All day I've been wondering - what is inside of me? Who can I blame for it? I say it runs in the family.

-Runs in the Family-

)O(

If there was something wrong with Rodolphus and Rabastan for their relations, it was only the same disease of the mind that had afflicted their family as far back as anyone could remember. The Lestrange family tree was so interlaced with cousins marrying cousins that it could hardly be called a tree anymore. True, it had been hundreds of years since brothers and sisters could marry without being stricken from the tapestry that bore their names, but those tendencies ran in the blood regardless, passed down through generations that may have denied them in favour of decorum, but felt them nonetheless. If Rodolphus was seized from within by some mad and uncontrollable desire for his brother, it was a sin that was bred into him as surely as his grey eyes or his pale skin, as surely as dogs were bred for hunting.

He whispered that to Rabastan on the first night, when Rab still balked, still wanted to be someone the Lestranges could be proud of, in spite of his weakness. Earning pride from the Lestranges was difficult at the best of times - worse still for a second son, worse still for a boy half-crippled with disease. He was an unpleasant reminder to the older generations that disease was as much a part of their legacy as purity of blood. Diseases of the body were bad enough; Rabastan had been reluctant to saddle himself also with something that could be considered a disease of the mind.

Rodolphus had been forced to wheedle, to rationalize, to convince, and he had come far too close to begging for his own liking, but Rabastan had given in at last. A touch of guilt gnawed at Rodolphus to think that his brother might actually believe that incest made him more of a Lestrange, and that it was then, somehow, good, but he tried to suppress that guilt for his own sake. After all, with Rabastan in his bed, he had what he wanted, and what he had tried so hard to get.

His father, he suspected, would be less willing to listen to his philosophizing on the subject.

He considered repeating the speech when he was dragged into his irate father's study by his ear one evening, after being caught entangled in Rabastan's arms in the library. They had been chaste, mercifully clothed, and doing nothing more than embracing, and so their mother insisted that they had done nothing wrong and so should not be punished, but while she might live in blissful denial, Rodolphus had looked into his father's eye and seen certainty there. He knew what his sons were doing, evidence or no.

"You foolish boy," was the first thing he said when the study door latched behind them and he turned upon Rodolphus, red-faced and seething. "Stupid boy, what do you think would have happened if you had been caught by someone else?"

Rodolphus said nothing, only stared down and to the side, distracting himself from his shame by watching the fire behind the grate.

"Did you ever give a thought to the shame you would bring upon the Lestranges?"

More thoughts than you know, less shame than you know.

He struck Rodolphus hard across the face, and he reeled. He tasted blood where his teeth came down on his tongue, and tears sprang to his eyes - an automatic reaction. He hid them with a raised hand, under the guise of massaging the place where his father had hit him.

"Never forget!" He gripped him by his chin and jerked his head up forcing him to look him in the eye. "You are nothing without the reputation of the Lestranges behind you." His fingers dug in, and his eyes burned with anger that bordered on feverish, but his voice dropped to a hiss. "If you bring dishonour upon our family name, then it is you and Rabastan who will suffer. Remember that."

)O(

We tend to bruise easily, bad in the blood.