A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black

Today (May 16) was my birthday, and I wanted to celebrate by posting a new chapter. There was a reference in there to something or the other, but I forget what it was. If someone catches it, please let me know so I can note it.

Rabastan Lestrange swallowed his final mouthful of tea and vowed to strangle Cunegarde. Possibly Crouch, too, but mainly his damned great aunt, who was giving him a look of baleful pleasure across the teak dining room table.

'Because I need to work today, Aunt.'

'You're a Lestrange. Surely these people could wait long enough for you to take me to see my great great niece.' On the one hand, Rabastan thought it very sweet Cunegarde missed the girl so much, and that Hermione made such an effort with the old cow.

On the other, he had to meet with Dinev in ten minutes, and he wasn't about to reschedule to deal with the old woman's desire to torment the Krums for a while. She'd be fine napping in the parlour as she did every day.

'I'll escort her.'

'Thank you, Barty, but I need you to guard the house, remember? My papers and such?'

The madman, who'd been one of Rabastan's closest friends (and whom he'd sponsored for membership, he remembered with a pang) was absently playing with his porridge.

'Hermione might be afraid. She is, sometimes. And not well.'

'I'm sure Bellatrix will protect her, if she is.'

'Daresay she would. She's a very good witch, Bella.'

The old woman made a rude noise. 'Pah! Unsexed, she is.'

'Now, Aunt Cunegarde, that's not true.'

'The rest of us didn't go gadding about with men, did we, nephew? Klytemnestra wouldn't have done such a thing.'

'It's a different era, Aunt Cunegarde.'

'You might firecall and ask if they'd send someone.' The old woman looked peevish, and Rabastan, wondering whether it would be totally unfilial of him to lock the old bat in the cellar, nodded assent.

'Fine, fine, I shall. Good day, all.' He rose, donned his hat, and started for the Floo. Barty waved cheerfully, like a child, and then went back to digging about in his porridge like he was looking for something that wasn't a bit of fruit.

In Varna, Lyudmilla was drilling Hermione on her grammar as they carded the wool. Next to them, Yana and Narcissa were likewise carding, but somewhat less fluently than the other two.

'I am, you are, he is, she is, they are.'

'Excellent. To do?'

'I do, you do, he does, she does, they do.'

Lyudmilla set aside the cards and let the elf take the wool and replace it with a fresh handful. Yana was showing Narcissa how to do it with more excitement than skill, and Hermione winked at her aunt as they worked.

'Mama' said Yana, setting down her cards 'will Hermione be able to talk better now?'

'She's learning, Yana. You weren't perfect at first, either.'

The girl nodded. '*Aunt Narcissa, do you make clothes at home for your family?'*'

'*No, Yana. We usually buy cloth and then the elves make things.*'

'*Why don't you have lambs?*'

Hermione bit her lip to keep from giggling. Narcissa smiled and kept carding, despite the ache in her wrists and the way her fingers felt too tight. '*It's not the custom in England.*'

'*Why?*'

Hermione finished with her wool and the elves came and brought fresh. The sheepy smell seemed to be in everything, but she didn't mind it much. Rather liked it, really, because she'd get to see this pile of dirty wool transformed in winter garments for them all.

'We've some fur to add to things. You get first choice for Viktor and yourself.'

'You will help me? I am not-do not-know about it.'

'Of course.' Lyudmilla nodded approvingly. She thought the silver fox would look pretty with Hermione's dark hair, and Viktor had a preference for functional, heavy furs, so she'd guide the girl toward the wolf pelts that gleamed, row on row, in the storehouse.

Narcissa hated this. It smelt bad. It felt thick and greasy, and any notions she'd had of bucolic fluffy lambs gambolling cutely were forever dispelled. She kept her happy face on and answered Yana's questions about England and her house.

The women kept carding until, just before lunch, an elf popped in, bowing. 'Letter from Master Rabastan Lestrange, for milady.' The elf was unfamiliar to the group, because it was an Embassy elf.

Hermione took the letter and scanned it. 'Uncle wants us to bring Barty and Aunt Cunegarde here to visit. It is not a problem?'

Lyudmilla looked at her, face unmoving. 'You are the chatelaine. If you want us to do it, we'll do it.'

