Hogwarts, Assignment 1
Mythology, task 8: Write about a fragile and delicate character.
Easy piñata
Word Count: 1526
I.
Rodolphus hides behind his father's leg, cautiously peeking out. His mother holds some ugly thing—a tiny, squirming monster that's still covered in blood. "What is that?" he asks, his nose wrinkling.
"This is your brother," his father answers.
"Rabastan." His mother's voice comes out as a pained croak, and Rodolphus wonders how something so tiny could cause so much pain.
"I don't want him!" Rodolphus huffs, folding his arms over his chest and scowling.
He had been excited about getting a little brother, but this isn't fair. The thing is too little for him to play with! He might break it. Besides, it has hurt his mother, and he doesn't like that at all.
"Put it back!" Rodolphus whines. "Put it back right now!"
His father turns to him, and Rodolphus smirks. He's going to get his way; his father always makes sure of that.
Instead, the older man kneels and grips Rodolphus' shoulders. "You are going to have to be better than that, Rodolphus," he says sternly. "You are a big brother, and it's your responsibility to look after Rabastan. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Father," he sighs, defeated.
"Come here, dear," his mother calls, patting the spot next to her on the bed. "Come hold him."
"He's yucky."
His father stands, drawing his wand. He mutters a quick cleansing spell, and the blood disappears. Still cautious, Rodolphus inches over, his dark eyes wide. Hesitantly, he pulls himself onto the bed.
"Careful. Keep his head supported," his mother says, placing the tiny thing in Rodolphus' arms. "There we go."
Rodolphus looks down at the thing—Rabastan, his brother—and a small smile tugs at his thin lips. Rabastan is so fragile. Rodolphus is afraid that even the softest touch might break him.
"Don't worry," Rodolphus says, melting inside. "I won't let anything bad happen to you. Promise."
II.
"It's snowing!"
Rodolphus groans, blindly throwing his pillow in his brother's general direction. There's a soft oof sound, followed immediately by the creaking of the floorboards as Rabastan bounces excitedly on the balls of his feet.
"Please, Rod! Please! Please! Please!"
Rodolphus sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. According to his clock, it's five in the morning. He thinks he might hate his brother a little bit in that moment. "Can't you wait until after breakfast?" he demands, pulling his fingers through his tangled locks.
Rabastan huffs, dark eyes rolling. "Mother never lets us play in it!" he says. "We just walk and look. I wanna have a snowball fight!"
Rodolphus knows there's no way to tell the five-year-old no. Over the years, Rabastan has become the most important thing in his life. If he's honest, he has definitely spoiled his brother in a way their parents never would.
Their parents say Rabastan is too delicate, and maybe that's true. He's still scrawny for his age; no matter how much Rabastan eats, his bones still poke through his paper-thin skin, and he gets sick far too easily. Rabastan is sheltered, always kept nearby to make sure he's well cared for. Only Rodolphus lets him experience freedom.
"Ten minutes," Rodolphus says. "If you even cough, you're coming back in."
Rabastan claps his tiny hands together before adjusting the collar of his emerald wool coat. "C'mon! C'mon!" he urges, gesturing frantically for Rodolphus to hurry.
Rodolphus dresses as quickly as he can and follows Rabastan outside. The way his brother's eyes light up is worth the risk. Rabastan grins as he walks along, snow crunching beneath his little feet.
"Play with me, Rod!" Rabastan insists.
"We can't get you too worked up!"
He still remembers the last time he and Rabastan had played too much. His brother's lungs had failed him—no one knows why it happens. The Healers call it a Muggle disease, but Rodolphus doesn't know what that means exactly, only that there doesn't seem to be a magical cure—and he'd started turning blue. Their father had locked Rodolphus in his room for a week for being so careless.
Rabastan doesn't argue. Instead, he shapes a clump of snow into a messy ball and slings it at Rodolphus. "Play with me!"
Rodolphus knows he shouldn't. It's too dangerous. But, he can't deny Rabastan anything, and this is no exception. Laughing, he scoops up some snow and hurls it at his brother.
It goes on like that for far more than ten minutes. Rodolphus loses track of time so easily, and he doesn't think anything of it until their parents storm out of the house.
