A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black

NB I: A character describes a list of countries as being 'most of the Balkans.' About half the countries are Balkan-the character just means that their priority is the Balkan countries.

NB II: Mellitus is the old name for diabetes. It runs in the Krum family.

NB III: Penko's title is Lord Paramount of the Conclave, so he's called 'Lord Krum' as a courtesy. Viktor is typically called 'Lord Protector', so there's not much confusion.

Rumen Krum wondered what the high lords and vassals of their country would say if they could see the Lord Protector now. In a sun-faded, patched tunic, he was squatting on his heels, gently wiping the face of the squirming Toma Kounev, who was six, with a damp cloth. Toma had bad allergies, and the cloth was impregnated with a salve that would mitigate the swelling that the presence of flowers and trees would otherwise cause.

When the medication was absorbed, Viktor clapped his shoulder, and the child, son of the rebel lord who'd help the Dinevs defend their castle, beamed up at him, awestruck at the presence of this big boy, who was so nice and whom everyone deferred to.

'Thank you.'

'You're welcome, Toma. Run and play, all right?'

Rumen caught his nephew's eye as he rose. 'My lord, good news.'

'We've found a way to stop the Romanian ambassador coming about.'

'I said good news, Viktor, not a miracle.'

They both grinned a moment before Hermione came over, holding two year old Rada Popova on her hip. Rada was clutching a doll even mankier than Anka, and held it out to Rumen.

'Baby! Baby! Rada baby!'

'Yes, love, that is your baby.' He took the doll, grimacing slightly, and patted it's back like he would an infant before he handed it back. Rada giggled and gave Hermione a sticky little kiss on the cheek before wriggling to get down. She ambled off on sturdy little legs and Edric crowed with delight, waddling to meet her.

'They're certainly taken with one another.'

'Edric is a favourite here, to be sure.' The two little ones were steadying each other, Edric gently tugging one of Rada's little nubby braids, as she, in turn, was poking him in the nose, both of them laughing uproariously.

'The Popovs wouldn't refuse an alliance, Viktor.'

'I'd want Uncle Rab and Aunt Gennie to meet them first. And the children are awfully young, Uncle. Suppose they dislike one another when they're older?'

'If we raised Rada to it, that wouldn't happen.'

'It would be a lot for Aunt Lyudmilla and Aunt Sose, two babies to care for.'

Rumen nodded. 'It wouldn't have to be Rada, of course. Alina Paisi is adorable, and so is that little red-haired granddaughter of Vidanov's. I just want to make sure Edric's future is set.'

Viktor and Hermione were nodding. 'So do we, Uncle, but it might be wise for us to get a better idea what that future might look like first.' Hermione was wearing her bezoar bracelet, and turned it on her wrist a little as she talked, indicating she felt a bit on edge about the subject.

Rumen understood, of course. It was very possible, should the Dark Lord be toppled, that Edric, Barty and the others would return to England. Hermione would stay in Sofia, of course, but the other two, and Drago, could go home.

Secretly, he hoped they would not. At a purely personal level, he wanted them to stay here, where he knew it was safe. Edric could have a perfectly happy life, attending Durmstrang, marrying a girl of good family and ending as one of Viktor's lieutenants. He might even get a lordship, should he marry well .

And Barty, too, might be better off. He'd have an honoured place here, dogs and friends and the child that he'd never have to give him grandchildren in the fullness of time. The Lestranges loved Barty, and Edric, to a certainty, but had they not made their choices long ago? Shouldn't it be about what was best for the ones who had no choices?

Drago, now, did have a choice. If Rumen had dared to, he'd have sat the lad down and explained clearly that Bulgaria was a good place for him. He, too, would have an honoured place, an important place at Viktor's side, and his Estonian could give him strong children, children who could be Bulgarians if only Drago would say the word.

Not that he'd do that, ultimately. Rumen cared about them all but it was not his place to interfere, so having made himself known, he subsided, watching as dozens of the most well-born children in Bulgaria played in the big courtyard, throwing balls, chasing one another, dancing or just sitting under the small trees and chatting with friends.

'It was a good idea, Hermione, bringing them here.'

Hermione smiled her thanks and waved as Yana and Zenobia wandered over. As her future sister in law, it was only right that Yana had taken special interest in the younger girl. Zenobia ran for Viktor, giggling, and was immediately lifted and tossed like she weighed no more than a feather. She shrieked with glee.

Yana saw her father's look and gently shooed her sister in law to be away. 'Later' said Rumen, and the two went to find a ball. He watched them go, two of the most valuable heiresses in all of Europe.

