A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black

Someone asked me about good reading on heiress kidnapping, and I can't recommend Antonia Frasier's 'The Weaker Vessel' enough. Lady Fraiser's research and presentation is excellent, and I can't recommend her work highly enough (I've also read her Marie Antoinette).

Also, I've mentioned how much I enjoy Marilyn Yaslom's works in the past. I heartily suggest either woman as good nonfiction reading.

After supper, Bellatrix finally got the Dark Lord alone. Everyone was sort of mulling awkwardly, and now, she hoped, was her time. 'My Lord, may I see You?'

The Dark Lord nodded beneficently and they slipped into the library from the parlour, where coffee was being drunk with brandy. The reporter, Skeeter, was still about, asking stupid questions. Bellatrix decided she hated the woman.

'Yes, Bellatrix? Something the matter?'

She felt a great swell of pleasure in His presence. He would fix everything. He would understand. 'My Lord, I defer to Your judgement in all things, as always. But Hermione is so young and vulnerable. Is there no way we might hold off on this part until my daughter is a bit older?'

Gibbon's face was smooth. 'Bella, I'd almost think you were quailing about what must be done here. Surely you know that this sacrifice is not much to ask?'

'I do, my Lord. It's just that Hermione's very modest and shy, and so much has changed for her. It might be...disturbing to her sense of safety.'

'Really, it's just a nap. You mustn't shelter her overmuch, Bellatrix. She's a part of the New Britain, as are we all.'

'A proud part, my Lord. She wants only to please you, but perhaps...'

'Nothing will please me better than her enthusiastic compliance in this, and yours as well.'

Bellatrix realised she'd been told off in no uncertain terms. 'Yes, my Lord.'

'Just a nap, Bellatrix. Chastity charm the girl if it will soothe your fears.' He smiled benevolently. 'And do look happy, that Skeeter woman will want to interview you.'

Hermione's heart was pounding all through dinner. She could hardly eat the duck and parsnips she'd been served. All three children had been offered a little watered wine as a treat, but none of them had taken the offer; Hermione thought she'd vomit it, Viktor that he would spill it with his shaking hands, and Draco that he'd fall asleep too early and shirk his job.

Draco had another problem. He'd suffered from migraines since he was young, and he could feel one coming on. It was a terrible, nauseous pressure which felt like someone was squeezing his head like an overripe strawberry.

Mostly they weren't so bad, but stress could make one come on, and he could feel it starting. But he couldn't let on. He had a job, after all, and he'd do it, even if it killed him.

Rita Skeeter was almost delirious. At this rate, she could buy the whole paper. Here she sat, just a shopkeeper's daughter from Sheffield, eating parsnips with Lucius Malfoy!

The girl, though, looked half ready to cry. The others weren't much better; the family looked as though they were at a funeral, not an engagement. The Malfoys looked thoughtful (except for the boy, who was looking absolutely vigilant, like a blond cat), the Krums looked worried, and Bellatrix Lestrange, the most feared Death Eater in all Britain, looked as though she was within a moment of attacking someone.

The meal ended with bowls of hot trifle, and Rita dug in with pleasure. These people really did have the best of everything, she reflected, not without a tinge of class bitterness.

The Dark Lord, in Nomascus Gibbon's flesh, rose smiling. He'd drank watered wine as well, and he seemed mellow, well pleased with his little puppets. '*Friends, shall we start the festivities?*'

As Rita watched, the girl's face went chalky. She drank a bit of her pumpkin juice and squared her shoulders. Rita's trained mind noted it and wished it could put it in; like Krum's accent, it added colour to things. The girl saw her watching. She smiled brightly, eyes damp with discomfort, and she turned and spoke to her cousin.

'Draco?'

'Are you all right?' His head felt a size too small. He could do this. He could. Hermione needed him.

'Of course' whispered Hermione, not feeling a bit all right. 'Are you?'

'Yes' he lied. 'It'll be fun.'