"What is the meaning of this?" their father demands, nostrils flaring as his dark eyes focus on Rodolphus.
Their mother hurries to Rabastan. She picks him up, carrying back him back toward the manor like he's a helpless, wounded kitten.
"You know his health is too poor," their mother says. "Come, my sweet. We'll get you warmed up."
Their father grabs Rodolphus firmly by the wrist, dragging him along. "You should know better! How many times, Rodolphus? How many times?" he asks, slamming the door behind them and forcing Rodolphus through the house. "Rabastan is too frail. You know this! You could have killed him!"
"He wanted to play!"
His argument doesn't make a difference. It never does. Their parents think they know what's best for Rabastan, and nothing Rodolphus says can change that.
III.
"I'm fine, Rod," Rabastan grumbles, shoving against Rodolphus as the older boy half drags, half carries the younger through the corridor. "It was just a cough!"
"It's never just a cough with you," Rodolphus says.
For the past four years, he's been able to attend Hogwarts without worrying. Sometimes, Rodolphus could even manage to relax and pretend his life is completely normal. Now that Rabastan is in school, however, he no longer has that luxury. Their parents aren't around, and it's up to Rodolphus alone to keep him safe.
Now, it doesn't matter that the cold is going around. To others, it may not be a big deal, but for someone like Rabastan, it could be a death sentence.
"Let me go!" the eleven-year-old pleads, squirming.
The effort is rewarded with a coughing fit. Rodolphus stops, propping his brother against the wall as ragged cough after ragged cough tears through Rabastan's chest. Even when it eases up, his breathing is too heavy.
"I'm not… not made of glass," Rabastan insists.
And maybe it's true, but it's hard to tell sometimes. Rabastan has spent more days in bed sick than out and about. Rodolphus has tried to make him feel like a normal kid, but it's no use. Rabastan is sickly, and there's nothing they can do to change that.
"Come on," Rodolphus says, managing to keep his tone firm. He reminds himself of his father, and he hates it. "Prevention is key."
Rabastan opens his mouth to argue, but only a cough comes out. He covers his mouth with his bony hand, eyes narrowing as his body relaxes in defeat. "Fine."
IV.
"Maybe you shouldn't do this," Rodolphus suggests.
The skull and serpent forever marking his skin is a painful reminder that he's a hypocrite. Why should he choose this life but try to keep his brother from it?
"I'm fine."
Those are two words Rabastan has used his whole life. Even when he's gasping for breath, looking like he's on the verge of collapsing, he always says he's fine. Rodolphus doesn't quite believe him because they've been through this time and time again.
"You're not well," he insists, watching helplessly as his brother pulls himself shakily to his feet. "Postpone it."
"I'm never well." His eyes meet Rodolphus', and Rodolphus notices the way Rabastan's eyes are sunken in and rimmed with shadows. He looks so much older than his seventeen years, and Rodolphus feels his heart breaking.
It's always been his job to protect Rabastan and keep him safe, but how can he? Rabastan's body is the enemy.
Rodolphus swallows dryly. He has no choice but to let go. "Are you sure you're ready?"
The younger wizard's thin, cracked lips pull back into a smile. "Of course. I want to be like you."
Rodolphus thinks Rabastan needs a better role model, but he smiles all the same and holds his brother close.
V.
Rodolphus stays in front of Rabastan during the sentencing. It's his fault Rabastan is there, his fault his brother had gotten mixed up in their vendetta against the Longbottoms. The least he can do is protect Rabastan a little longer.
"I'm fine," Rabastan whispers under his breath.
One look at him tells Rodolphus that his brother is anything but fine. Rabastan is thin to the point of skeletal, and his frail body trembles. It's only a matter of time before he collapses from exhaustion. He won't be able survive in Azkaban; the Dementors will break him.
Rodolphus forces his head high as their sentence is announced. He will gladly accept his fate and spend the last of his days, rotting in a cell, but he wishes he could do something for Rabastan.
It's always been his job to keep Rabastan safe.
As he is separated from his brother, Rodolphus realizes just how much he's failed.