'What was your news, Uncle?'

Rumen cast a Silencing bubble about them. Anu had just come in, and was being mobbed by excited children. Barty was with him, and he, too, was being hugged and cheered from all quarters.

'Albania, Estonia, Croatia, Bosnia, Latvia, Lithuania, Macedonia, Turkey, Greece, and Serbia have all agreed to come.'

Both children-no, Rumen scolded himself, they are your lawful rulers now-looked relieved. 'So most of the Balkan states will come?'

'There's more. Norway, Poland, Sweden and Finland have asked to come. France and Germany have implied they'd like to send people. And Egypt is interested.'

'Egypt?'

'Penko's talking to their Minister as we speak. I think they'll come.'

Now they both looked shocked. 'That many?'

'For a start.'

Viktor nodded, eyes closing a second. 'We've enough to tell them, certainly.'

'There's the rub, my lord. There will be questions about the fact you didn't raise the alarm right away.'

'Despite being in hostile territory at the time, and afraid for our family?'

Hermione nodded at once. 'Besides which, we needed time to figure out our next move. We had no reason to believe he would move immediately once the assassination failed.'

'True enough.'

Rumen fought the urge to crack his knuckles, which would be a very bad example to the young people, all of them. Bess had wandered over, and now she rested her head on Viktor's leg and whined softly.

'I know, girl. We'll figure it out.'

'Where shall we keep them?'

'The Ministers? Good question, love.' Rumen nodded his approval of Hermione and turned his mind to this current issue.

'They all need to be alike in dignity. Family properties, in other words.'

'The rose valley is pretty this time of year.'

'It might seem a slight to house some of them here and some in a rural area.'

'Castle Krum can host quite a few of them.'

'Our closest allies, yes. I'd rather have the ones we don't know a bit less centrally located, Uncle.' Hermione drew her eyebrows together to emphasise her feelings about strangers sleeping in their beds and wandering their corridors.

Viktor was frowning. 'Castle Borev is right out. Aunt Sose would never feel safe knowing there were strange men inside the walls.'

'What about Barty?'

'Barty?'

Both men looked at her. Hermione nodded thoughtfully, gnawing her lip.

'We can't have him here, because...here is not an option. He could stay at Castle Borev with Aunt Sose. She's not scared of him, and he's a kinsman through Anu's relationship to Yana.'

'It's a betrothal, not a marriage, though.'

'Barty is a member of my uncle's immediate family. That makes him suitable, as does his mental age, Uncle.'

Her voice was totally flat. Rumen suspected it was not at him, exactly, so much as refusing to allow debate about Barty's status as a member of her-their-family.

'Would you talk to Sose about it? If she agrees, then I think it a very appropriate solution.'

'Not to mention' said Viktor delicately 'Salazar is there as additional protection. And the wolves.'

'So the most important here in Sofia, some at Castle Krum and the rest at Castle Borev.'

Viktor nodded Bulgarian style. 'We'll have to divide them based on national, ah, preferences. We can't have the Croats and the Estonians in proximity, for example.'

'Exactly. It might be nice if we asked the aides and things to help us host their own people. The Kasks with the Estonians and so forth.'

Rumen touched her arm lightly in approval. 'That's a good plan. What about the children?' He gestured to the mass of happy children making loud and joyful noise as they played in the warm sun.

Viktor and Hermione both smiled a little. 'It might be a nice gesture to have them here to meet everyone, initially.'

'Show them the new Bulgaria, nephew?'

'Show them we're not just an army of wolves, Uncle. We can be very good allies in every sense.'

'You'd welcome foreign children here?'

Hermione looked at her husband, whose mouth quirked; this was her project.

'Uncle, we'd welcome nearly anyone here.'

Rumen wasn't surprised. Not wholly sure he approved, but not surprised. And honestly, he didn't disapprove nearly as much as he might have. His nephew and niece had good instincts, and very large hearts.

'Once things have settled down' said Viktor casually 'I'd like to invite others to send their children here.'

'Others?'

'The children of headsmen, the wolves, once they start to marry.'

Rumen was silent a full moment. 'You'd invite the children of wolves here?'

'I'd invite Bulgarians, and our allies.'

Hermione leant up and pecked Rumen's cheek. 'It will be fun, Uncle.'

'Fun' said Rumen, a little dazed, and rose bowing. 'I'm going to check on Penko.'

