Rodolphus Lestrange POV

Rodolphus had woken early, or at least he assumed he had. His back and the joints of his knees heavily protested as he righted himself, stretching as much as was possible in the small space. He lowered himself onto the floor, and began his routine exercises, some habits die hard. The importance of appearance and appearances, had been drilled into him since birth; his father had insisted that himself and Rabastan look immaculate at all times, he was grateful for it, of this particular teaching at least, because of his quirk he had so far managed to avoid the perilous middle spread. Plus, it helped passed the time.

Rodolphus concentrated on lifting his body from the floor again, and ignored the trembling sensation in his arms, brought on by the exertion. He hadn't been able to do this last time, food had been a lot scarcer in the Azkaban of old, and when they had been broken out, he was a lot thinner than he would have liked. During the time that he was 'free', he had rebuilt himself, and Rodolphus was determined not to waste away again.

A brash clanging sound rang through the corridor as the bars against the cell were unlocked, Rodolphus pulled himself to his feet, taking one last look at the featureless box, before he walked out after the Auror, heading to the shower blocks. This was a new addition since his last sentence. The showers were rusty, the water cold, and the pressure almost non-existent, but for a wizard raised to uphold an almost compulsive level of cleanliness, it was heavenly to stand under the trickling flow, to at least be able to wash off the newest layer of grime.

When he exited the block, he was given a simple set of 'new' robes, and was shuffled into a room with all of his possessions. Rodolphus picked up the ring bearing his family crest, and placed it onto his finger; he frowned absentmindedly at the familiar circle of gold being such an unfamiliar weight on his hand. Rodolphus clenched his fist and pointedly ignored how the ring wanted to slip down his finger, nowhere near fitting like it used to. Finally, he reached for the parchment, the only possession that had been in the cell with him that morning.

A week ago, that was when he had received the letter. The first thing that had struck him was that there was no postscript, she had been here. When it had first arrived he had spent an age just looking at the envelope, the guard had handed it to him as if he was doing him a great favour, and Rodolphus had baulked at how the man had thrown it at him, with the casual disregard of a wizard who not only hears from people every day, but also has as much reading material as he chooses. It took his mind a long time, to begin with deductions, unused to analytical thinking of any kind. As soon as it occurred to him that it was a feminine hand, his heartbeat had quickened. That could only really mean one person. Rodolphus had opened it, slowly, being careful not even to rip the envelope, inside were two parchment pages, both full front to back with neat, practical script.

Rodolphus read the entire thing six times before he had even begun to take some of it in. For the rest of that first day, he would finish reading the letter and fold it reverently, placing it back into the envelope, only to pick it up again a couple of moments later to re-read, convinced he had imagined some passage or other.

He was getting out. She was getting him out. She was getting all of them out.

Rodolphus hadn't thought this far, hadn't even considered what he would do when he was free. His only focus had been to survive, to get through this sentence and then work out what to do next.

Rodolphus folded the parchment again, placing the envelope delicately into his pocket. It had only been a week since he received it, how was that possible? The seven days had felt as long as an entire year of his first term; time seemed to drag, he was restless and impatient. Rodolphus had found himself pacing constantly, and sleep was even more elusive than usual. He found, with some disgust, that he had gotten used to the wailing cries that the dementors had rung out of the wretches within the damp walls, now they weren't there, Rodolphus found himself kept awake by the relative silence.

That the guards were reluctant for his release was not lost on Rodolphus, they sighed and stretched out the process of getting him from one room to the other as much as possible. If they were expecting some reaction from him, they were sorely, sorely mistaken. Rodolphus could care less that he wasn't well liked by the public, he didn't care for most of them either.

After being delayed for longer than he would have thought possible Rodolphus was finally led to the massive metal doors at the front of the isolated prism. However, despite his impatience to get there, he found when he reached the doorway his body wouldn't cooperate, his booted foot faulted as he moved his leg over the threshold. The future might have been brighter, but he was also walking straight into the unknown for the first time in his life. No master, no overbearing wife, it was time for him to live. Rodolphus sucked in a breath and pushed himself forward only to stop abruptly, unable to proceed again as he took in the unruly curls and hesitant smile of the girl that had come for him.

She had come for him.

He didn't know what to say as he stared across the rugged landscape at his little girl, his little girl who had never looked hollower, or more love-starved than she did at that moment. Hermione's hair flew as the wind picked up again and Rodolphus' mouth ran dry as he pictured a fuller face, a face animated by a wicked smile as the owner laughed outside a cafe. She had never looked more like Jean.

