A/N: Love to reviewers and Countess Black

This chapter reminds me of something CB said of Barty: 'I'd like to hug him and then point him at my enemies.'

The marriage of Rabastan Lestrange and Eugenia Feathering was a quiet affaire, as nearly the groom's whole family was fighting overseas and the bride's either dead or unable to leave to attend.

The sole witnesses, aside from Barty Crouch and Cunegarde, were the groom's friend and in-law, Penko Krum, and Severus Snape, who'd escorted his beloved cousin to her husband to be.

They married in the parlour of the embassy house. A Bulgarian ministry employee married them, using a translation spell, and then joined the small group for cake and wine.

After, Snape took his leave, and Penko loaded Barty and Cunegarde into a carriage to spend a few days at Castle Krum so the newly-weds could have a little time to themselves.

Rabastan looked uncomfortably at his new wife. 'Madam, I hope the journey did not over-tax you?'

'No, sir, thank you. If you'd not mind, I should like to take my maid and freshen up a bit before...'

'Please, take all the time you need.'

Trailed by Gemmy, Eugenia made her way up the stairs and entered the room which was hers. She sat down as the elf quickly put away her few things ('Uncle' Erasmus was sending a trousseau for her, having insisted, all on his own, that she represent them as fashionably as possibly) and took a few deep breaths.

Gemmy took out the new lawn nightgown and dressed her in it, unpinned her hair and sprinkled a little perfume on her neck. She laid in the bed and waited, and Gemmy left and returned with her new husband.

Rabastan sat down on the bed. He silently let the elf take off his boots and then turned to look at her. He was not, objectively, an unattractive man, with big brown eyes and good bones, and a smile almost as charming as his brother's.

'Snape assures you that you are aware of my proclivities. Is that true?'

'It is.'

'And so you shan't take my lack of interest in your bed as a personal slight, I hope?'

'Not at all.'

'Good. The Dark Lord commands I father an heir. Once that has occurred, you are free to do as you'd like. I hope, Eugenia, we might be friends, if we can never be more than that.'

Eugenia nodded. 'I hope so too, Rabastan.'

'I'm sorry we couldn't have had a proper wedding. Once this war is won, we'll take a bridal trip. Paris, or Rome, or wherever.'

She nodded again. 'I would like that. And I'll need to meet with your elves at some point to coordinate things.'

'Change whatever you'd like. I'm typically gone at night, so don't fret overmuch about that.'

He had someone, then. Eugenia nodded. 'Of course.'

'And the elves will tell you about Cunegarde and Barty's routines. Both of them are largely harmless.'

'I look forward to getting to know them.'

'Once you've spoken to Cunegarde, you won't. Trixie calls her Medusa.'

Bellatrix Lestrange called the old woman Medusa? Eugenia laughed, startled, and then laid back.

'If you're ready, Rabastan...'

He rose without a response and stepped behind the dressing screen. The new elf helped him off with his clothes and into a nightshirt and then doused the lights. Rabastan climbed into the bed.

'I assume you've...?'

'Yes. Have you?'

He sighed. 'With a woman? No.'

'All right. Should I remove my nightgown, or just pull it up?'

'Pull it up, if you would.' She did, and since it wasn't Arithmancy, soon they had melded together. Rabastan found it neither pleasant nor unpleasant-it was a duty, like paperwork.

He did feel a little sorry that he had no idea how to make it enjoyable, or at least not actively unpleasant, for her. He'd talk to Penko about it. Penko had a mysterious knowledge of many things, and perhaps he'd have some ideas.

Thoughts of Penko, and their time together, finished him, and he rolled off, scared his greater body weight might crush her or cause her pain.

'Eugenia? Are you all right?'

'Fine. You?'

'Well. Should I step out so you might wash?'

'Would you?'

He, too, bathed, and freshly attired, found her likewise an hour later. 'Shall we open our wedding gifts?'

There were letters from everyone. The Lestranges and Malfoys ( and the senior and junior branches of both), Mulciber, Goyle, Crabbe, Gibbon, Rookwood, Jugson, Dolohov, everyone had sent letters of congratulations and best wishes, and that wasn't to mention the various politicians and other favour seekers. There were letters and boxes everywhere.