They collapsed the bubble, and as he watched, the Lord Protector of Bulgaria and his Vicereine, both in old clothes, went back into the fray to see to their little not-quite-hostages.

Penko was in the office. He was holding a sheath of letters, and his face was tight. Rumen was a totally different person than Penko, and they didn't always get along, but he didn't think about that for a second. What he thought was 'baby brother in trouble' and went into that gear, immediately rounding the desk.

'Penko, my God, are you ill? It's mellitus, isn't it? I warned you not to eat so many sweets, don't you remember how ill Mother was the last few years of her life? And furthermore-Penko?'

Penko was shaking his head, smiling a bit. 'No, no, I'm healthy as an ox. I just, ah, missed someone a minute.'

'Rabastan, you mean.'

'What gave you that impression?'

Rumen gave his brother a gimletty look of annoyance. 'Penko, please. I know you.'

Penko nodded tiredly. 'Yes. Yes, I miss Rab.'

'That's normal. I missed Lyudmilla very much back in December.'

'Really? I always rather had the impression that your marriage was...not sentimental.'

Ordinarily Rumen would have been offended, but at the moment he didn't mind. Perhaps it was time to get to know his brother a little as adults.

'It wasn't, and isn't. But we still care about one another. I felt guilty leaving her in England.'

'That alliance was...'

'Yes. But we did get Hermione out of it.'

'She's done well for Viktor.'

'He for her, as well.'

Penko looked curious. 'How long have you known about Rabastan and me?'

'Quite a while. December confirmed it.'

'I was afraid it might jeopardize his place if people knew.'

'Does Eugenia know?'

'She does. She's a lover as well.'

'Hetty?'

'Sirius.'

Rumen raised a brow. 'This is a confusing family tree we're drawing, isn't it?'

'It's going to get worse before it gets better.'

They both laughed a little. Then Rumen said as delicately as he could 'You didn't mention it because he's married?'

'I wanted to protect the family in case the Dark Lord...I don't know. We didn't want to shame Eugenia, was some of it.'

'She seems very nice.'

'She is. She didn't have a choice any more than Rab did.'

Rumen shook his head. 'It must soothe them knowing you've got Edric and Barty.'

'As much as it can.'

Rumen surprised himself by touching his little brother's shoulder gently, as he did Viktor's. 'Soon, Penko. This will be over soon.'

'No, Rumen. Not for a very long time.'

'I know.'

Penko motioned to the papers. 'Slughorn's correspondence. We intercepted them and Hermione's going to read them later for content.'

'Your English is good, did you look it over?'

'Not very good. I did, nothing that I can see but stories about when he was younger and notes about food.'

'Thrilling.'

'No, not at all. Rab, you know, he warned me about Slughorn. Told me what he is.'

'We've got people watching him, Penko.'

'It doesn't help. Have you talked to Ivan about him?'

'Not yet. Snape seems to think we've a few years. And Anu is watching like an owl.'

'It might be better to do it sooner.'

'Are you volunteering?' Rumen meant it as a jest but his brother nodded immediately. Penko was coming back into himself a bit, but he still seemed sad. Rumen wished he could say the right thing, but was there one anymore?

'I'd be glad to. We aren't that old man's panders.'

'Of course not.'

Penko was preparing to say something else when the Floo went green and a head poked out. 'Lord Krum?'

Penko knelt down. 'Mr. Aziz?'

'Her Excellency will come. Will your people be able to accommodate our needs?'

'Indeed they will, sir. And please thank your mistress from the bottom of our hearts.'

'Of course.' Mr. Aziz's head popped back in, and Penko sat back on his heels.

'That's Egypt, brother.'

'So it is.' Rumen Krum, Minister of Magic for Bulgaria and his brother, the Lord Paramount of the Conclave, breathed a sigh of relief, having perhaps won a small gain. Perhaps.

In Britain, there were plans of other sorts being made, and Rita Skeeter was privy to them all. She was currently tolerating Metellus's grunting and thrusting, knowing he'd talk after and what he said could have value to them.

Meantime, even as she moaned and thrust her hips in time with his own strangely prissy motions, she was keeping another sort of time in her head. She'd spent eight hour in Sofia, sleeping and eating a meal served by a scowling English elf, and then had been whisked back to England and to Travers.

Travers groaned and rolled off her, grinning that damned grin of his. He looked like a squirrel that way, all teeth, but she forced herself to sit up and kiss him. At least he kept his breath fresh, she reminded herself.

She was going back when the Ministers came. Snape was cooking her up an alibi as they-well, spoke is inaccurate- and Rita managed to find a smile for her idiot lover, thinking on it.