The Dark Lord turned to the other end of the table. 'Draco, would you do the honours?'

'Hermione?' Draco shoved himself to his feet, wavering for a second, and held out a hand to his cousin, the room starting to seem too bright and strangly jangled.

Hermione took it. Her hand was small and damp. Draco helped her out of the room and toward the stairs, as Viktor's father and uncle led him, the others behind them in a stream.

In the bedroom, the party split. The women clustered about Hermione, having moved the dressing screen to cover her whilst they helped her into her nightgown. She found Bellatrix's hand and held it for a second as they quickly brushed her hair out and even sprinkled a little cologne water on her neck.

On the other side of the room, Viktor was changing as well. Ordinarily this was a happy, ribald occasion, with lots of obscene jests and playful banter. Not today. Viktor came from behind his own screen, face set, like he was going to a wake.

The women finished with Hermione and helped her into the bed. She looked like a little doll, lying back on the pillows, ropes of flowers and fruit garlanding the bed. From the Embassy, the gifts the Krums had brought with them were sent. Zhivka, face waxen, handed Hermione the gifts she'd brought for her.

Hermione's face lit up. 'Oh!' Mother Krum had brought her a doll. Hermione was officially too old for dolls, but this was no common poppet. It was made of cotton, attired in Bulgarian dress, fabulously detailed. To Hermione's eyes, the embroidery and sewing must have taken weeks. It was perfect, the stitches so small as to be nearly invisible.

'She's wonderful.' She beamed, and Zhivka felt a flush of pleasure that the girl liked it. Just as quickly, it was replaced by an anger that burnt in her stomach. The child she had just engaged her son to still played with dolls.

She liked Hermione very much, thought Zhivka as she handed over the second gift. But she felt as though the children's childhood had been abruptly cut short, and she'd been made complicit in that. The girl should be free to play with her new doll and not worry about all this-it was too much for them both.

Hermione carefully opened the pouch, and drew out the diamonds. They were ancient, cloudy, hand cut. They'd been pulled from the earth and worked when the Krums had been boyars in a hall of split logs, when Britain was an island of isolated hamlets, when the Conqueror had come across the sea with his armies and his new language and his fierce, wild house-carls.

'Mother, look. Isn't it pretty?'

Bellatrix felt even worse than Zhivka. She nodded politely at the bracelet, feeling as though none of this was real. It couldn't be. Her daughter was twelve years old; she had a doll propped at her elbow, for God's sake.

Hermione handed the bracelet back and then turned her eyes to the Dark Lord, who was smiling at them. Her skin felt funny every time he did that. Squirmy and hot. She didn't like it.

'Children, join hands.'

They did it, and the Dark Lord drew his wand. 'I pledge Hermione Bellatrix Lestrange for the purpose of bearing legitimate children.'

'I accept Herm-on-nee-nee Lestrange for havink legitimate children.' The Dark Lord swished, and a weak glow suffused the room. Polyjuice or no, his body was twelve years old and not strong.

He turned to Snape. 'I'm afraid I'll hit the children, Snape. Would you?'

Snape swished, and the glow brightened, twining their hands with gold. Bellatrix looked ready to retch, and beside her, Rodolphus's hand came up and held her shoulder.

The Dark Lord beamed down paternally. 'Congratulations, Viktor.'

'Thank you, my lord.'

Gibbon's bony frame bent and pressed his lips to Hermione's cheek. 'Best wishes, Miss Lestrange.'

'Thank you, my lord.'

The others came one by one and did the same. Cunegarde was still in St. Mungo's, her age necessitating a stay due to the stress of not being able to die in the fire. Barty was there, and he kissed Hermione's cheek.

'Are you still sick? You should take a potion.' His voice was much too loud, and Rodolphus turned and gestured for the elf to take him away.

'I'm fine, Barty.' Hermione smiled, stomach dipping as the elf tried to inveigle Barty from the room. He turned and shoved it off. 'You aren't Winky! I want Winky!'