The first one they opened was from, of all people, Barty. It was a small box, with two letters, one to each of them. Rabastan handed his wife hers and waited as she unfolded it and read.

"Dere Eugenia,

Welcome to our famly! Snape helped me by something so you wont miss England. I hope you like it. Pleese let me no how I can help you when we come bak.

Bartimeus Crouch Jr."

Eugenia noticed that Rabastan's eyes were bright. He inhaled and smiled. 'I'm sorry. He was such a bright boy when I first knew him. It kills me to see him this way.'

Eugenia patted his arm. 'He's got you to care for him, at least.'

'That's true. Let's see what he wrote to me.'

"Dere Rab,

Congradulatons! Plees find in-clozed some thing to mak you remeber England. When the war is over, we'll all go home and yor wife can stay with us at Lestrange Hous. Until then, dont werry, I'll tak gud care of her.

Yor freind,

Barty Crouch"

They raised their eyebrows at one another and then slit the twine on the package. It expanded to twice it's size, and to their shock, Barty had been totally correct. It did remind them of England.

'A Honeydukes sampler pack.' Barty had always been so eager to please, and he still was. The sweets brought that to them both in a way nothing else could have.

Rabastan grinned and offered her first choice from the brimming box. Eugenia selected a chocolate cauldron and bit in, smiling. 'They do taste like home.'

'Don't they? When I got out of Azkaban, I made myself sick on Bertie Bott's, I'd had a terrible craving for the blueberry ones.'

The other gifts were nearly as interesting, if not as poignant. Desmond, the bride's brother, sent them a beautiful burnt wood box, which Rabastan insisted his wife take to put her things in.

The elder Malfoys sent a goblin made silver vase, which Eugenia ordered an elf to keep filled and on the mantelpiece so guests could see. The elder Krums sent a case of wine and their best wishes.

Draco and Viktor had pooled their money and sent the couple a mirror, with the frame elaborately carved and painted in traditional designs. The letter was signed simply "Draco and Viktor".

More surprising was the one enclosed, marked with the Krum seal, that gave them permission to use the Krum summer home in the rose valley for a get-away. Draco had written in English on Viktor's behalf, and it was signed "Viktor, Lord Krum", a first, so far as Rabastan knew.

'We'll leave tomorrow, if that suits you.'

Eugenia spoke to the elf, and it returned with pumpkin juice. 'Will the Krums keep Cunegarde and Barty?'

'I should think.' The two sat in silence for a few moments and then silently started to look over the other letters, keeping them straight so they could respond to them.

The news had taken the family quite by surprise. The children had no especial reaction to it, and the adults, whilst a little dubious, accepted the Dark Lord's command as law and were glad Rab was marrying someone Snape assured them was very pleasant.

Eugenia herself had been philosophical about the whole thing. The night before her wedding, she laid in the darkness next to Sirius and silently held his hand until dawn. Neither of them said anything.

When the elf came to wake her, Eugenia, still silent, let herself be bathed and dressed, and, in a sober dark blue travelling hat and matching robes, gave the dog a final pat and left without looking back.

And now here she was. She made notes on whom was owed a thank you note, and, when Rabastan went out, she sat and down and started her first letter, to Snape, and managed to get through nearly all of it before she burst into tears.

Rabastan was faring little better. He took off his cloak and followed his lover to the bedroom but seemed ill-inclined to undress further, aside from his boots. Penko sensed this was a good time not to push.

'*Some wine?*'

'*That would be wonderful, love. How did it go, dropping them off?*'

'*Well. Lyudmilla always like to have Barty there. She found him teaching Ivan how to escort a lady the last time, did she tell you?*'

'*No, but that's something he'd do.*'

'*And the old lady isn't so bad. Will she go back with your brother?*'

'*Yes.' Rabastan leaned back on an elbow. 'What good is being second son if I can't foist the old bat off on Rodolphus when he's home?*'

Penko snorted and laid back as well. '*Interesting news from Varna.*'

'*Oh?*'

'*Stefan is trying to get passage out of country without any of us finding out.*'

Rabastan's eyebrows shot up. '*I see. Any concrete word as to where?*'

'*I'll keep digging.*'

'*I'd bet a thousand galleons it's Romania.*'

'*No bet. If it is, and he tries to come back, I fully intend to have a word with him about his conduct.*' His tone implied he had more than talking on his mind, and Rabastan wriggled closer and rested his head on his lover's chest.