'Ree? How are you?'

'Better now, love. Why?'

'I might need to leave the country again. For a few weeks, this time.'

'Oh?'

'Wales, you know. And other places.'

'How exciting.'

'It really is. I'm moving up in the world, Ree. I'll have Bellatrix's job soon, see if I don't.'

Rita nodded as though she thought that was possible. 'Bellatrix will step down?'

'She'll have to, after this. Everyone knows what her priorities are, anyhow.'

'It was her daughter, Metellus.'

'They ought to have known better than marrying a British witch to some filthy foreigner. Walden's never forgiven them, you know. He wanted the girl for Wetherell.'

'Wetherell is quite a bit older, isn't he?'

'He is. A nice enough bloke, even with that business over the whore last year.'

'Did the reconstruction take?'

'Of her face? I daresay not. Still, that's what happens when a woman like that get above herself.'

He rose, kissing her on the brow. 'I'm off to shower and then to a meeting. You?'

'Staying in.'

'You're sure you're well?'

'Just tired.'

He frowned. 'Do we need to have Nomascus look you over?'

'No, no. It's that story for Witches' Weekly. About the shoes?'

Metellus nodded, stepping into the corridor to go to the small bathroom. 'As long as you're sure.'

Rita could read the subtext. 'I'm not, Metellus.'

'All right.'

As soon as he was gone, Rita stood up and went to bathe herself. She scrubbed Metellus off her skin and then donned her most anonymous clothes, and sent Metellus's elf Punky on a long list of errands, a trip which typically took the elf a few hours.

She closed her eyes, feeling a headache starting behind her brow.

'Mippy?'

The little elf appeared. 'Mistress Rita?'

'Any word?'

Mippy shook his head. 'No, Mistress Rita.'

'All right.'

'Mippy is asking the Master to check?'

'Would you?'

Mippy came back no more than five minutes later with a note from Snape. Rita opened it, nervous, suddenly, that either Punky or Metellus might come back.

'You will have an interview to do tomorrow. Mippy will meet you outside the Purple Unicorn in Cardiff at nine AM. Do not be late.'

Rita burnt the note and sent the elf back, indicating she understood. Who was in Cardiff, she wondered, and what would she interview them about?

As soon as she got to the office that morning, Nigel half-leapt from his desk. His face, usually splotched with broken veins, was pale. 'Ree, this is the big time. The Dark Lord himself's asked for you.'

'Asked for me?'

'He wants to recruit more Snatchers. He's sending you to talk to Llewellyn Rice himself in Cardiff. You know the Purple Unicorn?'

'Right off Glendower Lane, is it?'

'That's the one. Seven o'clock, Rita, sharp. This is a big day for us, a big day.'

'Nige, we're a witches' mag. How many of our readers are going to jump up and go be Snatchers?'

'Damned few, but they've sons, haven't they? Husbands, brothers, sweethearts, nephews, and wouldn't it be awfully glamorous?'

'I suppose so.'

'Exactly. And his lordship asked for you specially.' Nigel was almost dancing, looking a little like Crouch Jr was apt to during major events. Rita nodded excitedly.

'Why Cardiff?'

'The new camps are in Wales or something. Have a good time, Rita.'

She wasn't sure she'd have called it a good time, precisely, she thought hours later as she came back in to her office. She kicked off her violet eel skin shoes and settled on her tiny settee, hands pressing her eyes. When she got home, she planned to take a bath and get quietly drunk.

'Ree? Did you get it?'

She almost jumped. Almost. 'Yes, Nigel, I did.'

'You all right?'

'I'm fine. Just a headache.'

'You've been having a lot of headaches lately, Rita. Are you all right?'

She nodded, forcing herself to smile. 'I'm getting old. My eyesight is worse.'

'You should get your glasses changed soon.'

'I'll make an appointment, to be sure.'

Nigel took her copy and left, clearly pleased with her. Rita stood up and put her pumps back on. Taking her purse, she went to tell Nigel she was taking the rest of the day.

That night, she waited until Metellus was drowsing to bring it up. 'Metellus, do you remember when I mentioned my Aunt Maud?'

'Hmm mmm.'

'She lives in Gibraltar. Her heart is not good.'

'Oh. Sorry.'

'I'd like to go and see her. Would you talk to someone and see about a letter to get me out of the country?'

'Mmm hmm. Nice, Ree. See the ol' girl.'

'She's never married. Scared, the poor thing.'