Hermione lunged and caught his hand. 'Barty, please? Tomorrow we'll play gobstones, all right?'

'No, you aren't well. You should rest. Krum, she needs to rest, we have to leave.'

'Barty, Viktor is staying with me tonight. We've just been engaged, remember?' Barty hadn't been at the ceremony but he'd been at the supper.

'Engaged? You're a little girl, you aren't engaged.'

'We'll talk about it tomorrow, all right?'

'No, now.' Barty would have plopped himself on the bed had Snape not grabbed him. He tried to squirm free but couldn't. 'Stop it, Sev!'

Hermione knew she had to end this. 'Professor Snape will bring his dog if you're nice, Barty, and we'll play with him tomorrow. Won't that be fun?'

Barty finally nodded. 'Promise?'

'I do.'

Barty nodded slowly. 'If you're sure.'

'I'm sure.'

'All right.' He turned and walked out without another word. Narcissa Malfoy, who'd looked like a porcelain doll all night, smiled her approval, strained and sad under her impeccable makeup and hair.

The rest of it went smoothly. Bellatrix hugged her daughter hard, pressing the girl tight against herself. Even Rodolphus, normally unflappable, looked disquieted. 'Everything is perfectly fine, darling. I promise you.' Just to be sure, he swished a Chastity spell on the bed, which would prevent anything other than a bit of cuddling.

On the other side of the room, Lucius bent into Draco's ear. 'Your uncle's charmed the bed, so I want you to relax and go to sleep at a reasonable time, Draco.' He knew Draco wasn't feeling well from the look on his face. Draco nodded, eyes starting to dull with pain, and sat back on his little bed, transfigured from the divan. The phial of pain relief was at hand, and he wanted it desperately. But not yet.

'*Friends' said the Dark Lord 'shall we leave the happy couple alone now?*' They would stay up the night, dancing and drinking, and sleep the next morning until the ball at night.

No, Bellatrix wanted to say. No, they're afraid. Can't all of you see how afraid they are? She turned to encourage her daughter and saw that the girl was shyly stroking the doll's little headdress, smiling with genuine delight.

She had to get out. Bellatrix turned and walked to the lav with as much dignified haste as possible, refusing to give into her need until she was in private. She bent over the commode and vomited as quietly as she could, snapping her fingers for an elf. The elf silenced the room and stood over her, shurring softly as her stomach emptied itself.

She stood, legs shaky, and took the cold towel the elf held out to her. 'Get my toothbrush and things, idiot. And some makeup, I need to fix my face.'

The elf bowed and vanished, then returned with the things she needed. She brushed her teeth, swallowed a potion to sweeten her breath, and let the elf apply more mascara and powder.

Made up, she walked from the room and toward the downstairs. Someone, probably Narcissa, was playing the piano. The idea of going down there to dance made Bellatrix want to sick up again. But she wouldn't. She was Bellatrix Black Lestrange, and she could do this.

In the bedroom, the children were quiet.

'Draco' said Hermione, breaking the silence 'do you need your potion now?' She knew at once what the phial was, and her mind had moved smoothly into the familiar groove. She couldn't stop what was happening, but she could make sure her cousin wasn't sick whilst it was going on.

He shook his head, feeling the pricking behind his eye growing into a throb. 'I'm all right.'

Hermione sat up farther. 'Aren't.'

'Are too.'

'Draco Malfoy, are you being honest with me?' She sounded so much like Mother that Draco almost forgot his headache a second. He sat up, wincing, and Hermione raised her wand. The lights went down and plunged the room into soothing, cool darkness.

'Rinky' said Hermione 'could you lower the temperature in here a bit, and get Draco some water, please?'

'I'll be fine.'

'Draco.'

'Hermione.'

Hermione turned and whispered into Viktor's ear. 'I'll be right back.' She hopped from the bed and crossed to her cousin.

'Draco, please take your potion. You'll feel all better.'

'I'll sleep if I do.'

