A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black

Queen Smokey is still letting me crash at her place, and she helped me write this chapter by laying on the keyboard as regularly as possible.

I really, really tried to make Rodolphus likable and fatherly, but he's determined to be a serious, hardcore creeper, so here we are.

Eastern Europe was burning. All across the region, long simmering tensions exploded. In the Embassy, the Bulgarians waited, sick with fear, as one city after another fell to rampaging werewolves.

At Hogwarts, the Dark Lord was waiting, like a cat. The prey would come to him, he thought. In time. Oh, in time. And Snape did nothing to disabuse him, knowing that he could snap the skinny boy's neck, or put something in his food should he become a problem. But did he want to, knowing it would consign all hope of Potter's return to perdition?

The calls came in one after another. Would Britain help? It would, as it happened. The Dark Lord signed the orders, and within days, squads of werewolves and Death Eaters were sent to all points on the map, as diplomats came to sign the treaties that were the fruit of this dark and well planned garden.

Of course, very few people knew and cared about all of this. Lemuel Scabior was one, in that he was currently on the way to check on Lestrange's girl and Malfoy's snooty looking bird and lad. And the Bulgarian, now that he thought of it.

Climbing off the broom, he wandered across the lawn and up toward the vast mansion. Some place, he thought, but he'd be happy with something smaller and a bit less grand. Though, he supposed, a man could get a lot of whores in a place like that. Maybe have theme rooms, even. Popular, theme rooms, with gentlemen.

As he approached, boots crunching in the snow, he heard the sounds of laughter. Eyes darting up, he saw the two boys, swooping on brooms. He waved, and both of them waved back.

The house was as opulent inside as outside. He walked respectfully in it. Definitely fit for a first class whorehouse, what with the fine carpets and all. Gentlemen like a bit of culture, he believed, but not too much. After all, if they wanted culture, they'd be home with their wives.

Narcissa Malfoy nodded gracefully. 'Mr. Scabior, come in. Have you word from Mister Malfoy?'

'I do. E says e's fine but it's like t be a while. All them troubles an such, most upsettin.'

'No doubt. Is there any news of what's happening?'

'No, ma'am, not enuf t fills a thimble. Jus a lot a reports a burnin an violence. We'll knows more tomorrow or the day after.'

'Of course. And my sister and her husband?'

'Also well, an Madam Lestrange sends er love for yerself an the girl. Also, they wants me t tell you, ma'am, that she an the Bulgarian boy might be ere a time.'

'I suspected as much. I've had things prepared for a prolonged stay, and also things for my family stuck in the Embassy. Would you see they get them, please?'

'A course, ma'am.' An elf appeared and handed Scabior a small bundle, which was several days worth of clothing, razors, toothbrushes, and so, made small for easy transport.

'You may go and give Hermione the message. She's in the back with my son and her intended. Please remember, Mr. Scabior, not to upset her with any of this. Hermione's temperament is too fragile and gentle for much in the way of distastefulness.'

Scabior bowed his way out and followed the elf out to the garden. Definitely make a good sporting house, this. Didn't Hetty always say that men wanted to parade with their women? This place would be perfect; discreet yet elegant, and with an air that simply screamed that one would never be quite good enough.

He crossed the snowy terraces and followed the elf to a cloaked person, which resolved herself into Flower. 'Ello, flower.'

'Hello, Scabior. Is everything all right?'

'You tells me. Everythin awright with you, then?'

Hermione nodded, eyes glued to the sky. 'I suppose. It's strange, isn't it, to think that something terrible is happening in Europe whilst we're sitting here talking?'

Scabior sat down next to her. 'Sure you're feelin awright, flower?'

'Yes. It's just...it's selfish to be sad when so many people are dying. And there's lots of them, isn't there? It's bad.'

'Yeah, flower, real bad. Sad about what?'

'People.' Flower's eyes were still nailed to the boys, not looking. Scabior got it. Had she not been Lestrange's daughter, he might have taken her hand in his to cheer her up. Instead, he watched the brooms a moment with her.