The silence lasted a beat, maybe more, then, throwing off convention, as was normal for her, Hermione rushed forward and wrapped herself around him in a tight hug that Rodolphus returned almost violently, closing his eyes to take in the smell of the sea mingling with her hair.

When Rodolphus woke the next morning he could be certain of the time and date, having moved both a clock and a calendar into his line of vision the evening before. He was in a comfortable bed, encased in his room in Lestrange Manor, but he woke with a start, slowly calming as his brain processed where he was. And when he did it was felt only a little less revulsion than when waking at the prison. He hated this house. Had always hated it really, at least he could never remember being happy there, even as a child. 'Happiness is not a child's purpose, duty is the only purpose' he recited, before sighing audibly, would it have been so much to ask to have had those memories washed from his mind by his lengthy incarceration?

Once Rodolphus had finally let Hermione go yesterday they had come back here, and he broke all civil protocol by not offering her a tour, he doubted she would appreciate much of what Bella's aesthetic had done to the place, it had never been a welcoming abode, but now it was oppressive and hostile. He supposed it was just furnishings, things that could be ripped out and replaced, but to him, the misery of his marriage had permeated the foundations. Rodolphus would find no peace here. Once Rabastan was out the first order of business was to find somewhere else to live, he needed to start living again, or if he was honest, for the first time. He would be finding out who he was, without the constant presence of another, without the revolving chain of influencers in his life, people trying to shape him into what he ought to be. He had never been good enough for any of them, his father, Bella, the Dark Lord, all of them wanted him to be something else. Rodolphus could never win, he was supposed to be strong yet yielding, independent but reliant.

As he rose from the bed he thought about Hermione, the conversation with his daughter the day before had been awkward and even painful in places, though they were both trying. He was amazed to find he didn't think she was doing so because he had made her promise. When she had moved to leave she had asked if he would like to have lunch with her today, and he had readily, if slightly disbelievingly, agreed. He would make this right to the best of his ability.

They had lunch at Antonin's townhouse, where it would appear Hermione was quite at home, Rodolphus raised his eyebrows as the third elf called her Madam and her cheeks flushed. "I keep asking them not to, but they won't listen to me," she said abashedly.

Rodolphus bit down the first five retorts, it wasn't that he had any particular reason to dislike Dolohov, it would have been hypocritical in the extreme for him to make any bones about the obvious. It was just that when he had first found out about Hermione, he had not anticipated she would already be seriously involved with someone, especially someone so close to his own age, someone who was already acting as her protector, and an effective one at that. Antonin had made sure Hermione had somewhere safe to go when the battle was over, had provided for her financially. The result was that she had no need of his help. Rodolphus had no idea how to act, how to ingratiate himself into her life. It was hard not to be jealous; she trusted the Russian, cared for him, even loved him.

Their conversation flowed slightly easier than the day before, and they talked at length about the plans for Rabastan release the following week. When the plates were cleared away, Hermione shuffled her feet a little, meeting his gaze almost shyly.

"What will you do now?" she asked quietly.

Rodolphus smiled at her, "I intend to speak to Rabastan, about him taking over the manor, I find I have no desire to stay there," he answered honestly, being so frank was a new experience for him, but one he found he might grow to enjoy.

Hermione nodded, "Where will you go?"

"I haven't decided yet, somewhere open." After years in the box like cells of Azkaban, Rodolphus found even the rooms in the large manor dark and confining, he longed for sprawling fields and light, airy spaces.

Understanding dawned on her face, "I see."

The room fell into silence, and Rodolphus hated that it was so uncomfortable, there was so much he wanted to say, apologies he wanted to offer, stories he wanted her to share. But this wasn't about what he wanted, right now it was about Hermione. She apparently needed someone to look out for her, she looked worn and small, her eyes betrayed her underlying sadness, and he realised he didn't know her well enough to comfort her. Rodolphus clenched his hands in front of himself and watched her averted eyes and tense shoulders.

"What's your favourite colour?" he blurted before he could think clearly.

"I'm sorry?" Hermione asked, tipping her head to the side in confusion.

Rodolphus wiped his hand over his face. "No, I'm sorry that was incredibly blundering of me," he winced, "I… I've missed so much Hermione, as much as it pains me to say, I don't have the first clue who you are, and I know that-"

"Blue," she exclaimed, interrupting him, "I like blue."

