A/N: Thanks for all of your reviews. Special shoutout to my beta Vino Amore.

Who Do You Become When You Sell Your Soul?

One step forward, three steps back. That was how Rabastan chose to describe his relationship with his young wife at that moment. Sitting in his comfortably masculine decorated study, his face turned towards the crackling and blazing fireplace, he blatantly ignored the stack of paperwork accumulating on the desk. Sipping slowly from the glass containing two fingers of whiskey he sighed deeply. For every small progress, they made on understanding one another, something happened and it was back to square one of her hating him and his trying to figure out how to change that.

Dinner was a disaster, he realized. Everything was going along smoothly and he finally had his little wife somewhat relaxed around him after their pleasant afternoon together. The conversation between them was more civil, more easygoing, but that was before Rodolphus had staggered in drunk of his arse, and began insulting Hermione. It was apparent there was no love lost between them. Rabastan tried to evaluate his brother's and his wife mutual loathing for each other. For Hermione, his brother was one of the men she had fought against in the war, whose own wife had tortured her, who made every possible attempt to kill her. To his brother, Hermione was a mudblood, and one who challenged his power and capabilities, eluded his attempts to kill her and had a hand in killing his bitch of a wife. No, Rodolphus didn't love Bella. Despised would be a more accurate word. However, Lestrange men, did honor the vows they made in marriage, and it was his duty to protect and cherish his wife, and he had made every attempt of doing so. Rabastan held a great deal of respect for Dolph on that, because if it had been him married to that insane witch, he would have killed her. Also, Rodolphus resented Hermione for killing Bella because it meant he lost his position as head of house for refusing to remarry.

Rabastan understood where they both stood. He didn't blame either for their feelings would even go so far as to say he was proud of Hermione for her caution of his brother. He respected the fact that apart from the insulting remarks and threating innuendos, his brother had not acted physically against his wife in any way. Rodolphus wasn't one to hold back from cursing someone who annoyed him, and yet, Hermione was left unscathed. The emotionally draining fact was that they behaved like children, and he had to be the one to constantly mediate between their endless bickering.

Rabastan sick and tired of the animosity between them had lost all patience at dinner, he pulled out his card of being the head of house and played it. He may have won that round but he had sacrificed the progress he had been making. His brother was even more pissed at him, and he couldn't anticipate how the other wizard would act out next. Hermione was reminded of her place in this house, which was his worst mistake of all. He made it appear that she had to obey him, and while she was the picture of a docile wife for the rest of dinner, Rabastan saw right through her thinly disguised fury. He sighed and took a long sip from his drink. One step forward, three steps back. That was all there was to it.

Hermione still couldn't believe what happened at dinner. Sure, she had written down her feelings, but she still battled internally with herself to see reason. Everything changed so suddenly from being nice, dare she say comfortable even, to being tense and quiet. Hermione despised her husband's brother, more so than she did any other deatheater, Dolohov included. She didn't know why exactly, Dolohov has cursed her and nearly killed her and made a sport out of trying to curse her again at the final battle. But Rodolphus, he was worse somehow, he had not only tried to kill her but had looked at the scars his wife had left on her and laughed, and he had taken joy in knowing how much she suffered by Bellatrix's hands. She would openly admit that Rodolphus brought out a side of her that was childish and immature, because she was blinded by her loathing of him. However, Rabastan had put her in her place so firmly that she felt like she was being scolded as though she were a child rather than his wife, and that was not okay. This was her life to, did he really expect her to sit idly by and ignore things when they upset her? Did he want her to pretend to be oblivious to the fact she was being insulted?

She was furious. Honestly, Rodolphus showed up pissed as can be. He instigated the argument because there was trouble from the moment he walked through the door. Yet, she was the one Rabastan chastised. It wasn't fair. She hated this life, but she couldn't bring herself to think of the alternatives. Those being one of two possible scenarios. One a world where the order had won, and her friends were alive, which was just too painful to envision because it was no longer a possibility. The other, was the rotting existence where she wasted away in a cold, dark, and hellish cell. That terrified Hermione, more because she knew that if she stepped one toe out of line she would end up right back there. Instead, Hermione concentrated on what her husband would be like if Voldemort had never existed.

Dear Diary,

Yes, I know I just wrote to you earlier, but I've had another thought. My afternoon spent with Rabastan, it showed me that he has a soft side, a kind nature buried beneath his surface as a ruthless killer. But I wonder how he became the way he was. Why would he freely choose to serve that lunatic he calls a lord? Why would he commit crimes and serve time in Azkaban for so long, voluntarily? If he had been raised in a loving family, I can't imagine that he would have. If I have learned nothing else from my time in the Wizarding World, it is that where most muggles come from families full of love and support, that most pureblood families do not.

This business between the two Lestrange brothers, it must go deeper than Rodolphus resenting Rabastan simply for usurping his title. Oh, I have no doubt that there is resentment there for that, and I can't fault him for it, but their relationship is so harsh that it has to be more than that. It may be something that goes back to the roots of their childhood. What was Rabastan even like in his formative years? Was he always so prone to brooding, or was he happy once upon a time? I don't think that his childhood was very good, and I pity him that. I was immersed in love and kindness and happiness with my parents, something I miss now that they are gone. I fear that Rabastan was at best neglected as a child and at worse that he was abused. Those circumstances don't really bode well for him growing up to be an upstanding citizen Hell, even in the muggle world, children from broken families have less chances for success in their life, and here he is, in league with a monster, scarred from his time in service, and fighting off insanity from the years he was locked away.