'So? Nothing's going to happen.'

'I feel all right.' He didn't. His stomach was racheting, and the room had aquired a terrible metallic smell he knew was the precursor to a real whopper.

'Please?'

'Hermione, I'll be fine.'

From the bed, Viktor said 'Nothing happen. Promise. Take potion?'

Draco stood unsteadily, weaving his way to Viktor's bedside. 'Do I have your word, Krum?'

'Word. Elf here. You take, you wake up, elf here. Yes?'

Draco couldn't stand it anymore. 'Yes.' Hermione took his arm to lead him back, and he swallowed the potion, sighing with relief as he sank onto the bed. Rinky spelled the covers up and Draco was sleeping before he was totally covered.

Hermione turned and made her way back to the bed. She struggled in, wiggling her way up, and then crawled to Viktor. 'Sorry about that. He gets a bit stubborn sometimes when he thinks he might let someone down.'

Viktor snorted in the dark and rolled on his side so he was looking at her. 'Not like the girl who ran into a burning building? Twice?'

Hermione crawled closer. 'Not at all.'

'No?'

'I don't see it. What shall we do?'

Viktor was almost paralysed by her nearness to him. She smelt good, warm and sweet, and she was close enough to touch. He reached out shyly. Would he scare her? The bedroom was chilly now, cool enough to soothe Draco's migraine. Hermione looked at the little bed, frowning a bit, meaning to scold him when he woke about being sensible when it came to his needs.

'Are you cold?'

'A little.'

Viktor inhaled and slowly opened his arms. Hermione hesitated, like a doe hearing a strange noise, head slightly cocked, eyes soft and curious and afraid. She didn't feel ready for this.

She closed the distance. Taking a deep breath, she laid down directly next to him.

'You don't have to.'

'I want to.' Hermione's voice only shook a bit. The chastity charm prevented anything untoward, but it was a lot for both of them, proximity and the events of the day.

Hermione liked Viktor very much, and she trusted him. Both her aunts had drilled her over and over on her duty to her future husband, but their instructions had carefully ended at the bedroom door. What did she do now?

Viktor wasn't sure, either. His father had never said, and the coarse dorm room banter was not applicable here. He wished he had something clever to say but his tongue felt like a lead bar in his mouth.

Finally, because it seemed the right thing, he said 'Have you ever seen the sea?'

Hermione relaxed a little. 'Yes! I love the sea.'

'So do I. Especially at night.' And he started to describe the view from his window at Castle Krum, and when she rested her head on his shoulder, it felt natural to them, and they spoke a long time in the cool darkness, Draco's soft breathing nearby.

Downstairs, Narcissa played on with the desperation of the condemned. She played grimly, perfectly, her face a mask, angrier than she'd been in years. She couldn't bear to turn and see them all, pretending that this was somehow all right.

The elves had moved the furniture and the group was dancing. They talked and laughed, sampling from the cold collations which the elves had set out, and large punchbowls of shandy and negus.

Bellatrix was drinking water. She'd never especially liked drinking, and tonight of all nights it wouldn't be a good idea. She sat in the corner, cup of water in hand, watching them, seething with feelings that were darker and more terrible even than hate. Hate she could have expressed, given a target, but these had to be held in.

Rita Skeeter moved through the scene, feeling that there was cold water in her veins rather than blood. Seeing this whole thing play out made her sick, watching the girl sacrificed for political expediency, and with a smile. She thought she'd see the kid propped in that bed, doll and future husband both beside her, every time she closed her eyes for a while.

And then there was this, the party atmosphere and the creepy sense that something was terribly wrong. She forced herself to sip her lemonade (like Bellatrix, she thought it a bad idea to indulge) and then, handing the glass back to the elf, decided she'd get some statements.

She kept carefully to people who had no stake in this-undersecretaries, attaches, minor Death Eaters. She spent twenty minutes listening to a drunk assistant to Martin Krum stumbling around metaphors about how happy the engagement made him; she flirted mildly with Metellus Travers, who invited her for drinks the next night (she accepted); and then she somehow found herself face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange.

