reached out slowly and cupped her cheek.

'Love, what do you need right now?'

Hermione registered surprise at being asked. She sat back slowly, rubbing a kink from her neck with one hand.

'I-I don't know.'

When had he last asked her that? When had anyone, in reference to emotional rather than immediate needs? He wondered where to start and decided, Barty-like, that the direct approach was best.

'I'm sorry, love.'

'I am too. He was a very good elf, you know.'

Rodolphus nodded and smoothed her hair. 'He was, wasn't he? He was the first person you'd met, that day, wasn't he?'

'No. No, I think I met Mother and yourself first. But only for a second.'

'Uncle took you to that classroom and Rinky was there?'

'Yes. He and the others came to defend me. I'd never seen an elf before. I thought he was silly looking. Those big ears and all.'

'He took care of you during the fighting?'

'Until I got out, he did.'

Rodolphus kept stroking her hair. It seemed odd to him, this intimacy, both right and foreign. It could have been like this, he thought, every day. She could still be living at home, and not married, and we could see the Malfoys every Sunday for lunch, and go to France on holidays. If only...

'He must have been a very brave elf.'

'He was. He made sure I was safe from the Dementors during the fighting. And the other elves did too, I mean. I tried to run and he came with me, before Scabior got me.'

'Later?'

'No. I was in the kitchen, and then I slipped out. Scabior came for me before I got very far.'

Birthdays, thought Rodolphus numbly, the slow, burning sadness radiating from his heart. Christmases with Rab and Evan. Trips to museums. So much is past now...

'I would think it was very hard to lose Rinky after you had so much history together.'

Hermione nodded, tears beading her lashes. 'Yes. Everyone from before is gone now.'

'Not everyone, darling. You aren't.'

'No. No, I'm not.' That seemed to make it worse and not better. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms round them, folding in on herself. Rodolphus had never seen her anything less than cheerful-even chipper-and brave.

At one level, it was actually sort of reassuring. Hermione, in spite of everything, was still fourteen, and badly needed care and reassurance. At another, all he could feel was self-disgust. The fact he'd only seen her this way once implied there was something wrong, a lot of things wrong, with their relationship.

'It's all right, darling.'

'No, it isn't! It's not all right at all!'

How did he answer that? What would Lucius do, aside from saying something dryly witty? Rodolphus liked dry wit, but this was not the time, he suspected. Instead, he touched her back gently, rubbing a bit.

'Good girl, Hermione.'

She raised her head, clearly confused. He kept rubbing. There was so much of Trixie in her, but perhaps there was some of him, too, something that would help her understand how much he wished every single day he could fix what had happened, how much he loved her.

'You won't feel better if you don't talk about, hmm?'

She tensed. 'No. Don't want to.'

'It will hurt more to keep it in, darling. Really and truly.'

Hermione didn't answer for a long time, just curled into herself like she thought it would be safer. Probably she did, he thought. Why should she ask him? He hadn't protected her very well thus far.

'Everyone I love leaves me.'

Rodolphus couldn't exactly refute that. Instead, he tried to find a way to make it sound a bit better than it was. He was good at that, but he sensed he couldn't exactly convince his daughter it was true.

'You've lost a lot of people, Hermione.'

'I've lost everyone, over and over. I don't-I can't keep doing this.'

'Not everyone, surely?'

'Don't, Father. I'm not eleven any more.'

'Explain what you mean, love.'

'I lost everyone the first time after I was born-you and Mother, Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius, Uncle Rab. When the Dark Lord came, I lost my muggle parents, and our home in Darlington. I lost Hogwarts to go to France, and my friends there. Then Beauxbatons, and my friends there, because I had to leave in November. Yseult, because she stayed at school. I got married, so I lost everyone here again. Now Rinky. Who will I lose next, Father?'

Put like that, it made sense she was taking the elf so hard. He would have given much to have answers for her, but he had none. Once he would have been comfortable with that, because surely the Dark Lord would have, but that time was past and would never come again.

'I don't know, darling.'

Hermione was crying again, hard. She laid down, knees to chest, and ignored him, cringing from his hand. He let her. It was better for her to finally let go, purge this a bit, before it was too late and the feelings became part of her internal world, like bugs trapped in amber.

'Why did you go? It wasn't right!'

Rodolphus's heart slowed in his chest. He'd told her to talk about her feelings, and he'd known it would hurt. It did, both of them, but it struck him then that perhaps that was all right, that sometimes the cure hurts as much as the wound.

