Antonin looked into the fire and considered carefully before answering the question I'd just posed.

"Well, the first thing you must understand is that I was very young when I joined. I still believed the world was black and white. Today I don't think I'd believe that answers are so easy to find. But I also joined for things I still believe in, like upholding ancient traditions."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And are Bellatrix and her sort upholding ancient traditions? Because from my perspective it looks like they're just running wild."

Antonin sighed heavily, "This is what I mean about black and white. Now I can see, there are those who use their blood status only to disguise the darkness inside them. They have no sense of the responsibility that comes with their privilege."

I nodded. As twisted as his code was, it was clear that it was important to him.

"And those who are not of pure ancestry?" I queried.

He shrugged, "Unlike many of by fellows, I have no problem with muggle borns. What I have problem with is when they refuse to assimilate to our world, when they try to usurp our traditions with their own." I raised an eyebrow.

"Look at you when you were young," he continued. "You are a pureblood raised among muggles. You arrive at Hogwarts and immediately you go on a crusade to free the house-elves. You do not stop to ask if they want to be free, or what would happen to them if they are free. You did not understand our responsibility towards them."

"I'll concede that point. But I still don't understand you at all. You don't have an issue with muggle-borns on principle, but rather than try to educate them in the ways of the wizarding world, you lot rape and torture them."

"You exaggerate. You know perfectly well we do neither."

"I do not!" I retorted hotly. I shoved my sleeve up, holding up my arm where Bellatrix had carved Mudblood. "That's not torture, then?"

"Okay, yes. Bellatrix we have already discussed, but in general-"

I cut him off, growing angry, "And you and I both know they are raping people in the dungeons at Malfoy Manor."

"Bullshit."

I found myself practically shouting at him, "It's true! I know for a fact it is happening! Honestly, Antonin, how can you throw in your lot with these people?"

"Look, if it is happening, it's not Death Eaters. Snatchers, maybe, but no member of the Sacred 28 would stoop so low."

I groaned in frustration, "Can't you see what these people are? What kind of twisted people a sicko like Voldemort-"

"ENOUGH," He thundered, and I was so shocked that I actually froze.

"Look, Hermione," he continued in a gentler tone, "past is past. I have joined the Death Eaters, and you are Death Eater wife. To even think of leaving, to criticize the Dark Lord, it is suicide. I may not like everything he does, but I have given my word to him. That is final."

I knew I should stop, but I couldn't resist one more salvo, "And what of his word to you? Is this the world he'd promised to build when you joined up?" Without waiting for an answer, I stalked into the bathroom. I wasn't sure why I'd bothered to have this conversation at all. My mission wasn't to turn Antonin, and in fact him surviving the war would be extremely inconvenient.

As I brushed my teeth, I took a good, hard look at myself in the mirror. Was I getting attached? The truth was I'd grown to respect him, and it frustrated me to see that he had real principles. I might not agree with him, but it would have been much easier to hate him if he were just some sicko who got off on killing.

We went to bed that night in a frosty silence, but within a few minutes I found myself wrapped in his arms.

The next morning, Antonin was still in bed when I woke up. I could feel his hardness pushing into my back. I rolled over and tucked my head under his chin.

"Hi," I whispered.

"Hi," he responded. Antonin pushed my shoulder down, rolling me on to my back. He kissed me slowly, languidly. I was glad he'd apparently used a breath freshening charm. I kissed him back, arching up against his hard, warm chest. He kissed down my neck to the collar of the sweater I'd worn to bed.

He pulled it over my head and ran a hand down my chest, across the scar he'd left there. He palmed my breast and murmured, "Beautiful."

"You don't have to lie," I smiled back, "I'll still want to sleep with you."

To my surprise, Antonin pulled back, "What do you mean, lie?" he asked.

I shifted awkwardly. Why was he making this difficult?

"I know the scars aren't beautiful," I mumbled. "It's fine. I'm over it."

"You are more beautiful with the scars," he insisted seriously, "They show what you have survived. They show that you are a fighter. This one," he traced his hand across the purple scar, "has killed people weaker than you. My wife is strong."

I blushed and looked away.

"Who told you this?" He demanded.

I shrugged, "I'm sure you don't actually want to know about my romantic life before I married you."

"Well whoever it was, he did not appreciate you," said Antonin seriously. I shrugged again, not sure what to say.

Antonin's eyes took on a mischievous glint. "Now," he proclaimed grandly, "you have a husband who will worship every-" he kissed my nipple lightly, "single," he continued down my stomach, "inch", he pulled off my panties, "of your body."

I grinned, and Antonin buried his head between my legs.