The clamping sensation in his chest lightened at her soft admission, and Rodolphus gripped the edge of his chair to stop himself from throwing himself at her feet for her simple display of compassion. Instead, he smiled at her, "I like green," he murmured.

"Well, that's one thing we know," Hermione said with a relieved exhale, and he felt ridiculous for being so encouraged by her expression.

From the stilted conversation in the library, a rather tentative friendship was born. Rodolphus was invited around to have tea with her, Snape and Luna two days later, and when he arrived the trio were in study mode. Hermione explained that they had forms to complete before they could be given a date for Yaxley's release, as well as a letter to draft for someone in Russia who was assisting with the ongoing discussions over Antonin's imprisonment. He watched with some awe as Hermione executed out a complicated Translation Charm, allowing her to write her letter in English before the ink would rearrange itself on the parchment, reforming the sentences in Russian.

He would have liked to help more, but frankly, they looked like they had it all sewn up, another area where she doesn't need me, he thought bitterly. Rodolphus pushed down the resentment he didn't deserve to feel, and observed the interactions between the three in front of him. They were certainly the oddest grouping he had ever seen, and yet, in a weird way, it worked.

Hermione dished out all of the tasks and bossed the other two around, spewing a series of deadlines and key meetings they had to be prepared for, chiding them along. Luna had a knack for consuming reams of complex information on mass and spitting out abridged and to the point conclusions of what could be used and what couldn't. What was even more surprising was how instantly the other two took her view, no matter how crazy it may have sounded to Rodolphus, Hermione and Snape would only look thoughtful for a moment before nodding along.

Severus snarled and complained the entire time he was there, he called Hermione 'insufferable wench' and 'Madam', and each time she would beam at him. Rodolphus detected the slightest softening of the wizard's eyes whenever he looked at her; he also observed how Snape would sneak the biscuits placed on his saucer onto either Luna or Hermione's plate, both girls could certainly do with eating more. That the dour wizard was in love with Hermione was not in question, at least as far as Rodolphus was concerned, though the love did not seem to be one of expectation. Irritating as Rodolphus had always found Snape, he could never have denied that Severus was a talented man, and no one could have been in a room with Hermione and Antonin without knowing where her happy ever after laid, and yet Severus had not deserted her. If only for that reason Rodolphus promised himself to try and befriend the dark haired wizard who had looked after her when no one else was able to.

Rab proposed to Luna almost at the gates of the prison itself. His little brother was dirty, desperate, broken and yet Luna looked at him like he hung the moon. Rabastan looked at her as if he was dependant on the girl for his next breath, gripping her so tightly, as if he were afraid she would slip through his fingers, it was a side to his brother Rodolphus had never seen.

He and Hermione stood way back as the two lovers greeted each other, and he attempted to keep a stoic face as Severus kept up an acerbic running commentary beside them. Hermione smiled brighter than she had since his release, though her eyes shone with tears as she watched her friend. She had unexpectedly asked him to stay at the townhouse for a few nights, which Rodolphus gratefully accepted. Time with her was the most precious commodity, and even more so when that time was at her particular request. He understood the subtext, giving the couple space, but even if there was an ulterior motive, it didn't take away from his happiness.

Two days later Rodolphus returned to his current home to seek out his brother for more than the small conversation they had so far snatched. He realised, as Rab enthused and gesticulated about the future, how much he had retreated from his little brother in the previous year's, switching himself off from those around him. He had so much to make up for.

"We need to speak," he broached eventually, as they sat facing each other in front of the fire in the study.

"Of course, what about?" Rabastan inquired, his face already looking less hollow, his eyes more alive.

"This place," Rodolphus said waving an arm about himself.

Rabastan looked concerned, sitting forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "If you want me to leave?"

"No of course not," Rodolphus replied with a shake of the head. "I want to go, I have found a small holding in the country, and I want to place an offer."

"But what about the Manor?" Rabastan replied astonished, Rodolphus smiled softly, Rab had always loved their home so much more than Dolph ever had.

"You can have it," he said dismissively.

"But your heir?" Rab protested.

"About that," he sighed, "I have no intention of marrying again-"

"Come on now, Dolph you don't-" Rabastan interrupted.