'Chatelaine means ask everyone too. Fair is fair.'

Lyudmilla nodded slowly. 'Thank you. Yes, today is fine.'

'Please, elf, tell my uncle yes. Do we need to send the carriage?'

'Would be most generous, my lady.' The elf bowed himself out and the group studied one another.

'Aunt Lyudmilla? Aunt Cunegarde is being very old. She is sometimes...grumpy? Mother is saying Aunt Cunegarde is like...snake hair lady?' Hermione mimed snakes for hair and Lyudmilla stifled a laugh at great difficulty to herself.

'Hermione Bellatrix, did you just tell Lyudmilla your great great aunt is like Medusa?'

'Yes, Aunt Narcissa.'

She looked so absolutely like her mother at that moment, eyes gleaming with naughtiness and amusement, that Narcissa, who ought to have scolded her very sternly, couldn't help but giggle into a hand in front of her mouth. How in the world had this happened?

On the other hand, Narcissa thought it wise to prevent problems before they started. '*Yana, would you like Hermione to take you and show you my jewels?'

'Yes! Hermione, let's go see! Please?' Yana thought Narcissa looked like a queen every day, and she wanted to have a chance to play in all the gorgeous, sparkly things she had. Hermione raised an eyebrow at both women but nodded, sensing there was something going on here.

She rose and helped Yana to her feet. 'Is it all right, Aunt?'

'Of course it is. Yana, be careful, please.' Yana nodded excitedly and turned to Hermione. She lifted her little hem just as Hermione did and they walked as sedately as they could from the room.

'*I want to warn you about Cunegarde.*'

'*I appreciate it. Is she confused? With age, I mean?*''

'*In some ways it would be easier if she were. Cunegarde loved unwisely when she was young. Her husband picked up the pox, and it...well, you know what it does.*'

Lyudmilla did. She nodded and got a fresh lump of wool for them both. '*Did they have children?*'

'*They did. A boy and girl.*'

She stiffened. '*Ah.*'

'*She is...quite bitter about it, as you might imagine.*'

'*It usually only effects males.*'

"*It did. But the daughter was...well, she, too was unwise. She married a rake-Worthington McNair, was the name-and died under some very mysterious circumstances.*'

'*It's been quite a while since the children visited my father. Perhaps I'll see if he'd like a bit of company.*'

'*That might be a very good idea . I can't believe that Cunegarde would be deliberately cruel to a child, but there was an incident last year.*' She briefly sketched what had happened between Hermione and the old woman, carefully leaving out precisely what had been said about the muggles.

'*Of course. Older people often become rather uninhibited, I find.*'

'*Precisely. And she really does love Hermione very much.*'

Lyudmilla was torn between her gratitude toward the woman for her honesty and the questions her family had about the Lestranges. Who had raised the girl? She felt certain Lucius and Narcissa hadn't. There was a story here.

'*Thank you for letting me know. Normally I'd say we should try, but perhaps given the events of the last few weeks, it might be best not to.*'

Narcissa nodded and tugged her wool. She half dreaded Hermione's marriage-she didn't want the girl condemned to a life of menial labour. But the girl seemed to like it, and she certainly cared about Viktor, so perhaps it was all for the best.

'*Quite so. And Barty can be a handful.*'

'*Is he related to your sister's husband?*'

'*Not precisely. He has no one else, and he's rather got attached to Hermione.*'

The mystery of the thing was bothering Lyudmilla more and more. '*May I ask you something, Narcissa?*'

'*Please.*'

'*Who did the girl stay with whilst her parents were imprisoned?*'

Narcissa inhaled deeply. '*That's a very complicated question, so why don't we wait for Bellatrix?*'

'*I hope I have not caused offence, Narcissa.*'

'*Not at all. It's not my story to tell, is all.*' And the women carded very peaceably thereafter.

After a little time exploring the jewellery, Hermione convinced the awestruck Yana they should find the boys. Draco was in the library, immersed in a book his father had sent him from home. Ivan was next to him, working on something.

'Draco?'

'*Hello, Hermione. And Yana, too. Dodged the sheep combing, did you?*'

Hermione switched into English. 'No. Your mother wanted a word with their mother.'