'Y'know, flower, sometimes folks'll tells you that you shouldn't feels a certain way cause it aint rite. Thinks they knows better n you ow thins ought t be, cause they got some special ideas you aint bout ow you should feels.'

The girl nodded cautiously. Was this a trap? Scabior pretended not to notice, preferring to pretend to watch the Bulgarian trying to show the younger boy a Wronski feint.

'An sumtimes, we feels like we cant say nuthin for fear a gettin in trouble. But you know, jus cause you aint sez it a'loud, dont mean it aint bein hurd by them you ment t ears it.'

Hermione took her eyes off her cousin and intended. 'Yes?'

'Course. I talks to me sister an Mam all the time. An you know, I believes they ear me.'

Flower nodded slowly. 'I'm sorry about your mother and sister, Scabior.'

'Thank you kinely. And I'm sorry...well, that thins bin ruff for you. Dont no one knows it better.'

Hermione nodded and finally looked him in the face. 'But what happens when you feel something and then it stops? I mean, not entirely, but it's not...'

'Not like it wuz? Well, flower, it means yer gettin better. And they'd want you t get better, yeah? Dont mean you dont care. You jus care different now.'

The boys had noticed him, and Draco signalled that they should descend. They touched ground and approached politely on foot. It was only that creepy bloke that worked for Uncle Rodolphus, but still, there were forms to be observed.

'Hello there.'

'Ello, young Mister Malfoy. My name's Lemuel Scabior, an I've a message fer you from yer daddy.'

'By all means, Scabior, don't keep us wondering.'

' E'swell an send their greetins to you all, an asks you t ost in his stead, an espec'lly to pertect the ladies if they should need it.'

'Of course. Tell him I shall do my utmost.' The little bloke reminded Scabior of a banty rooster, all fierceness and fight despite the small size. The other one reminded him of a mastiff; power enough for ten, but no sense of real menace without cause.

'And fer young master Krum as well.'

'Of course. Hermione, would you translate?'

'Viktor, it's a message from your parents.'

'Mister an Madam Krum sends their greetins and asks that Viktor do what e can to elp. It'll likely be sum time fore everythin is fixed good enough to cross the borders, like, but the family is safe an Uncle...Pincho...?'

'That doesn't sound right. Let me ask. Viktor, your parents are well, but it will be a while before you can cross the borders to go home. Your family is safe, but your uncle sends a message.'

'Which uncle? I've got three.'

'The name starts with a P.'

'Penko, then. The youngest.'

'Is the name 'Penko', Scabior?'

'Yeah. This Penko bloke sez the women n children ave been sent ome to the castle. Penko and Rumen are in Sofia to elp the government.'

Hermione translated and Viktor nodded, having expected it. 'Is Mother well?'

'His mother?'

'Fine. Sends er affections, and asks im to elp Madam Malfoy.'

After she'd translated the rest, Scabior shook the snow from his cloak and bowed. 'Su'pose I'll head back now, then. Miss, young Mister Krum, young Mister Malfoy.'

'It was nice seeing you, Scabior.'

'An yerself, Miss. Mister Malfoy, would you see me out?'

Draco was about to refuse contemtuously when he realised that it must be that Father had a special message for him. Or perhaps his uncle or someone. He nodded, bowed to Hermione, and called an elf to make sure that Krum behaved himself. Not that Draco didn't trust him, precisely-just that it's what Father would have done.

Scabior walked alongside him for a few moments. 'How's doins, lad? The fella behavin imself?'

'Viktor? Yes, he's fine. Quiet, but very pleasant.'

'Good. You watch im, yeah? Them foreign blokes likes English witches. E might be fine fer now, but jus keeps yer eye on im.'

'I shall. Is that all?'

'Yeah.'

'Good day, Scabior.' He turned and went back to the garden. For all he'd heard the same thing from other people, Draco's first impulse was to trust Krum more than Scabior. He'd leave Hermione with ten Krums, rather than...he blinked. Why the sudden strong feelings? Ah, well. He shook it off and decided to have another go at coaxing his cousin onto a broom.