Rodolphus placed his hands up, "Let me finish," Rab nodded looking bewildered. "I do not intend to marry again, and I have thought about this and consulted with our solicitors, if you are in agreement, I would like to transfer the title of heir to you, that way your children would inherit."

Rabastan dropped back into his chair, "But what about-"

"I assure you, I will not be having children, well, any more children," Dolph clarified, and Rabastan went to speak, but his brother silenced him with a look. "Hermione will not want this, apart from one exception, which I will talk to you about when I have spoken to her."

"I will need to think about this," Rabastan muttered, and Rodolphus agreed to his request for time, he knew he would accept, eventually. Rabastan had loved this house as a child, and with Luna as his wife, he had a chance of making it a warm, loving home.

"Now we mention your children," Rodolphus said with a smile, "what about your wedding?"

A small smile inched across his brother's face; he looked so much younger like that. "Luna wants to wait until we are all back together again."

Rodolphus reached across the space between them to pat his brother roughly on the shoulder. He had heard Luna saying something along those lines earlier, it made it sound as if they had all been on a happy holiday and not cooped up fighting in a war.

"And what about you?" he asked cautiously, Rab had never had lots of patience when it came to getting what he wanted.

"I would marry her today, but I understand her sentiments, she wants Hermione to be happy." Rodolphus followed then; Luna was holding off believing Hermione be would hurt if she were to attend their wedding without Antonin. He supposed it was true, in a way, though he was sure Hermione would protest if she were ever told about the idea.

"They love each other like family, strange to think they will be soon," Rodolphus remarked idly, looking out at the damp grass, preparing himself for what was to come.

Several months had passed, and his release was almost a distant memory by the time that Rodolphus was introduced to Ginny Weasley. Hermione had explained what she had done, the lengths she had gone to in a series of conversations, he wasn't sure he'd ever felt such overwhelming pride.

He thanked the girl profusely, if a little formerly, for helping Hermione with her cause. The redhead was clearly uncomfortable, and he would have walked away quickly had he not had occasion to request more of her assistance. "Miss Weasley, it would be a great personal favour to me if you could deliver this letter," he said crisply.

Ginny put her hand forward and falteringly accepted the parchment; her face shot up when she read the direction. "Really?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes, indeed," he confirmed, trying to hold back any hesitation from his tone.

Her eyes flashed for just a moment. "Oh well, it's your funeral," she said, not unkindly, and marched away.

Rodolphus huffed out a small laugh, as he mentally crossed another thing off his list. He had underestimated them he realised, Hermione's little band of friends, it made him surer of his convictions, the plans he had made.

It had taken a long while to get the visit, Rodolphus had been to see Minerva McGonagall twice before she would even let him in the room, but the third time he had managed to stay long enough to explain his purpose. It would appear his little daughter had touched many people in her relatively short life. Rodolphus was finding with some amazement that though people had mostly turned their backs on her during her time of need, guilt was a powerful motivator, and he wasn't afraid of exploiting it to serve his own ends. When the new Headmistress had finally heard his request, she had granted him the half an hour he had asked for in her office.

Rodolphus moved into the space slowly, taking in the changes that had been made since his own time at Hogwarts, many years ago. It appeared that Minerva had removed the majority of the nick knacks that had taken up every surface in the time of the last headmaster and in fact the one before that. As he approached the centre of the room, his eyes scanned until he found the portrait he was looking for.

"Professor Dumbledore I have some questions," he began formally, taking a wide stance and crossing his arms in front of himself.

"Mr Lestrange," the old wizard answered cordially, and sat up straighter in his ornate frame. "What could I possibly help you with?" his eyes twinkled, and Rodolphus bit down the desire to set fire to his blasted canvas.

"You will forgive me if I just get right to the point, I never did enjoy unnecessarily beating around the bush," he said lowly, and Dumbledore made a continuing gesture with his hands. "How long did you know that Hermione Granger was my daughter?"

The portrait spluttered, "How could… I never had any clue… not any indication…."

Nice try old man.

"Jean Greenwood was an intelligent woman; I doubt that changed after she married, she was also obsessive about information, anytime she learnt anything new she needed to know everything about it, her daughter is the same. If a witch came to her house, sat in her living room, telling her that her daughter had magic she would have reached out to someone. She must have held a question in her heart over Hermione's paternity, but she wouldn't have known anyone in the magical world, apart from Minerva, or you, as I assume your name is still on the Hogwarts letters, so who did she contact?"