'What about?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Don't know. Cunegarde is coming this afternoon, and Barty.'

Draco frowned. 'Is it too late for me to escape this?'

Hermione sat down, Yana perching on her. 'Oh, yes.'

He set the book down. 'You could seem a bit less happy about it.'

'This is more fun.'

'Hmmph.' Draco smiled, not really minding, and nodded approvingly when Ivan showed him what he'd been doing. '*Very good, Ivan.*'

Hermione looked over. Draco had printed Ivan's name in block lettering on a sheet of parchment, and the boy had copied it over ten times, shaky little letters which went every which way.

'That's nice of you, Draco.'

Draco shrugged, abashed a bit. 'Well, you know, he might start learning as soon as possible.'

Hermione thought that a very good idea, as it happened. She wanted to ask Draco if she could read what he was reading (English language reading materials being thin on the ground, and she didn't want to bother Uncle Rabastan for something so minor), when an elf popped in.

'Milady is wanting to stop the combing for today?'

'Oh! Yes, very sorry I forgot. I should want to change before guests is here, and Yana.' She translated for Draco, who, after all, hadn't been carding sheep and smelt better than she.

She'd elected to hold lunch for the visitors, and so they had a snack of banitsa and tea, with fruit and yoghurt. The table seemed emptier without Viktor there, silently presiding, sometimes voicing a small opinion or giving one of the children a stern look. He would, Hermione reckoned, be in Pernik now, and hard at work on Seeking. She missed him tremendously.

It had been painful, wishing him goodbye. The others had conveniently found things to occupy themselves as the lord and lady of Castle Krum spent a final few moments together. Hermione had had Rinky cut a single curl of her hair, and she'd knotted it into her handkerchief and presented it to him.

In return, Viktor gave her a gauntlet of his, caked with dirt and worn nearly through. 'These have always brought me luck.' He felt ashamed he couldn't give her something nicer, but she smiled brightly and tucked it into a pocket of the apron she'd taken to wearing.

'Write me.'

'Of course.' He kissed her cheek and then stepped into the carriage the Ministry had sent for him to use, like all the trainees. She waved until the carriage vanished from sight, and, fingering the glove, went back into the keep, reminding herself that the chatelaine of a castle can't cry when the lord is returning in just a few weeks, and from Quidditch camp, not a war. But it didn't help much.

After they had finished, Lyudmilla mentioned offhandedly that her father got lonely these days since her mother had died. Hermione, sensing this was an opening, mentioned that, since Aunt Cunegarde got grouchy so easily, perhaps the children might enjoy playing at their grandfather's castle today?

Lyudmilla's father was delighted by the offer and came personally to collect his squealing, giggling grandchildren. He took them back with him via Floo, and after Draco convinced them he couldn't go, they left very happily to spend time with Grandpapa.

After they'd left, the two older children were quite alone. 'Well' said Draco, 'if this is what having children is like, I fully intend to get a very active job.'

'Draco! I thought you liked it.'

'I do, but it's tiring. Ivan thinks I can do anything.'

'Didn't you feel that way about Uncle when you were young?'

Draco still very much did, actually, and didn't feel at all strange about it. Father was the most wonderful man he knew, and he absolutely intended to be like him in every way.

'Don't you feel that way about your father?'

Hermione looked down. 'Well...my father is always very kind to me.'

Draco felt like he'd stepped in a nest of snakes. 'It's all right, Hermione.'

'I know. You have to understand, I don't know him all that well, Draco. I spend most of the year at school. And he's usually at work when I'm home. I think he cares about me, but...' She saw more of Snape, and Snape told her things, and showed her how to behave, and made jokes that were funny.

It wasn't that she didn't love Rodolphus, because she did. But she didn't precisely equate him with her muggle Dad, either. He was just Father. He tried hard and she appreciated it, but it still didn't feel quite right, somehow, like a shoe that was half a size too small.

Draco nodded slowly. He wanted Hermione to love her father as much as he loved his, but he understood why she didn't quite feel that way. Her earliest memories had been tainted by those terrible muggles, and so it probably made her feel funny when her father acted, well, like a father. Poor thing.

