There was once a time in the distant past when her husband and Rodolphus were friends. Or, at the very least, they were friendly. A few years older than Antonin, Rodolphus didn't interact with his future fellow Death Eater at school much. It wasn't until they were sworn followers of the Dark Lord's that they became better acquainted. If circumstances had been different, the two men might have teamed up together to take over the regime in the aftermath of Lord Voldemort's death, but something prevented it. She didn't know the details. Only that any hope they'd ever had of being more than just polite acquaintances was crushed during the years they were both locked up in Azkaban. Neither man had ever been willing to share the details when she asked. Each of them told her that it was unimportant, that she needn't worry herself about ancient history. Was it over a woman? Disagreements like those often were. When she started spending more time with Rodolphus in her early days as a Death Eater, Antonin had never discouraged it. He might have been wary, but he never said so. In time, she no longer cared what caused the rift between the men. There were other more important things to consider and worry about.