Dumbledore held his gaze for a long moment, "Jean Granger sent along a note when Hermione arrived for her first term, the girl passed the letter to a teacher, who gave it to me."

Rodolphus' fists clenched and unclenched against his torso, the action covered by his folded arms. "What. Did. It. Say?" he bit out.

The portrait sighed, "She asked about how magic was inherited and… she also asked if I knew of anyone in my world by the name of Rodolphus Lestrange."

"What did you tell her?" he asked quietly, the thought of Jean knowing his crimes was almost too much to bare.

"I told her nothing, I told her I had never heard of you, there was no further communication."

"And even after all of this, you still did not seek to protect them? You left Hermione to do it by herself; you could not have known that I was in ignorance, she would have been an even bigger target than before."

"I understand she had help," he spat, the twinkle having faded from his crystal blue eyes now.

"Oh, that annoyed you did it? Severus not acting on your orders."

"You will not want to hear this but I was wholly focused on the war effort, the resources could not be spared," Dumbledore rattled off, but Rodolphus had never fallen for his claptrap.

"Save your lies for somehow who will believe them. What happened to her letter?"

"I burnt it," Dumbledore said defiantly.

Rodolphus bit his tongue to stop the rage that was threatening to take over his body, "Be grateful you are dead old man," he sneered before leaving the office. He marched passed Minerva, sparing her a short nod, he had already delivered her offer for tea to Hermione, he had no other business there.

Rodolphus breathed a huge sigh of relief once he made it into the grounds, instantly calming once he was away from the confines of the castle. Severus had told him all about Hermione's parents, how they had tried to retrieve them, their memories, without success.

Sometimes Rodolphus contemplated going over there himself, just to see her once more, it was an impulse that had struck him many times in his life, all the more constant now that he knew her locations. He resisted, though, as much as he would have loved to just gaze upon her, see how time had changed her, what he wanted were answers, and she was no longer able to give them. Had she always known? From the moment she felt the swell of her stomach? Had she thought of him as he had thought of her over the years? A combination of salvation and damnation all rolled into one person. Would she have tried to find him? Would she have told her husband? In the end, none of it mattered, she was gone, and he had Hermione now, he knew about her now, and somehow he had found a way into her life.

Walking down the long drive, Rodolphus took one last look at the imposing castle before he apparated away.

The whole rabble came to see Yaxley released. They had received the date a month before, Hermione almost wrenching it from the Minister's hands, and unbelievably, despite her worst fears, there hadn't been a retraction. They were in the closing stages of getting the same for Antonin, though there were still a few hoops to jump through, the end was now definitely in sight. Hermione had managed to fill out a little, the combination of managing more sleep and a little more food had her looking a lot better than Rodolphus had seen her in recent years. She was standing a little away from the group, closer to the entrance, it could be overwhelming when you first came out, and she seemed to understand that as she watched the doors expectantly. Rodolphus and the others instinctively took another step back as Hermione jogged forward when the doorway was filled by the Northern wizards frame.

"Little duck?" he rasped.

"Hi Reuben," Hermione answered gently, wrapping him in a hug that she had to stand on her tiptoes to deploy, just like she had done to Rodolphus all those months before. He saw Yaxley's face shutter, he knew that look, knew how it felt to have human contact after months, years, of nothing.

"That's the first time you've called me by my given name," he murmured.

"It seemed appropriate," she whispered back.

Yaxley's face looked serious as he let Hermione go, "I underestimated you," he said forlornly, running a dirty hand over her cheek.

"No talk of that, let's go home, get you some clean clothes and food," Hermione replied, slipping into 'Mum' mode, as she often did when she became emotional.

"And you'll update me on what's happening?" Yaxley asked, slight desperation in his voice.

She knew what he was asking, "The Antonin situation is all in hand."

Yaxley clasped the side of her face and dropped his forehead to hers, "Thank you, Hermione."

Rodolphus noticed the rough swallow she made before speaking, "No need for thanks, Reuben, I made you a promise do you remember?" The wizard nodded with a small smiled on his face, "and in any case, you are my family, and I have it on good authority that in this one, we look after our own."

Rodolphus stood outside the ramshackle house in Ottery St Catchpole and roughly exhaled as he straightened his shoulders before passing through the wards. He had been assured he would be able to move through them without harm, but he still felt relieved as nothing offensive bit against his skin as he walked through the invisible barrier.