Metellus made a sympathetic noise and rolled on his side. For all his many faults, Rita had to admit he could be far worse. She rolled too, thinking of what she'd heard from Rice.

He'd written it down, taking her pad from her, chatting about the weather as he wrote.

'Friday. Ask your friend to make the arrangements, the rest'll be done for you. When the time comes, wear plain dark clothes.'

She'd nodded, feeling a little stagey, like this was some sort of stage melodrama.

'And try not to look so sad, would you? People will notice.'

Then the interview started in earnest. Rice could give good quotes, that was for sure, so he'd spent a good hour rhapsodising about the joys of service, reminiscing about his childhood in Pontypool, and making bland, uncontroversial remarks about current events. From this gruel, she could construct an interview that Nigel would adore, and that the witches of Britain would obligingly gobble up.

Like Travers, her editor was pleased to give her time off. 'An auntie? By all means, go. Poor thing, all alone.'

'She's quite sick. Her heart.'

He frowned sympathetically. 'Perhaps bring her something nice?'

'I will, Nigel, thank you.'

After she'd left work(having turned gruel to galleons, once again) she went to the nicest purveyor of ladies' toiletries in Diagon Alley and bought a soap and dusting powder set for her imaginary aunt. She was putting her life, literally, in Snape's hands.

Metellus came home, holding her safe conduct. 'Here you go, love, with Charlie Wilkes' compliments.'

'Thank you, Metellus.'

'You're welcome, my dear. Have a nice long rest, won't you?'

'I will.'

Rita headed for the Portkey office only to find herself waylaid by Llewellyn Rice, who came seemingly from the shadows and tugged her into a disused corridor. Jocelyn Biksdale was there as well, and pulled out a small phial. Rice plucked a single hair from her head, and Biksdale, grimacing, swallowed.

With a quick transfiguration of the robes, false-Rita was off for Gibraltar, and real Rita was given her own phial and papers announcing her to her to be a holiday maker bound for Turkey.

Within four hours she was back in Sofia. Outside, children were laughing. Inside, she was facing the odd Penko Krum again. He smiled politely and asked for the bundle of papers Rice had given her. These she extracted from her shoe and gave him.

'There's a phial there, Madam, to remove the Polyjuice.'

She drank it. It was vile. Penko Krum was looking over the papers, nodding thoughtfully. 'These prove that attack was deliberate, you know.'

'Do they?'

'Yes.'

Rita found that she felt relaxed for the first time in weeks. This might be a beginning. The nightmare might be over soon. She had no great hopes for her own future, but perhaps this would make things a bit brighter.

'My nephew and niece regret that cannot receive you personally at this time. As you might imagine, we are rather busy.'

'Of course.'

'And we must ask you to stay in the assigned areas. Only a very few people must see you.'

'I understand.'

Krum offered her a glass of wine. 'How is it in Britain?'

Rita sipped. 'I don't know. Outwardly normal, I expect. Metellus seems to think he'll have Madam Lestrange's job before long.'

'Oh? What do you think?'

'It would look terrible for the-for him to give her the sack. Her being a war hero and all.'

'Quite, quite.'

They chatted a bit more, until Rita, overcome with curiosity, finally said 'Do I hear children?'

'You do. The Vicereine is passionately devoted to Bulgaria's children. She's set up a sort of model school here for the children of the nobility. She dreams of the day schools like hers will be in every village and town in the country.'

Rita nodded. Keep one's friends close and the children of the enemy closer, bind them to you with love. Clever, that. She wondered idly what the parents thought of this arrangement and whether the girl cared.

Rita had heard the stories about both of them, after all. The boy had hung two hundred wolves at Castle Krum and left them to dangle from his walls like fruit for a week; the girl had burnt seventy aurors alive outside these very walls; stories about what had happened during the siege, and the story, repeated in whispers, that young Malfoy had brought Borev's head to the boy, and still had it someplace, charmed to stay fresh, mouth open in his final plea for mercy.

Rita wasn't sure which of those she believed, precisely. It almost didn't matter. No one knew better than Rita how the truth could be changed to suit the circumstances. She was preparing to ask after the health of various Krums and Krum relatives to be polite when the dogs started to howl, and then the screams started from the courtyard.

Krum drew and sprinted past her, shouting for his nephews and nieces. Rita knew she wasn't supposed to be seen. She also knew she'd sat back before and let other people die. She was done with that. For the first time in her adult life, Rita Skeeter drew, intending to do, or prevent, violence, and, kicking off her pumps, ran after.