Viktor was having many of the same thoughts. He wasn't sure why his father in law to be wanted a man like this Scabior for his second. There was something skin crawling about him, something that reminded him of a picture he'd seen once, of a crocodile sunning itself on a river bank, birds playing in it's teeth.

'Is that man a family member?'

'No.' Hermione looked at her gloved hands, not wanting to taint Viktor with what she'd seen Scabior do. And it would look bad for Britain, she told herself sternly. 'He just works for my father at the Ministry.'

'His English is...'

'He's a heavy accent. Tell me about your home, would you?'

Viktor wondered whether he dare take her hand again. 'Does he make you nervous?'

'Scabior?'

'Yes. You're very pale.'

'No. Just that there was a battle, and...well, people got hurt.'

'You were there?'

'Yes.'

'How?'

Hermione turned her head and looked at him. 'It's a long story.'

Viktor finally worked up the nerve to touch her hand. 'Don't be afraid.'

'Viktor, I...someday. I promise, but not now.'

Viktor looked down at her, head cocked. 'Is it something bad that you saw him do?'

Hermione's mind was spinning a million kilometres an hour. Under Viktor's shyness and quiet, diffident personality, he was startlingly perceptive. She wiggled inside with pleasure; Snape had promised her a smart husband, and had delivered in spades, she thought.

'Mother says lots of people do bad things in wars, Viktor.'

Viktor nodded. He didn't want to push too hard or upset her. He decided to change the subject and looked at the house in the distance. 'It's a beautiful place.'

'You should see it in the summer. My aunt has the best roses in Britain.'

'My family owns some rose farms in a valley. Someday we'll go and see them.'

'I would like that. Tell me about your house?'

'We've more than one. There's a house in Sofia for during the Season-and usually my Uncle Penko lives there, he's unmarried-and a family keep near the Black sea. We usually live there, and my Uncle Rumen and his family.'

Hermione nodded. 'Do you like it? The sea?'

'Very much. I swim, sometimes. And I take my cousins to gather shells and whelks. Ivan is six and Yana is four.'

'Do you like children?'

'Yes. You?'

'I do.' Hermione suddenly realised that someday, she would almost certainly have one with this man and blushed red. Viktor, too, blushed, and then inhaled, wondering if he'd scared her.

'And Sofia?'

'It's beautiful, for a city.'

Hermione smiled. 'You don't like cities?'

'No. They're fun for the day, but it's tiresome. And one can't fly in them.'

'You fly well.'

Viktor shook his head. 'Thank you, but it's more practice than anything.' Hermione wondered whether he had any idea of how unusual he really was and decided to ask Snape about it, or Aunt Narcissa, or both.

Viktor was thinking the same of her. He wanted to show her his country, all of it, but most of all the parts that he thought of as Old Bulgaria-the ancient, secret places, the mossy forests and mountains, the fields and fields of roses.

And most of all, the castle. He loved Krum Castle with a passion that would have astonished anyone who looked at him. He felt rooted there, like a plant which derives it's nourishment from the soil it sits in, and he wanted her to feel that too.

Draco was coming back. He fixed Krum with a gimlet eye. Had he tried anything whilst Draco was gone? Would Draco have to duel him?

Krum stood and smiled. 'We fly now again?'

'All right.' Just to be safe, Draco raised an eyebrow at Hermione. 'Join us?'

'I think I'll head inside, but thank you.'

They watched her go, a little figure in a dark coloured cloak. 'Everything all right?'

'Yes. Man Scabior is...' Viktor made a face and Draco nodded. He understood the idea the other boy was trying to get across, and agreed totally.

'Creepy?'

'Yes, creepy. Scabior is creepy.'

And on that note, they climbed aboard their brooms and used the universal language of play.

Hermione was surprised to see Snape as she headed toward the stairs. 'Hello, Professor.'

'Hello, Miss Lestrange. How do you find your finance?'

Hermione beamed. 'He's brilliant, Professor.'