'*I suppose I could come and evaluate your progress.*'

'*Do I get a reward if I do well?*'

'*No, but I think I'll punish you if you do poorly.*'

'*In a fun way, would you say?*' Penko waggled his eyebrows, and Rabastan laughed softly and rolled his eyes.

'*That depends.*'

'*Perhaps I need a preview.*'

After, Rabastan rose and stretched. '*In the mood for a duel?*'

'*Do we need to get out of bed?*'

'*It's your choice, but I prefer to have trousers on when there's hexes flying.*' He donned the aforementioned trousers and his shirt, and Penko, reluctantly, did likewise.

'*Was it all right? After I left?*'

'*It was...strange. It didn't feel...well, it was unfamiliar, but Eugenia seems nice enough.*'

'*And she knows about me?*'

'*She knows about me. I assume she's made the connexion. Would you rather I told her who you are?*' Rabastan hadn't wanted to spread the identity of his lover about without his permission.

Penko was fastening the frogs on his tunic. '*Whatever's easier for you. You'd never had a woman?*'

'*Never had the urge. I played kissing games at parties when I was young, but that was it.*'

'*Oh.*'

'*Have you?*'

'*Every so often, the desire overtakes me. Not in a few years. Does it bother you?*'

'*No. We both knew the other had a past.*'

Penko finished tugging on his boots and then rose, giving Rabastan a kiss in passing. '*Shall we?*'

At Spinner's End, Snape and Black were listening to the match on the radio. 'And Levski with the quaffle, and Borg moves to block, moves to block and, oh! Volkov from the left and it's a goal for Bulgaria!'

The crowd roared dully in the background, and Black, who was in dog form, wagged approvingly, rumbling with pleasure. Snape listened to what was happening and bent over his letters, reading and thinking.

'And it's-yes! Krum diving, he's turning, turning, corkscrewing left, and he's-he's got it! Krum has taken the snitch! The match is over! Bulgaria has won, 200 to 21!'

Snape blinked, a bit startled, and the dog leapt up and barked. Snape turned, annoyed. 'Really, do be quiet.'

The dog ignored him. Bristling, he barked louder, his voice deepening, his fur standing up, and he lunged for the back door, snarling. Snape spelled it open and he ran out, the dog's voice a hard, deep bass bark of anger, and Snape drew and took off after.

'If it's that's little bastard from next door, I'll skin you alive if you dare trample my beds again. Your father ought to be-' He stopped and spun in time to see a small, dark-haired man standing there. The man raised his hands slowly.

'It's Llewellyn Rice, sir. I need a word.' Snape slowly lowered his wand and turned to the dog. 'Salazar, watch him.'

In the living room, Rice accepted a glass of ale from the elf. 'Sorry to come up on you. Scabior didn't want anyone to see.'

'Of course.

'He sent me to tell you that he's reason to believe that Stefan is sniffing about, trying to find a way out of the country.'

'Reason to believe?'

Rice nodded. 'Yes. Dinev wants all his aurors trained like Madam Lestrange's, and Scabs is the liason on that, so he's there in Sofia a lot. He hears things from the aurors and such.'

'What did he hear, Rice?'

'Fellow from some little city said they picked Stefan up for drunkenness. He was trying to get passage on an international carriage bound north.'

'Romania?'

'That'd be my guess, sir, and Scabs'. He wanted me to tell you in person so that it wasn't written down anywhere.'

'Very cunning.'

'Do you want something done about it?' Rice had been a hit man for a Knockturn Alley syndicate, and he would cheerfully remove the problem if it Snape gave the word.

Snape nodded slowly. He couldn't let Borev slip them, because he'd hightail it to the Romanians, or the Germans, or even the Americans, and sell everything he knew to the highest bidder.

'You understand, Rice, I am not ordering you to kill Stefan Borev. That would be highly illegal, and the Dark Lord disdains such underhanded tactics as unworthy of a Pureblooded society.'