The kitchen door was open, and after a moment's contemplation, he let himself inside, finding Molly Weasley sat at the kitchen table, a tea service out in front of her, in what he assumed was her impression of a pureblood matrons intimidating pose. Rodolphus clutched the response to his letter in his hand, forcing down the urge to hold the parchment aloft in case she began hexing him for coming to her home without an invitation. The rest of house was empty; he was sure he would have been able to detect if anyone else was there. Clearly, she wanted to have this conversation in private.

They stared at each other for long minutes before she eventually sagged, "Sit down then, we best get this over with."

Despite her apparent desire for expediency, conversation remained elusive as Molly poured the tea. Rodolphus took a seat in front of her and decided it was probably best to begin. "Thank you for seeing me Mrs Weasley; it is not my intention to take up a lot of your time."

"What do you want from me?" she interrupted sharply, pausing her movements to fix him with a cold glare, 'I'm assuming this has to do with Hermione, as I have no idea what you would want with me otherwise. I would have thought myself beneath the notice of the Lestrange's, both as a Prewett and a Weasley," she said with an air of defiance that he remembered from the Molly Weasley of old.

Rodolphus halted until the drinks were finished and Molly handed him a cup. "Hermione misses you."

"As well she might," Molly snapped, "she knows what she has to do if she wants to come here again."

Rodolphus fought down the response he wanted to give, hearing her raised voice and anger directed towards his daughter. "You must know that's not possible," he replied levelly, taking a sip of his drink.

"Then we have nothing further to discuss," Molly replied hotly, averting her eyes.

"Would you have given up Arthur, if you had been asked to as a young woman?" he asked gently.

"No, but it's hardly the same is it?"

"I understand-"

"NO. YOU. DON'T," she yelled. Rodolphus started at the vehemence in her voice; it was only then he noticed the tears in her eyes. "I loved that girl, she had been friends with my Ron since their first year, she chided him, looked after him, they were destined for each other, she was going to be part of this family-" her voice trailed off. "She was already a part of this family, and then she goes and falls in love with the man… he killed both of my brothers."

Rodolphus looked away while she sobbed into his proffered handkerchief, only looking back when she had once again composed herself. Molly cleared her throat, "I am sorry for the way I spoke to her before, I had just buried my son, Fred, he was a twin too just like-" Her expression looked so pained, Rodolphus opened his mouth to speak but decided it was best to wait until she had calmed down, she coughed and cleared her throat, her voice was stronger when she spoke again.

"How is she? She… she didn't look well at the trial… she always loses a lot of weight when she… when she is upset or stressed."

"She is-" Rodolphus searched for the right expression, "she is somewhat better, overworking herself and burdened otherwise… better."

Molly nodded, "I will not be able to see her, not while she has entangled herself with that man, I cannot agree with her choices," she said as if daring Rodolphus to judge her, which was not his intention in the slightest.

"I am not expecting you to."

"Then what are you here for?"

"Hermione is a practical, logical girl, and she is struggling with a number of things in her life that have no real conclusion. She found out about me and is unable to speak to her mother about it. I ask that we find a way to smooth this over."

"I have been clear," Molly interrupted, and Rodolphus nodded.

"Not to resolve it," he continued, "but to put it to bed, I'm sure neither of you wants your last conversation to be the end."

Molly looked pensive as she straightened the crockery on the table. "Ron told me about her parents, it was irreversible I take it?"

"Yes," he replied softly, he had his own guilt to bare in that regard, the fact that Jean Granger would never know her daughter again in part because of the threat he, and his group of allies represented, would weigh heavy on him for the rest of his life.

The red haired woman swirled her finger around the top of her cup from the mismatched set. "I can't forgive her for this, but I don't want every time we meet to be an argument in the middle of Diagon Alley either… I will write her a letter," she said resolved.

Rodolphus mentally crossed an item off the ever growing list in his mind; there was so much he had to do, so much to atone for. He would start by doing whatever he could to ease Hermione's mind.

He waited while Molly wrote her letter, and he left the Burrow without looking back, knowing he would never go there again. He apparated directly to the townhouse and went straight to find Hermione, helped by a couple of elves that seemed to keep tabs on her night and day, he found her in the library and handed the parchment over. He said nothing when faced with her curious expression, as she bounded out of the leather seat, or when her wide eyes raised in question as she recognised the script.

Rodolphus held her while she cried, secured his arms around her, this time without stiffness, the soothing words that had died in his throat at the Battle poured forth, a constant stream of affection and hope, as he stroked her hair.

