Try as he might, Rabastan could not get his wife out of his mind and his brother was able to tell. Rodolphus had grinned at him the first time that he chose to remove himself from his chambers, unable to face his wife after kissing her in an argument. The second time that he left their chambers after dinner, Rodolphus was much less amused.
Rodolphus found Rabastan sitting in one of the many studies that littered the Manor, drinking several fingers of Lucius's aged firewhiskey. "What has you hiding out here?" he demanded of his brother, a frown on his face.
Rabastan looked up at him, his light green eyes flickering up to him from the fire. "It's...nothing," Rabastan told him lamely, not wanting to get into the details, lest it make him sound like a fourteen year old boy. He supposed that he probably was acting like a young boy, getting hard at the most innocent looks from his wife.
"Is it the Mudblood?" Rodolphus asked. Noticing his brother flinch at the term, Rodolphus got his own glass of firewhiskey. "You can't let her control you with what she has between her legs. You are in charge."
Rabastan was a little annoyed with his brother. It wasn't as though he had chosen his wife, but she was a Lestrange now and she deserved the respect of her house. She wasn't a mudblood any more. Still, he knew he couldn't expect his brother to change his ways, he'd been living them for longer, and they were more ingrained.
Sometimes, Rabastan wondered how it was that he and Rodolphus were so different. While he was lean and strong, his brother was all bunching muscle and brute strength. They were approximately the same height, though Dolph might be a little bit taller. They both had thick auburn hair, but Rabastan prefered his short, while his brother kept it in a long queue, low on his neck. And of course, their eyes: Rabastan had inherited his mother's light green eyes, so light, like the promise of spring. Rodolphus had eyes so brown that they seemed black.
They had other differences too, personality wise. Rodolphus had always been less intelligent than Rabastan and enjoyed wielding his strength and power over others. He was no slouch in a duel, but he didn't have the academic mind that Rabastan had. Also, Rabastan prefered the subtle manipulation of a situation to suit his needs, rather than forcing things to break. Rodolphus had taken the Dark Mark with full understanding and desire; Rabastan was just doing what his father told him.
"I don't think that Hermione knows how to use what's between her legs, yet," Rabastan told his brother, feeling overwhelmed.
"You still haven't fucked her?" Rodolphus asked, genuine surprise on his face. "I thought that you would be over that by now. She's your wife." He would never understand why his brother insisted on being nice to the chit. Maybe he couldn't handle her? Rodolphus didn't like to admit it, but she had left bruises on him when he walked her down the aisle.
"Oh, and does that work with Bellatrix?" Rabastan asked him with an amused smile.
Rodolphus scowled. "You know Bella doesn't listen to anyone but the Dark Lord." Sometimes he hated how everyone knew that he had no control over his own wife, but at least they usually had the same ideas, plans. "Just tell me what it is, Rabastan. I hate to see you moping in here."
"I have...I kissed her twice," Rabastan revealed after taking a large gulp of his drink. "Or rather, I kissed her once, and she kissed me once."
"So, what's the problem in that?" Rodolphus was confused. If he had a pretty little wife, he'd be doing much more than kissing her.
"I just feel like I am spinning out of control when it happens." Rabastan rubbed his hand over his face. "I don't want to push her. I have to live with her for the rest of my life. She's it for me, and I don't want to ruin my chances of being happy with her right away."
"I don't know why you insisted on those antiquated vows, anyway," Rodolphus answered. His brother always had been a bit more sensitive than he was. Rodolphus didn't think that he should let his new wife — Hermione — boss him about, but then again, if Rodolphus had married her, he was sure that she would already be broken by then. "I think you just need to fuck her once, get it out of the way, and then you will see you have control again. You will see, once you've seen that the mysteries of her flesh are not that mysterious, things won't be so confusing."
"Maybe," Rabastan conceded to his brother, but he had his own doubts. He didn't think that he'd ever get tired of Hermione, if their two kisses were anything to judge it by. Even his mind's eye's image of her pink lips had him hardening, thinking of the possibilities of what else she could do with those lips, or those lips parted in silent passion.
"In any case, don't forget that you still need an heir," Rodolphus said, standing to let Rabastan get back to his moping. "Every time that we go out on a mission, the legacy of our house is in jeopardy. Until you get the girl with child, that is."
Rabastan stared at the closed door with disdain. The legacy of their family never should have fallen on his shoulders to begin with. It was Rodolphus's job, as elder son, to produce an heir — a Head of House — to follow when Rodolphus died. It was Rodolphus who had insisted on Bellatrix Black; at age ten, when Bella and Dolph got married, Rabastan had been able to recognize her exotic beauty, but he could also tell she was a bit touched.
But now, the fate of his family rested on his shoulders.