I envision a happy and innocent Rabastan, growing up with a family who loved him and I try to picture who he could be today. Not even I can look beyond his past far enough to be successful. I wish I could know what he was like even before he sold his soul. If I can't know him as someone who was loved as a boy, at the very least I could understand who he was before he was marked, because it has to be better than now. Who did he become when he sold his soul? More importantly, what will I become when I sell mine? I seem glimpses of what could have been when it's just us two, but the fragments are too few and far between. I don't want to lose myself the way he has. The very real possibility that I may terrifies me.

Yours,

Hermione

Setting down the diary Hermione continued her reflections silently. Rabastan was sarcastic, clever, intelligent, sneaky, and ambitious. These were all traits that, in a perfect world, would be admirable. He was well-spoken, well-traveled, made informed decisions, and was good at getting his way. He was charming. He was also broody, repressive, introverted and quick to temper, which turned his attributes darker than they otherwise may have been. Physically, he was fit, tall, handsome, and muscular, though his scars, showed the shadows of the past that shaped him. Hermione wished with all her heart that he wasn't so caught up in the darkness, because she felt that his personality would be so much brighter without it. Alas, he was who he was.

She was still fuming when she went to the library. Books always made her feel better, and she was determined not to hide away in her room. She brought one of the books she had in her room with her and made herself comfortable in one of the large, black leather chairs before the lively and bright fireplace.

Rabastan saw Hermione pass the study in the mirror that hung on the mantle above the fireplace. He sighed, and took another sip of the strong alcohol. He was glad his wife wasn't holing herself up in her room, but he wasn't ready to face her yet. He assumed she was going to the library. He was avoiding it because he knew it was her safe-haven, but it was a room he frequented himself. Avoiding going in there, he poured himself another tumbler of whiskey. He drank it slowly, savoring the burning sensation it left in his throat as he swallowed the smooth liquid. He heard the portrait of his father muttering something about not being suitable for the position and having disgraced the family. Rabastan ignored his father, knowing that he wouldn't dare speak louder than the whispers he did now. For all its bitching, the carbon copy of his father knew that Rabastan's threat to burn the canvas was not a bluff. He wouldn't risk enraging Rabastan to the point where he did set fire to the painting.

When Rabastan's glass was empty, he set it on the coaster gently. He recalled the reason behind why he always used a coaster for drinks now. When he was seven he once set a cup of pumpkin juice on his father's desk where he was quietly reading a book. He forgot it when he was distracted by something that called him away from the study, and the condensation from the glass left a sticky rim that stained the polished, oak desk. It was a mistake he never made again after the severe lashing his father gave him for it. He looked now at the circular stain that never was removed and thought bitterly that if his father really cared about the furnishing he would have used scourgify on the stain. Yet there is was, proof that his father never needed a reason to punish him. Rabastan scowled at the memory and stood from the chair, determined to not dreg up his past, even if that meant seeking out his wife.

When he arrived in the massive room that shelved thousands of books and smelled like parchment and ink, he found that Hermione was sleeping. Her feet were tucked up in the chair, bare feet peeking out from the bottom of her pajamas. A book lay open on her lap, and her head was titled into the side of the chair. She looked comfortable enough, but it wasn't any position to sleep in. He smiled softly at the sight she made, comfortable in the library. Quietly he crossed the room, and slowly pulled the book out of her grasp, marking the page before closing it and setting it on the table. Then he gently scooped her up into his arms.

She stirred as he did, not waking, to wrap her arms around his neck. Rabastan felt a tug on his heartstrings at the unconscious movement. In her sleep, she burrowed close to him for warmth. While awake, she fought against the proximity. He closed his eyes and hoped that one day soon, they wouldn't be at odds. Adjusting his hold on her to accommodate her new position, he walked out of the library to her room. He laid her on the bed and planted a kiss to her forehead.

Hermione stirred again, this time waking slightly, but he didn't notice. He just brushed her hair out of her face and pulled the covers over her, tucking her into bed.

"I'm sorry." He whispered the apology, "I'm sorry my love. I'll do better." He confessed to the witch he thought was sleeping, all the while not seeing that her eyes had opened. Kissing her forehead once again softly, Rabastan left the room, leaving a very confused Hermione in his wake.

Hermione stared at the closed door that Rabastan had just passed through for a long while. She was taken aback by his tenderness, he had not only been gentle and concerned about her comfort, but he had also displayed a sweetness she had not expected from him. It wasn't a side that he showed. If she was honest, she did see that he cared, that he wanted her happy and all that. Rabastan may care, but he didn't make a habit of exhibiting it.

She felt a pang of sorrow knowing now that he couldn't show his softer side when she was awake but that it was like a second nature to him when he thought she was sleeping. She smiled sadly at the realization that he probably thought doing so was showing weakness. In that moment, Hermione was determined to show him that his softer side was not bad. Her husband, may have sold his soul, but she was going to get it back come hell or high water. A confession to do better made in the darkness showed Hermione that she wasn't the only one suffering here. She may be the one who fought for the light and lost in the war, but the people around her were lost soldiers wandering and trying to find themselves. She wasn't going to let them suffer in silence.