Rice knew what that meant. He rose and silently withdrew a length of knotted silken cord from his waistcoat and looped it easily about his hands. Snape nodded again.

'Your family is living in a flat, are they not? In Cardiff?'

Rice nodded. 'My wife and little girl.'

'I'd imagine it gets cramped there. Perhaps a house would suit your needs better. And might your wife like some help?'

Rice nodded right back. His wife would love a house, and an elf would be icing on that particular cake, to his mind. Snape clearly knew how this game was played. Time was he'd got a thousand galleons a head for every one he did for; this would be worth much more.

'Of course, if you were to discuss this issue with Borev, you'd want to make sure there was no evidence of it.'

'Him being a foreign national and all.'

'Quite so. I shall arrange everything you need. Come here three nights from now, by the back. Salazar shan't bother you.'

'Rather a nice dog. Scabs speaks highly of him.'

'He's good at what he does.'

Rice extended a hand and the dog lapped it, sniffing him. Rice smiled, his handsome, vaguely leonine face changing entirely. 'Good boy, Salazar.' Rice bowed and then was gone.

Snape made sure he was clear of the garden before he locked and warded the doors and nodded to Black, who changed back.

'Well?'

'Well, what?' Black drank the rest of the man's ale and made a face. 'Ugh. What is this, porter?'

'Indeed. No comments about Rice? No moral outrage?'

Black shook his head. 'Only about the beer. He clearly means to sell them all, why should I defend him?'

'Perversity?'

'Send me.'

'Sorry?'

'I'm bored. Send me after him. If he goes to ground, I can find him.'

'And if he doesn't?'

Black shrugged. 'I'll leave him for Rice. And it might be useful to see who's bidding on what he's got. What does he have, come to think of it?'

Snape pursed his lips briefly but elected to answer. 'Nothing, that we know of. But if someone should want to, he could help them through the wards and then it would be easy to breach the walls.'

Black nodded. 'He's a wound waiting to fester.'

'Exactly. Tomorrow night, dog, be ready. I want you to find him before Rice.' Rice, consummate a professional as he was, would kill him and vanish the body before they could figure out who was trying to scout Stefan.

Sirius and Rinky left eighteen hours later. Sirius had papers stating him to be the medi-wizard, Dint, and he'd submitted to a haircut and donned his spectacles again. The elf was with him, holding his carpet bag, and they Portkeyed to Varna.

In keeping with his cover, Sirius checked into a small, clean hotel with the elf. Snape had given him a generous amount of money this time, and he went and found a good cafe to eat a late lunch in. Stomach full, he stepped into a bathroom and downed a sip from the flask he'd been given. Now he could drink without feeling the effects.

And drink he did, but Stefan seemed to have vanished like a cloud on a hot day. No one claimed to know anything about him, or his goals, or where he might have gone. Sirius spent nearly two weeks looking for the fellow in all sorts of out of the way places, but had to return home empty handed in the end.

Comfortingly, so did Rice. He returned ten days after he'd been sent, shaking his head. 'Someone tipped the bastard and he did a runner.'

Snape nodded. He had no reason to believe that both of his... problem solvers... had not done their utmost. He suspected that Stefan was in Romania now. He wondered whether it would be worth his time to have the mother watched. Surely he was still writing her?

Snape took pen in hand to write his unknowing apprentice. Could Viktor write his grandmother and see what she had to say about this? Did she know where Stefan was, and could she reach him?

Viktor did, and then spent most of a week answering increasingly desperate letters. No, she had not seen Stefan. Did he know where his uncle was? She was lonely and afraid with just the elves to guard her. Surely Viktor would find her son and restore him to her?

Draco came in just as Viktor set down his pen and used some Bulgarian words he refused to translate no matter how often Draco asked. Draco went to his trunk and pulled out the emergency chocolate frogs he kept for these moments.

'Something wrong?'

'Grandmama vant Stefan. Stefan ran avay. Is gone.'

Draco thought that sounded like the ideal situation, but he didn't say it aloud. 'Gone like on holiday, or gone forever?'

Viktor looked grim. 'Vord is maybe defective? He go to Romania?'