Rabastan had understood what Hermione was trying to tell him about the Dark Lord's horcruxes, but he never expected to recognize some of the instability that she suggested he had. He didn't process the thought that she was right until the Dark Lord killed Travers during one of their meetings.
The Dark Lord had always been a cruel man, delighting in torturing muggles and followers alike, but he had also always rewarded good behavior, and they were always only punished for good reason. Rabastan could still remember the feel of his first crucio, when he'd been part of an unsuccessful raid.
But Travers...Travers hadn't done anything to inspire the Dark Lord's wrath, except for that he'd laughed too loud at their meeting. Travers had been an extremely loyal follower, completing missions and getting results. Aside from the time that he'd engaged in a duel with Igor Karkaroff during a party, Rabastan couldn't think of a single time that Travers had been punished. So, for the Dark Lord to just...snap...like that was an unwelcome surprise.
He found his mind whirring over the points that Hermione had given him, about the Dark Lord being so fragile, because he'd split his soul so many times. Seven times, to be precise, Rabastan thought with a disgusted shudder. It was then that he recognized that the Dark Lord that he now knew was nothing like the man who led them before he was put in Azkaban.
Then he remembered Hermione telling him to run the Arithmancy, if he fancied himself to be an intellectual. Quickly making the decision to take her up on that offer, he apparated to his family home in Jersey. He didn't trust being able to complete the complex calculations in Malfoy Manor, where he'd likely be interrupted, and he didn't want to have to answer any questions that other Death Eaters were certain to ask.
Once he was back in his own personal study, he found a fresh piece of parchment and began to calculate the increased variables that came with your soul being split into so many parts. It took him several hours to complete, to make it as accurate as possible, but to his dismay, he found that there wasn't a single positive outcome. Further, when the soul pieces were destroyed, as Hermione had mentioned two were already killed, the subject only became more variable and destructive.
He didn't know why he would have doubted his wife, as she was said to be the brightest witch of her age, by both friends and foes. Even young Malfoy had to admit that she'd bested him in every subject at Hogwarts. He'd been so sure that she would have been lying to him, a smoke screen to shake his loyalty and perhaps get him killed.
But now he realized that she was just trying to get him to see the truth. It was comforting to know that she didn't want him killed, but it raised further issues with the current path that they were on.
He remembered then, that she also mentioned that removing Mudbloods — no, Muggleborns — from society would be detrimental to the wizarding population, due to something called genetics, that was known to Muggles. While he didn't understand what genetics were, and though he had no method of learning them, he knew his calculations wouldn't be completely accurate, but he decided to run the arithmancy anyway.
Holding the rate of one or two children per pureblooded couple, Rabastan quickly understood that the pureblood population would quickly dwindle down to nothing. When he added in the variable for increased infertility that affected many of those in his generation, the results were even more disastrous. It wasn't even sustainable to the next generation, and in the next two, purebloods would cease to exist.
He thought about Hermione, waiting for him in their shared quarters, and how she'd asked him about why he'd married her, about why people on his family tapestry didn't have last names. He walked downstairs to view the old family tapestry, and looked over his branch.
It was true that the Lestranges seemed aware of this issue of bad blood for generations. He could count at least ten non-pureblood ancestors in the centuries that preceded him. Even his great-grandmother, Arista, had been a half-blood. So why did they suddenly think it was a good idea to get rid of the Muggleborns? It was true that many of them were not equipped to fit into the society and they barely contributed to their world, but then there were others, like his Hermione — the brightest witch of her age. The Muggleborns, at least, had their place in society.
But then, what was he to do with this new data, these new calculations? He felt in his heart that he couldn't allow the Dark Lord to succeed with his goals. He needed to talk to Hermione.
Hermione was surprised when Rabastan finally came back to their rooms, seeing as he'd been gone for three days at this point. Plus, he returned so late after dinner that she didn't think he was returning that night either.
So, she'd settled into her bed to read a bit before falling asleep. She hated to admit, but she'd grown to really enjoy the luxuries that living in Malfoy Manor had given her. For one, the bed was glorious, and felt like sleeping on a cloud — big enough to sprawl out, and with warm, fluffy covers to protect from the drafty nights.
Even the silken nightie that she'd slipped into tonight was luxe. It felt cool and soft against her skin, and though she did find it indecently short, she also secretly loved the way it made her feel sexy and a bit naughty. She would never admit it to anyone, but she figured once she got out of this mess that she was currently deep in, she would buy one or two of them. Or maybe one in every color.
When Rabastan walked into the room, she didn't even bother to try hiding the book on the Founder's artifacts. He quickly shut the door, placing a variety of privacy and locking charms on the door, before crossing the room in five quick strides, and sitting on the bed next to her, his legs firmly on the floor. Rabastan took the book out of her hand, and set it text side down, so that she wouldn't lose her page.