Rita had been a young reporter during that trial, and she'd been there when the woman had proudly avowed her support of the Dark Lord. She remembered it with a shiver, and made herself smile.

'Madam, have you any words on this happy occasion?'

'I have.' Bellatrix drained her cup, and Rita, with her bird-dog instincts, noticed she smelled nothing. The woman was drinking water. How interesting.

'It is an honour to serve the Dark Lord. We must all do what we can to further the greater good of our country.'

'Of course' said Rita, annoyed she hadn't got better copy 'but I mean, about tonight?'

The woman's eyes darkened, and Rita nearly lost control of her bladder just on the strength of that look. The woman silently shook her head, as though deep in thought, and said finally 'Our family's happiness is too great for words.' She stood and walked off .

Rita wrote it down, not sure how she would spin it so it was acceptable for her readers. They wanted happy, shiny stories about happy, shiny aristos. She wished, at some level, she could show them this-two scared children in a bed together and the adults downstairs pretending not to be appalled.

Perhaps it was better she couldn't. Let the little people keep their illusions about how the upper crust lived. It would add some colour to their lives. As for Rita, she'd had enough colour to last her a long, long time.

Severus Snape had slipped out just after the children were bedded. He made some excuse, promised to return in an hour, and Apparated to Spinner's End. The house felt strangely empty without the dog's asinine comments and terrible cooking.

'Elf.'

The elf appeared, face like a dented shield. 'Master, Rinky is being needed by Miss.'

'Not right now, you aren't. You need to find me the dog, and do it quickly.'

'Master Dog is being-'

'I'm aware. Just do it, elf.'

The elf vanished, and returned fifteen minutes later with a startled Sirius Black adjusting his clothes. Snape rolled his eyes. 'Interrupting something, Black?'

Black grinned. 'Afterglow, Snape. Afterglow.'

'Please, I meant to eat again someday.'

'Don't let my prowess put you off your feed. Not all men have as awesome an endowment as mine.'

Snape's face twitched strangely, and Sirius realised the man was trying not to laugh. 'What, it only takes them ten minutes to find it? Anyway, it'll have to wait. You're needed tomorrow.'

Black sat down and raised a brow. 'What's happened?'

Snape outlined the thing. 'She's asked for you, and it will seem suspicious if I can't produce you.'

Black nodded. He hardly knew the kid, but this had hit a nerve in him. 'Things like this are precisely what's wrong with this society. All the Pureblood shite, and the end result is what happened here.'

Snape didn't disagree. 'I never suspected you had it in you, Black.' He felt mildly surprised that Black was so het up about this, and then thought of Andromeda Black. Had the dog been fond of his cousin, and was remembering what had happened?

'Hasn't this stupidity ruined enough lives?'

Snape didn't disagree with that, either. 'Just be Salazar and everything will be fine. Barty Crouch will be there.'

'Barty? He died eight or nine years ago.'

Snape outlined that debacle as well, and Black sat down, shaking his head. 'Fuck me.'

'Just be ready to go at nine.'

Black nodded, still deep in thought. He thought the kid seemed nice enough, but it wasn't really about her, for him at least. He would go and be the best Salazar he could for her, because he felt sorry for her, but the face he saw in his mind was his brother's.

'All right.' He rose and headed for the stairs. He was too disgusted to contemplate being awake with his thoughts.

In London, Hermione and Viktor were lying in silence in the dark room. 'You liked Mother's gifts?'

'Very much.' She snuggled closer and closed her eyes, starting to feel a little sleepy. Viktor liked how she felt next to him. He was remembering his thoughts of the night before, and desperately shoved them away, not wanting to have a problem he couldn't take care of.

'We've some things for you, too. I made some shirts, and Father has things.' Her father was going to give Viktor a pair of gold cufflinks and a cloak clasp set with rubies that had been in the family for a long time. They were still in the vault; Zhivka had simply happened to have Hermione's things packed in her personal luggage.