Hermione had been dumbstruck when he set his proposal down in front of her, Rodolphus had waited to ask her this for a while, but he wanted her to know him better, to trust his intentions before he made his feelings known. "What about Rabastan?" she asked, as she ran her fingers over the stack of organised parchments.

"He has no more desire for the seat than I do Hermione," he assured gently.

"But the Wizengamot-"

"Neither myself or Rab would carry any weight there, not now, but you could," he recited, her objections had been easy to predict, he was more than prepared for whatever she might say.

Her eyes glinted, "Why, because I'm a half-blood now?"

Rodolphus sighed, "Yes and no. I know you don't like it, but your change in blood-status will make a difference to how you are viewed, it would be beneficial in the long run to ignore the comments, and take the opportunity to make changes."

She stared at the page for a long time, "I'll think about it."

He knew she would accept eventually, she was made for that kind of environment, he had been with her a few times when she visited the Ministry or some diplomat or other, as she debated and campaigned on their behalf. Rodolphus had noticed how they looked at her; some regarded her with wry amusement, some with genuine interest but not with derision, not anymore, they might not agree with her, but somehow, she had earned their respect.

Rodolphus had wanted her to take his name as well, had even gone so far as to put it into the proposal he set in front of her, such things had to be done formally. He was actioning the conversation he had with Rabastan all that time ago; his farm was bought, it was time to start moving on. However he'd had a change of heart and taken it out, things with her were improving, their relationship was friendly if not familiar... Yet. He hoped her joining the Wizengamot would be another area he could be of use to her, something else he could bond with her over. It seemed silly to labour the point about a name when any change was likely to be temporary.

Rodolphus took it as a testament to how far they had come when Hermione asked him to go with her when she went to get Antonin. They once again stood outside the prison, just himself, Hermione and Reuben this time. Throughout this entire year, she had been a tower of strength, and he had no idea how she had done it for so long, it was now two years since the final Battle, and yet, for Hermione, there had been nothing definitive about it. She had been fighting this whole time, and now they were here, Rodolphus could see how desperate she was for it to all be over.

Hermione stood almost bouncing on the balls of her feet, and for once Reuben didn't tease her, the Northern wizard simply laid a hand on her shoulder, occasionally whispering things into her ear that would make her still for minutes at a time before the nervous fidgeting would begin again.

Merlin knew Rodolphus would have rather have been anywhere else in the world than looking at the prison, but he would go anywhere she asked. The fact that she had asked him to come when she needed support, that she was allowing him to see her in such a vulnerable state meant more to him than anything.

Finally, after waiting for over an hour in the freezing cold, the doors snapped open, though instead of rushing towards the entrance as he had anticipated, Hermione collapsed towards the jagged rocks. Reuben must have been more prepared as he caught her by the waist before her knees hit the unforgiving ground. He scooped Hermione up, silently, pulling her into him as they walked over to Dolohov. Antonin hadn't moved from his place at the threshold, his face obscured by messy hair and an even more rumpled beard, but his glassy eyes were fixed on Hermione as she sobbed into Reuben's neck.

When they got closer, the Russian took her from his friend, gently picking her up and cradling her against his chest. Despite how tired and worn he must have been he wouldn't let her go. Antonin closed his eyes as her hands ran over his face, reaching to grip the ends of his long hair, almost tearing at him to get closer, he gripped her tighter as she cried. Antonin exchanged a few words with Yaxley, who still had a hand against Hermione's spine, whether in case his friend dropped her or just to let her know he was there, Rodolphus wasn't sure.

They moved over to the apparition point, and Rodolphus shook the man's hand as he continued to whisper a mixture of Russian and English into Hermione's ear as she calmed down.

"You'll have to put her down to apparate," Reuben advised quietly, and Antonin reflexively gripped Hermione tighter as she shook her head vehemently against his chest.

He gently moved her hair away from the side of her face and moved to speak against her ear. "A moment now solnyshko, and then never again," he soothed.

Hermione insisted that Antonin and Yaxley go first, once she had finally let go, Rodolphus understood, she wouldn't have been able to trust that she had got them off the island otherwise. As soon as the pop sounded, she gripped Rodolphus' hand and nodded when he asked if she was ready. Rodolphus took one last look at the decaying grey brick before he squeezed his little girl hand, taking her far, far away.