Confused, Hermione couldn't hold back her questions; his demeanor made her nervous. "What's going on?" she asked.
Rabastan opened and closed his mouth several times, as though he was trying to figure out what to tell her. Finally, he steeled himself, looking deeply into her brown eyes. "I did the arithmancy," he revealed.
That statement stilled Hermione.
She didn't know her husband very well, but she knew that he was intelligent, for all of his bragging about it. But, she also knew that something must have occurred, because he didn't have the curious nature that she did. He was perfectly happy just putting something out of his mind. Something must have happened.
"And what did you find?" she asked, hoping to tread carefully.
"You were right," Rabastan said, letting his eyes drop to the hands in his lap. He had no trouble admitting that he was wrong, but he did feel bad for not believing his wife, who had proved how loyal she was. "About...both things. I wasn't able to properly calculate the arithmancy for the genetics...because I don't understand what that is, but I got disastrous outcomes every time I ran it."
"When did you do this?" Hermione questioned, pleased that he was beginning to come around to her way of thinking. Or, she suspected, a still bigoted, but less so, point of view.
"Just today. We had a...meeting this morning and I went directly after that," Rabastan told her, again finding himself trying to read the emotion in her face.
Hermione was incredibly surprised. The level of calculation that he would have had to perform was extremely difficult and tricky. The fact that he was able to complete it in less than twenty-four hours was astonishing. She supposed maybe he was actually quite gifted with arithmancy. Maybe when all of this blew over, he could get a mastery after all.
"And, what do you propose that we do about this?" she questioned gently.
"Well, I would like to know a little bit more about genetics." Rabastan said. "I need to verify everything, before I...before I accept that muggleborns have a place in our society. It goes against everything I've ever known, but the arithmancy doesn't lie."
Hermione summoned a scrap of paper, wandlessly, smirking at her husband's surprised face at her accomplishment, and her self-inking quill and began explaining the basics of Mendelian inheritance, using their eye colors as example, showing what the probabilities were for their children.
"Though, it's a bit more complicated than that, especially with green eyes. Green eyes are caused by a completely separate pigment," Hermione said, a bit breathless when looking into his brilliant eyes. She blushed prettily.
"I understand that," Rabastan said, thinking that it did rather make sense. He remembered the time that their kneezle had been impregnated by a stray, and the wide variety of colors the kittens had been. "I will have to incorporate this into my calculations tomorrow."
Hermione placed her hand on his arm, to move his attention from the paper to her face. "What about the...other calculations that you did? The ones about Voldemort?" It was one thing for him to change his mind about muggleborns and it was something else completely for him to betray his master.
"He needs to be eliminated," Rabastan said, with a wince. "He will become more and more unstable as bits of his soul die off."
"So you'll help?" Hermione asked, nervously biting her lip. She never could have imagined things going this well, but she was excited. Rabastan could move about freely, with little suspicion, so he would be able to get much more done than she was locked in this room. "Will you be okay? I don't want you to get hurt. I understand Voldemort is quite talented with Legilimency," she said, her face soft with worry.
Rabastan gave her a soft smile, relishing the feeling of her small hand on his arm and the concern that she already felt for him touching his heart. "You don't need to worry on that front. I taught myself Occlumency in Azkaban. It was one of the only things that could help shield you from the dementors," he explained.
Hermione felt her eyebrows knit together. It was quite impressive to teach yourself Occlumency, but she also understood that some people have a natural talent for it. Further, if you have nothing else to do, it was probably a means for survival. "Well, we already know where Slytherin's locket is," Hermione said, with a frown, hoping that Harry and Ron were taking care of it. "And I have identified the lost Diadem of Ravenclaw as a possibility, but we still need to identify the other horcruxes."
She moved over on the bed and Rabastan settled in next to her, propped up against the pillows. Hermione picked up her book again, and opened it to where she was reading about Helga Hufflepuff. "I was thinking that he might have selected something of Hufflepuff's for another vessel," she theorized, showing him the page.
Rabastan looked over the page and found several interesting pieces of jewelry on the page — a barrette, a necklace, a pair of yellow sapphire earrings. "That seems reasonable," he agreed. He loved the feel of her body pressed against his, and he moved so that one of his arms was wrapped around her shoulders. If she minded, she didn't say anything.
Hermione grabbed the page and turned it, sighing. "It's just so hard to figure out," she said, turning the page again, as nothing was standing out as a possibility.
Rabastan pointed at a golden cup that was on the page in front of them. "I have seen that before," he said, his face in a frown. "I actually think that it is in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts."
Hermione turned in his arms, eyes bright with excitement. "Can you get in there?" she asked, breathless.
Rabastan smirked down at her. "Of course I can, I am a Lestrange, remember?" His mind was already whirring with a plan. "Let me lay some groundwork. I can get us into the vault to look around."