'Defected? Stefan's defected?' Draco literally couldn't conceive of that, not at an emotional level. If Stefan had not been irrevocably damned in his mind before, he certainly was now. Flee the protection of the family and go to the enemy? Unthinkable.

'Looks that vay.'

Draco inhaled deeply. If Godfather knew, he'd find a way to minimise the damage, but he still felt like this was very, very bad. He wasn't sure what Stefan could do, but didn't that make him more dangerous?

'What does your father say?'

'Haven't asked. Father is in field vith Mother and Father Lestrange.'

'He is?'

'Yes, and Rumen runs castle. Is up to us.'

'Write Hermione and ask, then.'

'I might. She is good at things like this.'

Draco nodded. 'I thought your father is a diplomat, like mine.'

'Yes. He is there to show Bulgaria is part of things too. Verevolves see us, they know ve fight them.' He looked both sad and worried, so Draco handed him a chocolate frog.

'I miss the summer. We could've figured all this out in a trice then.'

'I know, but vhat can ve do? Ve ask Her-mon-nee-knee, she have ideas, ve make it vork.'

Hermione got the letter just before she went to sleep. She got into bed and spelled her wand up so she could read it to Crookshanks, who was dozing on the end of the bed.

'What do you think, Crooks?'

Crookshanks yawned and rolled on his side, indicating he thought they should all have a nap. Hermione settled back, frowning darkly. Grandmama wanted Stefan, and so did the others, for wildly disparate reasons.

She finally hit on it just before she fell asleep, and, when she woke, she wrote the letter at once. Would Viktor, as lord of Castle Krum, ask his grandmother to honour them by moving in?

If she did, they could then use the villa as a trap. They'd put it out that the villa was empty, and, Stefan, she thought, would probably come back to rob it, or else to hide. What did Viktor think of that plan?

It took the best part of another week, but finally Grandmama agreed to move in for a while, so long as it was understood that she'd be moving back as soon as Stefan was found and prevailed upon to come home.

The Krums accepted the decision with the understanding that Elisaveta was old and scared, and had lost much. It was better to have her with family, they agreed, and they certainly had the room. And she and Lyudmilla got on well together.

'It is ready. Now ve vait.'

Draco sighed. 'We're doing loads of that lately, do you think?'

Viktor nodded and dropped his head into his hands, hoping and not hoping his uncle would return to his home so they could...what?

In Romania, Stefan sat across from a thin, red-haired man who was about forty but looked sixty five. He smiled and sipped the terrible English tea he was served.

'*And you can use what I have?*'

The man shook his head tiredly. '*Mr. Borev, we appreciate your efforts, but frankly, our government in exile is not ready to move on You Know Who's government, and even if we were, we wouldn't consider a civilian target.*'

Stefan set down his cup and leant forward. '*You understand I came here at great personal risk?*'

'*We appreciate it, honestly. But again, civilian targets are not an option. Castle Krum is full of women and children, is it not?*'

'*You needn't kill them. It would be easy to simply use them for leverage.*'

Arthur Weasley struggled to control the moue of distaste which twitched his mouth. It was obvious what he was after, and if Arthur had his way about it, he'd have thrown him straight out.

But he could be a valuable resource, and that had to trump his own disgust at what the man was suggesting they do.

'*The girl will come at Christmas, and that means the others, too. Malfoy's wife and son, possibly the Lestranges, Barty Crouch.*'

'*None of whom, except the Lestranges, are combatants.*'

Stefan wanted to throttle this stupid Englishman. Did he not care he would live the rest of his life in Romania?

'*How did she seem to you? The girl?*'

Stefan blinked. '*Looks just like the mother. My nephew's very fond of her.*'

Arthur nodded. They'd seen the papers and heard the gossip, after all. He'd hoped...what? That Ron's friend was the same little girl they'd heard so much about? Not bloody likely. She was as corrupt as the rest of them by now, he suspected.

'*Thank you for your time, Mr. Borev. We'll contact you if we should change our minds.*'

Stefan rose, bowed, and left without looking back. He was low on cash. He'd keep an ear out. Maybe he'd find a buyer for his information yet. Or something else could come up, he supposed, and walked with as spring in his step, whistling.