'Sweetheart, I ask myself that every day. I don't have an answer, truly, I don't. But you are the best, most wonderful thing in my life, and I would never, never hurt you on purpose.'

'You hurt Neville's parents.'

'Yes, love. I did do that.'

She seemed to want to hear him say it, more than actually talk it over. That was good. He couldn't handle all of it at once. He'd go mad, really go mad. She stayed curled up but something loosened a shade.

'Why?'

'We thought they knew where the Dark Lord was. We were-it would not have been wise not to look, had it been a test of our loyalty.'

'You were afraid of him, Father?'

'Afraid? Yes. And no. We loved him, Hermione, so much. But he could be cruel, even then.'

'If you'd known about me, would you have still wanted to go?'

This was surely punishment for his sins, having to explain those sins to his child, who was smart enough to know when she was being lied to and good enough to object. He searched his memory for something that might help her understand and found it empty.

'I would like to tell you no, love, on my soul. I don't know the answer to that. That's the truth.'

She nodded once. 'What about Mother?'

'You'd need to ask.'

'She'll get angry.'

'No. It's time, I think, for us to talk this over.'

She nodded again. 'It will be hard, Father.'

'It will be very hard. But that's all right, Hermione. The best things are.'

Bellatrix came back in, carrying a plate of food and with a fierce look on her face. 'Girl, you're going to ea-What have you done, Rodolphus?'

'It's all right, Mother. We were talking. It was hard.'

Bellatrix handed the plate to Rodolphus and jumped up on the bed, glaring fiercely. 'If you have upset her, Rodolphus, I will poison you.'

'Mother!'

'What?'

'You can't just threaten to poison Father.'

Hermione put her arms about her mother and pressed her face into her neck, sighing softly. Bellatrix enfolded her, giving her husband a dangerous look.

'She's been doing it for years, Hermione. I'm not too afraid.'

'I'm biding my time, is all. You'll see, someday when you least expect it...' Hermione was giggling softly, voice rough and hoarse from crying.

'I never threaten to poison Viktor.'

'You might consider starting. It keeps things exciting.'

'Bellatrix!'

'Mother!'

'What?'

'I threaten to have Crooks gnaw on him from time to time.'

'Good, good, that's a start, girl.'

'Hermione, darling, don't take marital advice from Mother.'

'This is girl talk, Rodolphus. You don't get a vote.'

The three of them laughed again before the hard work started.

Viktor didn't get home until quite a bit later. He went to the bedroom (not the Master bedroom; Hermione had wanted to be in her parents' bedroom, which held fewer painful memories of Rinky) and knocked, and was bidden in.

The three Lestranges were sitting up in the bed. Viktor joined them, sensing something important had happened and content to wait. If Hermione needed some private time with her mother and father, that was perfectly fine.

Nearly as soon as he was settled, Kreacher opened the door again. Drago bowed to the ladies and handed a rolled parchment to Hermione. 'Barty sends his regards. He misses you all very much.'

'We're going to visit him later, your aunt and I.' Father was sitting next to Mother, with Hermione facing them.

Drago sat down. 'I've promised to go back directly. Just need some books and things to keep everyone entertained.'

Hermione unrolled her parchment and read it aloud.

"Dere Hermynee,

I am sorey to heer your Rinky dyed. He was a good elf. He was nice to me. Pleze doant to be sad. He is in a beter plase. I will mak oferings for him. Would you lik my old elf Winky? She is very nice. I would like you to haf her.

Yor friende,

Barty"

Hermione had tears in her eyes as she set the parchment down. Barty had drawn a picture, Viktor noticed. It was crudely linear, smeared, childish, but still compelling. Rinky, a big smile on his face, danced in a meadow with Hermione and Barty, who was holding Edric. The sun was shining down. The sun, too, was smiling.

From anyone else, the offer of a new elf would have seemed the rankest and most callous of responses. From Barty, it seemed like a sign life would go on. Rinky, thought Viktor, must surely approve of something that would help Miss feel better and give Master Barty joy.

'Barty set great store by that elf, Hermione.' Mother looked strained, sad. It must be hard on her, seeing Hermione this way, even as it was hard on Viktor.

'I know.'

'No one will make you accept, love.'

'I know. I will anyway.'

'That's a good girl, Hermione.'

Viktor touched his wife's cheek gently. 'News from home.'