Viktor turned to her in the dark. 'You make me shirts?'

'Yes. I hope you like them.' She did, too. Rinky had done the cutting but she'd spent laborious hours bent over the cloth, making tiny tucks in the fabric, and banding the sleeves and collars.

Viktor's breath tickled her cheek. 'Is good. Am liking you think of me.' He spared a thought to Ilya, who was good looking but would never find a girl as sweet as Hermione, nor one his parents respected the way the Krums respected Hermione.

'I go this summer to Bulgarian team practice.'

'You must be very excited.'

He shrugged. 'Is fun.' His English and her Bulgarian simply couldn't find a common ground for him to tell her how it was for him, the total freedom of the skies. That was, he wanted to tell her, what spoke to him in her; she had a quality which made him feel as though he had wings, even as he clomped along the ground.

'You come and watch?'

'I would like to.'

'No, I mean...you come home and see. With parents, you come. And Draco.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'I...we'll ask, Viktor, but my parents are so busy.'

Viktor nodded against her head. 'I know. Maybe then you come? Meet Ivan and Yana. They want seeing you.' They did. Ivan had announced very firmly that girls were silly (except his Mama and Aunt Zhivka), but that since this one was marrying Viktor, he supposed it would be fine for her to come and see them.

'We'll ask my parents, Viktor.'

He nodded again. 'Someday you come there to live. You are afraid?'

Hermione shook her head. 'No. My home is where my husband is.'

Viktor wondered who had taught her that. 'You needn't lie, you know. It's normal to be afraid.'

Hermione sighed from the soul. 'Sometimes I think that when we see something bad enough, it makes us lose what we feared. That's almost worse. Because now you know how bad it can be.' Hermione loved Britain, but she had lost her home once and it held few terrors for her; how could going to Bulgaria be worse than what had happened the summer before?

What could he say to that? He moved a bit closer to his fiancée and lightly brushed his lips over the top of her head. Her hair smelt like rosemary and cinnamon. He wanted to know what had happened with a desperation borne of the feeling she gave him, a feeling like freedom. Couldn't he repay her?

'Tell me?'

'Will you tell anyone?'

'Never' he swore, and she thought he meant it. Hermione snuggled closer, wanting to feel safe as she talked. She couldn't tell him everything, not quite yet, but once she'd asked Snape's advice, she'd tell whatever she could.

'Part now and part later?'

Viktor didn't want to push. 'Whatever makes you comfortable.'

She nodded. 'I was at Hogwarts, in a classroom...' She left out more of it than she told, but she told him the auror, leaving out the fact it was Scabior who'd struck the killing blow.

Viktor said nothing as she talked. He kept his arms around her, letting her relive the thing in the safety of darkness and quiet. Her voice was level, though she spoke slowly, asking for words sometimes. He told her with a detached calm, feeling more and more angry as she talked. Why had she had to see a thing like this? It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

'And then what happened?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Another time.'

'All right. Are you sleepy?'

'A little. You?'

For the first time, Viktor lied to his intended. 'Yes. Shall we call for something?'

Hermione nodded. She didn't want to dream tonight. Rinky came at once when called and brought them a mild sedative in milk. They drained their mugs and were both asleep in ten minutes, twined in one another's arms.

The next morning, Snape came early, trailed by the dog. The ancient elf frowned when he saw the huge, unruly looking beast. 'Dog in Black house! Dirty dog! Smelly dog!' The dog growled, and Snape sharply tugged the leash.

'He's well trained, Kreacher. He shan't do anything untoward.'

The elf nodded. Getting bad dog scraps and water?'

'Do. He especially likes veal.' The elf set out a pile of raw bones and wetly glistening offal, which the dog set about with enthusiasm, munching delicious marrow and a chewy, muscular heart.