He'd talk to Mother about it. If Father was the most wonderful man, Mother was the most wonderful woman, and she'd know precisely how to make it all better.

'Are you all right, Hermione? You aren't sad?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Sometimes, I suppose, but...oh, well.'

'That's not healthy. Can't you talk to Mother or Aunt Bellatrix about it?'

'I could. But they've a lot to deal with right now.'

He shook his head immediately. 'No, they'd want to know if you were unhappy.'

'I wouldn't say unhappy, Draco. Just trying to make this whole thing work.'

'You scolded me for lying to you.'

'Err, yes.'

Draco gave her his best stern look, like Father's. 'We care about you, and you'll be sick if you keep this up.'

Hermione squirmed uncomfortably, knowing he was only turning about what she'd done to him. 'It's not the same.'

'No?'

'No. You know I can't talk about this with my mother, Draco.'

'You can talk about it with mine, then.'

'It hurts.' Hermione's jaw was set with stubbornness, and she looked very like her mother then, all resolve and bravery and anger, even if hers was hidden deep down, so far even she only vaguely knew it was there.

'It will until you deal with it.'

'Stop it, Draco.'

'You stop it! I mean it, I'll tell my father if you don't. And Viktor. And your father.'

Hermione found herself giggling despite the situation. 'Why don't you take out an add in the Prophet?'

'Because then that vile Skeeter woman will want a story, and I've done my bit for all that.'

'I can't right now. I have to run the castle.'

Draco had no intention of letting this go, even if she got angry with him. 'Excuses.'

'Are not.'

'Are. You have us to help you, and the elves, and the Krums.'

'Yes, I know that. But it's...' Hermione sat down on a bench. She was playing with the end of her braid. Draco wished Mother would come out. She'd be able to smooth all this over with kisses and pats and kind words.

'It's what?'

'No one else had this happen to them.' Hermione was playing harder with her hair, and had Draco been raised with her, he would have taken her hand to help her calm down. But he thought she might not like that. He wished Viktor was here, too, for that. He seemed to relax Hermione down when she got nervous like this.

'No.'

'And sometimes I...I almost feel sort of...jealous of A-a friend of mine, because she knows her parents are dead. My muggles parents just vanished. I'll never know what happened to them. Or why. They were just gone.'

Draco swallowed. 'I didn't think about it like that. Does Viktor know?'

'Yes. I told him in bed that night.'

'Oh.' Draco didn't know who to be angry with; Viktor, who had somehow inveigled his cousin into talking about this, or himself, for not being awake to stop it.

'It's all right, Draco. I wanted to tell him.'

'Why?'

'He's going to be my husband. He deserves to know.'

So do you, he wanted to say, except that he'd seen the werewolves at the Ministry, and perhaps it was better that she not. How could she sleep, if she did, knowing what might have happened?

'And you know, it's not so bad. Because this way they could always be in another room. Or on holiday, or at a conference. A business meeting' she clarified, and folded her hands in her lap. She wondered if she'd made a misstep by confiding in her cousin. Snape might say so. But Snape wasn't here, and he wasn't going to go insane if he didn't get it off his chest, and also because he didn't have Draco giving him such a sharp, Lucius like glare.

'I'm sorry. Really, awfully sorry. That's horrible.'

'It's nothing either of us did. Any of us, really. We just have to get up every morning and do what needs to be done.'

Draco was reminded about his conversation the other night with Viktor. 'That's true.' He had a sudden, horrible mental image of swishing his wand and seeing her fall limp at his feet, eyes glazing, werewolves pounding the door, howling for blood.

Well, he comforted himself, probably Viktor would do it. She was his fiancée, after all. That didn't really help very much. He felt a strong flare of anger, almost rage, that he had to think about this.

'Hermione, do you ever feel like it's not fair?'

'Yes.'

'If anything ever happens, Viktor and I will protect you.'

'I know.' Hermione knew better than to say it back, but she was thinking much the same thing. Narcissa had taught her so well that she never doubted that she could do it, either. Men used wands, women used words and their own wiles to protect the ones they loved.

She rose and bent to peck his forehead. 'Come and find Bess with me?'

'That dog is wretched.'

'She adores you.'

'Hmmph. I suppose.' And the children, being children, let the serious topic drift to much more pleasant ones and thought of others things.