What an odd choice of words to describe the Krum boy, thought Snape, but decided against pursuing it at that moment. 'We're to meet, you know. Ten minutes in the basement, please, and do bring your elf.'

Hermione nodded, and when he walked in ten minutes later, he found her, properly attired for lessons, chatting with her elf.

'...And there was no reply?'

'Not yet, Miss. Madam Cunegarde is being sleeping.'

'Oh. I'm not surprised. It's a lot of excitement at that age.'

'Miss Lestrange.'

'Professor.' She smiled, cheeks dimpling, and Snape sternly girded himself against a wave of fondness.

'Tell me about Krum junior.'

'He's really sweet, Professor, and smart, too.' Hermione summarised what had just taken place. 'And he even likes the sea.'

Snape nodded distantly. It would seem he had rather miscalculated where the boy was concerned. He'd thought him as docile and dull as an ox. His mind was clicking along at fabulous speed.

This was not a disaster. In fact, it could be a good thing. Krum was a natural spy himself, and if he could be brought into Snape's fold, he would be an asset of some magnitude.

On the other hand, this meant Krum could be dangerous, as well. He had the idea that the boy was already half in love with his little spy. He'd simply have to make sure that state of affaires continued.

'And how do you find his parents?'

'They're nice enough.' Hermione had spent two seconds with them, and as they had not hit her or spit on her food in those seconds, she considered that probably they were all right.

'Good. Cultivate them, and do what they ask of you.'

'I know. Obedience is next to industry and so forth.'

'Cunegarde?'

'Yes, Professor.'

'Well, don't take it too much to heart, Miss Lestrange. Part of your appeal is your intelligence and erudition.' Hermione blushed, realising she'd been complimented, and then said 'Professor? Why did Allard Wilkes have another woman?'

'Cunegarde told you that?'

'No, Father did. But he made me swear not to ask her.'

'He's absolutely right, don't ask her. What prompted this?'

Hermione frowned. 'Is Viktor going to want another woman, do you think?' She thought it would hurt her feelings if he did, but perhaps all men did. Did Father, then? Uncle Lucius? Snape himself?

Snape resolved to strange Rodolphus at some point for this. 'It's complex, but to answer your question, Miss Lestrange, I should be very surprised. And you can help assure that he does not.'

'How?'

'When you're ready to be married, I shall find someone to explain that to you. For now, concentrate on learning everything else you need to be a good wife to the boy someday.'

Hermione was still worrying at the mystery of her great great aunt. 'Professor? Why did Aunt Cunegarde's children die? Father says Allard got a disease from a woman named Eugenia Mink.'

Yes, he would kill Rodolphus slowly for this. 'Eugenia Mink was a bad woman, Miss Lestrange. A professional. She infected your great great uncle with a virulent strain of a magical version of a disease one gets from...well, bad women. It only effects males. Females may be carriers, but they're never infected directly.'

'And she gave it to her children?'

'Yes.'

'Then how did her daughter get sick?'

'She didn't. Perhaps we ought to leave that skeleton in the closet for another day?'

The girl's face flushed, and her eyes looked strangely large and sort of dewy. 'I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to pry.' She'd been prying into her own family background, but Snape opted against reminding her of that.

He did not feel bad that the girl looked sad. Did not. 'It's all right, Miss Lestrange.' And it certainly didn't matter that she looked better now. She was a pawn, was all, albeit a special and valuable one. And yes, perhaps Snape felt a certain professional...regard for the girl, but he couldn't afford to get attached.

And what did she want from him, anyway? She was too young for a crush, and she had a father. Well, more or less. Perhaps Rodolphus wasn't quite the ideal father, but that was no excuse for doe eyes and sad looks on her part, was it? Not directed toward him, anyways. Perhaps he could somehow shift it onto Yaxley, or Travers, or someone.

Hermione could have told him, had he asked, because he had the right of it. It wasn't that she disliked Rodolphus, precisely. But he was always so formal with her. It was like one of those American telly programmes from the 50s. She would tolerate much, but if he started to call her Kitten, she'd complain to Snape about it. Because she trusted Snape, and wanted to please him, and liked his compliments.