Snape left the dog for now and went up the stairs. People had gone to bed at first light, and so the rooms were silent. Every so often a Snatcher would ghost by, nod politely and make himself scarce. Snape went to the master bedroom and listened. He heard nothing from within, but that didn't mean nothing was going on. The door slid open soundlessly and Viktor Krum was standing there, watching Snape with eyes that were far more alert and searching than they had any right to be.

'Hello, Krum. Everything all right?' The children would stay cloistered until the ball that night. Snape made a mental note to check Draco later. If the boy hadn't felt well, he'd sleep most of the day, but as his godfather, Snape made it a point to examine him regularly.

'Yes, fine. Maybe we talk?'

'If you'd like.' Snape stepped into the bedroom. Krum led him unerringly to the small dressing room that connected to the room. It was, Snape supposed, officially Hermione's, but who was counting?

They settled on the two little stools in the room. The only other furniture was a large mirror bolted into the wall and a dressing table. Walberga's things might well still be in, he thought suddenly. How strange, the ghostly bits people leave behind.

'How was last night?'

'Good. Herm-on-knee-nee very good. Am being lucky man, Snape.'

Snape nodded immediately. 'And clever for recognising it.' And he was, so far as Snape was concerned. Yes, this boy was just the setting his little spy needed to sparkle, and her sparkle would lend the rough gold of Viktor Krum a bit of panache.

'Headmaster send wish for good health.' Snape took the letter, which was marked with the crowned skull of Durmstrang, and stuck it in his frockcoat pocket. He knew exactly what it was, and he'd respond to it later.

'Would you mind if we used a spell?' Krum nodded, knowing his English could stand only so much, and Snape swished the spell and then waited. Make the boy fight for it.

'*If I may ask, should I prepare to bring a reply to Headmaster Karkaroff?'*'

Snape nodded, smirking a bit. Hermione was quite right, this one was cleverer than he looked. '*Do you think one will needed? Given your knowledge of dear Igor?*'

'*I would think he'll want one so as to come and...swear his fealty...as quickly as possible.*'

'*'*And you have no objection to acting as courier?'*

'*Gentlemen must help one another, wouldn't you say?*' Viktor's face was absolutely neutral, but Snape could detect an edge of something underneath, a bit of iron that pleased him.

'*And I suppose he told you not to disturb Mr. Krum with any of this?*'

'*Headmaster is too thoughtful to want to disturb my father or uncles with private affaires.'*

'*Yes, of course. I expect I'll send one, then. Has he given you advice? In the spirit of thoughtfulness?'*

'*He didn't.*'

Snape wondered whether Krum actually understood what he was getting at, or whether a boy his age could be trusted with discreet matters of this nature. '*You know, Igor joined at seventeen, not much older than yourself, is that right?*'

'*Two years. I'd imagine he was precocious*.'

'*Yes, quite. A person shouldn't rush these things unless they feel sure they're ready.*'

'I'm afraid I lack the headmaster's polish. I'm a country bumpkin, I prefer flying and dogs to book learning, much as it shames me.' Snape had read Krum's records and knew that was not true, or not true enough.

'*Self knowledge is the first step on the road to prudence.*'

'*And humility springs from an honest acknowledgement of one's flaws.'* Snape hadn't expected the boy to know, let alone finish, the quote. He nodded again. He'd thought to recruit the boy, but perhaps he would wait and see what he could do on his own.

'*You know, Headmaster Karkaroff did make a statement to me about coming here.*'

'*Oh?*'

'*That it is an honour to be held worthy to marry the daughter of Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange.*'

'*And your response?*'

'*That I hope to be worthy of it.*'

Snape swallowed hard and steepled his hands. '*Of course.*'

'*Perhaps, sir, you'd be kind enough to guide me in that.*'

Snape blinked slowly and then said finally. '*Suppose I did have an idea, Krum. It might not be palatable to you.*'

'* I would consider it an honour to help you, sir.*'

Snape made a decision. He silenced the room and started to talk.