The carriage touched down in the courtyard at quarter til four. The small group was there to meet it, with Hermione standing in front, smiling. Barty popped out like a rabbit from a hat and bounded down, reaching out to hug Bess.

'A puppy!'

'Her name is Bess, Barty. How have you been?'

'All right. I need to go get Cunegarde, though. Be right back.' He jumped to his feet and ran to tug Cunegarde into his arms.

The woman looked, to the Bulgarians, like some sort of ancient doll. She'd gone whole hippogriff this visit, and so she wore robes of poison green, and a high white wig, and two big spots of rouge on her cheeks, like a stylised rash.

The children would have been terrified, but fortunately, they were not there. Hermione came forward, curtsied and pressed her lips to her aunt's cheek, smiling with real pleasure.

'Aunt Cunegarde, welcome to Castle Krum.'

'Gone native, have you? Hmmph, that's a fine pass. And where's that mother of yours, and her sister?'

'Here I am, Cunegarde. You're looking well.'

Cunegarde glowered sourly at the women. 'Have you forgot all your manners? Introduce me to these...people.'

Lyudmilla and Rumen couldn't understand the words, except for one or two in the mix, but the tone needed no clarification. They came forward and kissed the woman's cheeks, quietly appalled. Lyudmilla raised a brow at the chatelaine and was rewarded with a bright smile that gave absolutely nothing away.

'Shall we go inside?'

Ensconced in the hall, the group studied one another a bit uneasily. Barty was dancing and squirming with energy. 'Why don't we duel?'

Hermione took Barty's hand in hers. 'I've a headache today, Barty. I'm sorry.'

'Why do you have a headache?'

'I don't know.'

'Where's Viktor? Is he here?'

'He's at training in Pernik, Barty. For Quidditch, remember?'

'Oh, yes. Quidditch. I played Quidditch, you know. He never came. My father. Never. To see.'

'I'm sorry.'

Barty shrugged. 'Do you have more puppies? Rabastan said you mentioned some in your letter.'

'I did. Shall we go and see them?'

Barty half jumped up, but enough of his neurons still fired simultaneously to offer Hermione his hand to help her. Hermione waited until Cunegarde had come up for air to beg everyone's pardon and say 'Would be all right for Draco and I-and me?- to take Barty to see dog kennel?

The adults thought that was a splendid idea. A look passed between Rumen and Lyudmilla; this woman was not merely unpleasant. She seemed actively toxic, like an old, corrosive potion left to lie on a rug.

Rabastan would likely have agreed with that assertion. He was currently bent over quite a large stack of papers, reviewing the costs associated with creating the Portkeys which took those nine hundred aurors to Britain earlier in the week.

'...And be sure and tell them to round up, we don't want to see mean about a quarter hour or something.'

The elf finished the letter and handed it to Rabastan to sign. He did, and, sealing it, sent it to Rodolphus. He quite missed his brother, and decided, spontaneously, to take himself to visit his only niece.

Emerging from the Floo, he found himself standing in a grand stone hall, with tapestries on the walls and thick furs under foot. An elf, attired in Continental fashion, appeared and announced Milady would receive him now, in the kennel yard.

Rabastan was startled when he saw two children, dressed in the Bulgarian mode, sitting sedately on a stone bench, chatting softly as the tall, bony form of Barty Crouch danced about, a pack of small, shaggy puppies in hot pursuit.

Rabastan stopped and bowed. 'Madam, thank you for receiving me on such short notice. Please accept my condolences on your misfortunes. I regret I did not come in time to meet your fiancé.'

Hermione stepped forward and smiled. 'Uncle, welcome to Castle Krum. And thank you, on behalf of Viktor and myself. Please, join us for lunch.'

Then she stepped forward and into Rabastan's hug. 'We can dispense with the formalities now, can't we, Uncle? The elves've made loads of really good food.'

'That sounds brilliant, sweetheart. Tell me, how are you?'

'We're well. We spent most of today carding wool to weave into winter clothes, and now Barty is playing with Lady's puppies.' Four or five study little pups had indeed come to sniff his shoes, and were cautiously watching him, waiting for Hermione to indicate he was all right.