There was nothing sexual or even romantic about her feelings. Hermione had loved her muggle Dad very much, and she missed him, and while Bellatrix was slowly becoming more like a mother, Snape was the most like a father she'd had since she'd last seen Cyril.

Snape looked away and was surprised when the girl suddenly called for an elf. 'Tippy, please get some pumpkin juice for the Professor and I.' The elf vanished and appeared a moment later holding a tray with juice and crackers, with slices of cheese and small, fatty slices of well cured meats.

'I'm sorry, Professor. I ought to have offered sooner.'

'Not at all, Miss Lestrange. Is there anything else on your mind?'

Hermione considered. 'Quite a lot, but let's brew.'

The situation in Europe was worsening. In cities, crowds of werewolves rampaged, driven to frenzy, and in Estonia the Ministry was burnt to the ground. The appeals grew more desperate and terrible, and at Hogwarts the Dark Lord smiled like a shark.

Bellatrix was in raptures. She moved with sublim purpose, glowing with a fire that was both holy and awful, the zeal of the true believer coupled with a dangerous mania.

'Finally we will wet our hands with blood again! It has been too long.'

The others agreed. Nearby, Fenrir Greyback quivered with obscene excitement. He was midwife of this new order, and he felt no small pride or excitement in having done his bit.

Rodolphus nodded, watching his wife. She didn't, nor had ever, excite him as she did others, but he was fond of her, and he still felt a species of shocked pleasure that they'd had a child together.

Speaking of whom, he wondered whether she understood what was happening. She seemed a bright girl. Perhaps, when he had the time, he'd get to know her better. Take her...somewhere, he supposed.

Lucius appeared in the dining room, which had been co-opted as the command centre, and sat down, slumping with exhaustion. 'Hello, all.'

'Lucius, what's happened?'

'The Estonians are having conniptions, their Minister has been burnt in effigy, and he's requested to come here as some sort of emergency exile thing.' He was pale, eyes smudged, and his usually flawless hair was out of it's ribbon.

'And His Lordship-'

'Has given me full power to decide this issues, in his beneficence.'

'Ah. Is there anything I might do?'

'Would you go and see the children?'

'I sent Scabior.'

'I know. But it would soothe my mind. A servant is hardly the same, wouldn't you say?'

Rodolphus darted his eyes at Bellatrix, who was growing more and more excited, almost glowing with the force of her mania. 'Of course, Lucius, I'd be glad.'

'Thank you, Rodolphus. And it would help with the Krums, hmm, so they'd see how much we care about the boy?'

Rodolphus smiled. 'And that, Malfoy, is why you are His Lordship's public face and I a humble office worker.'

Lucius, who had observed Rodolphus's work first hand more than once, nodded. 'Thank you, Rodolphus. And send Cissy and the girl a kiss from me, hmm? Draco is too old for kisses these days, but I'm sure he'd like a handshake or something else masculine.'

Rodolphus chuckled and prepared to leave. Bellatrix grabbed his arm. 'Rodolphus?'

'Lucius has asked me to go and check in. Should you like to come?'

A most unusual thing happened. Something passed behind Bellatrix's eyes, as fast as the heart of a mouse. She thought, for a moment, that she wanted to see her daughter. The Dark Lord had ceased to exist in her heart for a second.

But only a second. 'No, I should stay. Tell Cissy I'll try to come later.'

'I shall.' They didn't kiss. It would have been gauche, but he gave her a smile and then stepped through.

In the meantime, Snape was dealing with a situation. The elf had gone to his house to check on the dog, and come back with a most peculiar expression, face still, and held out a piece of paper. 'Master Snape?'

The postmark was Latvian. He slit the seal and read, heart turning to iron in his chest. Oh, this was bad. 'Miss Lestrange? I've received some bad news from your friend Miss Sproga.'

'You have?' Hermione's face was white as milk, and she set down her stirrer. In her heart, like Snape's, a black rose of certainty and terror was blooming in her heart. 'Professor?'

'Her father has been killed.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'How?'

'The riots, Miss Lestrange. She doesn't know the details.'

'And her grandmother?'

'Apparently well.'

Hermione inhaled, eyes filling. 'There is nothing we can do. The best thing is to work to improve things so it can't happen again. We must all make sacrifices.'

Snape found his throat felt strange. His little spy had learnt all her lessons so well. Such a bright girl. Tears were beading her eyelashes like dew. He found himself wishing, vaguely, that he was the sort of man who might comfort her with kindness and not principles but he wasn't, and so he did nothing.

'May I write her a response?'

'By all means.' Snape prepared to summon parchment and ink when Tippy burst in, bowing. 'Sorry, Miss, Master Lestrange is being here.'

Hermione inhaled and stood, smoothing her skirt and running damp palms over her hair to smooth it. 'If you'll excuse me, Professor, I'll have to go. Should you like to come?'

If there'd ever been a day when Snape thought he'd hear Narcissa's voice coming from a little Bellatrix, he'd never have believed it. Now, though, it seemed normal, routine even, and he rose, shaking his head.

'Thank you, Miss Lestrange, but I'll be finishing up. The Embassy needs this potion.'

'I'm sorry I couldn't have been of more help.'

'Not at all. Good day, Miss Lestrange.'

'Good day, Professor.'

Hermione forced herself to walk normally up the stairs and nearly ran into her father, who was talking with Narcissa. '...Never a moment's bother. And I've not seen the boys in what seems like months. I think they're determined to give poor Hermione a heart attack, she says Viktor is teaching Draco the Wronski feint.'

'If anyone is qualified, it's that boy. He's being well taught, Narcissa, from what I've heard.'

'No doubt.' Narcissa's face lit up as she saw her niece. 'Hermione, love, what's the matter? You're pale as snow.'

'Bad news from a friend. Hello, Aunt Narcissa, Father.'

'Hello, pet.' Rodolphus bent and kissed her cheek. 'That's from your uncle. He sends you his affection.'

'And mine for him, Father.'

Rodolphus didn't like how subdued his daughter seemed. She was normally such a cheery little thing, like a kitten or something. He turned to his sister in law, for whom he'd always had the highest regard, and smiled. 'May we be excused a moment, Narcissa?'

'Of course.' Narcissa allowed herself a cocked brow, which Rodolphus ignored; Hermione, as far as she could tell, had been absolutely perfect since that incident in Paris. What could Rodolphus possibly need to say in private?

Hermione was wondering the same thing. Had she said or done something?

Rodolphus led her into the study and closed the door. 'Darling? You aren't in any trouble. I just wanted to see how you are.'

'I'm all right, Father. You?'

He sat in the chair behind the desk, respectful of the papers on it, and patted his lap. 'Come here, love.'

Hermione sat down, hands in her lap. She might not have felt about Rodolphus the same as she'd felt about her muggle Dad, but he could be friendly, and he gave good cuddles.

Rodolphus gently moved his child closer, so that he could rock her more easily. He was good at reading people; had to be, as a good torturer is not merely some mindless fleshsmith.

Rather, a truly first class torturer could find the emotions and tease them out, play them like violins, drink them like wine. And he was not merely good; he was the best at what he did, definitely in Britain and possibly in the world.

'Now, love, what's happened with your friend.'

'Her father's been killed in those riots. She's Latvian.'

'She isn't the one teaching you Bulgarian?'

'She's half. Her mother was Bulgarian.'

Rodolphus had heard a bit about Hermione's friends, and thought it unfortunate that all this had happened. And the girl had lost so much herself, likely it was giving her bad memories.

'There, there, love. It'll be all right.'

'Of course, Father. We all have to make sacrifices.'

Rodolphus beamed, unseen by his daughter, who'd nestled into his chest and shut her eyes, soaking up the comfort of being cuddled. He rubbed her back rhythmically, letting her just sit and feel safe with him.

'Of course we do, darling heart. It's very good of you to think that way.' And, feeling genuine pride in his daughter, he started to explain some of what was going on, rewarding her insight with perspective.