'Haven't you got elves for that?'

'Of course, but Bulgarians are a very self reliant people, Uncle. And it's fun. I even get to pick out fur to put on Viktor's new things.' She sounded excited about it, and he smiled a bit, pleased she still had a bit of childishness in her.

Draco also hugged him, and gravely invited him to sit down. 'Any news from home?'

'Your fathers are both well and send their affections. The situation is good and they feel optimistic.' Draco was squinting at him, and he looked so like Lucius that Rabastan had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Hermione seemed prepared to say something when an elf, crest over it's heart, bowed and spoke to the girl in Bulgarian.

Hermione rose, sighing. 'Pardon me, gentlemen. There's an issue I must address.' She followed the elf, asking questions of it, and nodding at the answers.

'Galleons to grapes it's Cunegarde.'

'No bet, lad. How is it here? Really?'

Draco sighed and watched as Barty chased a delighted puppy round the yard, laughing. 'It's eerie. Like we're waiting for the next bad thing.'

Rabastan nodded. 'I feel that way myself, sometimes.'

'How is it at home, Uncle? You can tell me. I'm thirteen tomorrow, you know.'

'Would that I knew. Those werewolves are damned sly, Draco.'

Draco nodded. 'So's Father, though. And the others.'

'Of course.'

'Uncle? If they come here, will they let us yield the castle, do you think?' Draco tried to sound casual, but Rabastan could sense the underlying tension, like a tightly drawn violin string.

'What makes you ask, Draco?'

Draco summarised his conversation with Viktor. He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible, but it started to shake ever so slightly when he got to the part about the castle being overrun before they could Portkey the non-combatants.

Rabastan was impressed the boys had thought of all that. Disgusted it was necessary, appalled to know that they knew not to let the women be captured, but impressed by how level headed the whole thing was, relatively speaking.

'And what are your thoughts, nephew?'

'We need more than one Portkey, Uncle. Not just between here and that house. Someplace they won't know to look.'

'Why?'

'If one is cut we could use the secret one.' Draco had thought about this quite a lot, and was determined to find a way to save everyone. Let the damned castle burn-the Krums could come and live in England, or a Malfoy property in France, or wherever, but he knew the ladies wouldn't leave without a fight, and there wouldn't be time. He bent his neck to the side and felt the vertebrae pop.

Rabastan nodded. 'That's a good idea. How is Krum Jr holding up, do you think?'

Draco watched the puppies as they packed together and dashed after Barty, who obediently ran, giggling. The pups yipped and gave pursuit, determined to pounce this new playmate into submission.

'He's angry. And afraid.'

'I hardly blame him.'

'Nor I. It doesn't seem right. How random is all is, I mean.'

Rabastan nodded, understanding. 'You'll find, as you get older, Draco, that life is often that way. I wonder, sometimes, whether there are places our lives might have diverged according to some small change we would hardly be conscious of, had we chosen differently.'

Draco didn't quite follow. He nodded slowly and Rabastan clapped his shoulder lightly. 'Don't worry about it, lad. I'm maundering. Privilege of age.'

'You aren't old, not any more than Father is.'

'I remember your father when he was your age.' Rabastan smiled as Barty came and plopped down next to them, panting. Draco was rather curious to hear some stories he could gently tease his father with when Hermione reappeared.

'Lunch is nearly ready.' She looked tired, and annoyed, and, thought her uncle, like his mother. 'The elves wanted to ask me about changing the menu a bit.' She smoothed her face and breathed deeply, knowing the elves asked her because they respected her and wanted to please her.

'How tiresome. But nothing is wrong?'

'No, not a bit. I'm just feeling a little grumpy, I suppose.' Barty rose briskly and took her arm. 'Don't worry, little girl, I'll help you.' Every so often, he'd have fits of himself, and it made his friend ache to see it, the old clever, determined Barty breaking through the facade of what he was now.

'It's all right, Barty. I just need to work on a my attitude a bit.'

'I'd hardly be a good friend to your father if I didn't help, would I? And your mother.'

Draco and Rabastan rose too, and followed Hermione and the madman into the castle. 'Oh' said Hermione, almost to herself, 'I wish Viktor was here so much!'