Rodolphus headed straight for the door, and Rabastan had to dash after him, clutching a stitch in his side all the way. He only caught up to him when Rodolphus was at the door, pulling his cloak on.

"Rod," he managed, gasping for air. "Rod, please don't go!"

Rodolphus whirled around, and Rabastan saw his eyes glittering with tears. He opened his mouth to offer some sort of comfort – though he didn't know exactly what he would say – but before he could get anything out, Rodolphus grabbed him and hugged him tightly against his chest.

"What do you want me to do to him, Rab?"

Rabastan pulled back and looked up at him, his eyebrows drawing together slightly. "Pardon?"

"The Dark Lord." Rodolphus dashed his tears from his eyes, and his lips turned down into a sharp defiant frown. "What do you want me to do to him? I'll kill him if that's what you want."

"I… I don't… what are you talking about?" Rabastan looked at him helplessly, quite lost. "Why does it matter what I want – you're the one whose wife he seduced–"

"Whose wife he seduced?" Rodolphus let out a short bark of laughter. "You think I- who cares about that? I don't give a fuck about Bellatrix! She can go to Hell for all I care – but I'll be damned if I'm going to let anyone be unfaithful to you!"

Rabastan's throat tightened and he felt his eyes fill with tears. His brother's fierce expression and stance spoke of a primitive sort of protectiveness – it was the look he would have assumed when they were children and Rabastan was teased. So touched was he that he could barely stammer out, "Y- you're angry on my behalf?"

"Of course I am!" Rodolphus reached out and pulled Rabastan into his tight embrace again. Rabastan winced as he pushed against his recently-healed ribs and the still-raw wound of his Dark Mark, but he didn't struggle. "I mean, Christ, Rab, I knew Bellatrix would…" He trailed off, and Rabastan would have pressed further for what he meant if Rodolphus had not quickly continued, "I'm not surprised that she'd have an affair – but that she'd dare- with your…"

"I don't believe she did," Rabastan said quietly and firmly, as if, by some magic, saying that would negate the heavy, sinking feeling in his stomach that indicated all to clearly that he completely believed her.

Rodolphus let out a low, shuddering sigh, and stroked his hair gently. "Yeah… you're right… I'm sure…"

"You don't believe me," Rabastan said flatly. "You think she fucked him." The word sounded overly blunt on his tongue – he tended to prefer euphemism, but the situation seemed to call for the plainest, ugliest words. Besides, however much the idea of Bellatrix fucking the Dark Lord hurt, the idea of her making love to him hurt all the more.

"Yeah, I do." Rodolphus pressed his lips into a thin line. "I mean- well, she's been going off a lot in the evenings… I had- I had guessed she was being unfaithful, and she- she always was talking about the Dark Lord, even before you and he…"

Rabastan sagged against his brother. Suddenly he felt exhausted, drained, helpless and hopeless.

"I've only seen the Dark Lord twice since I was married to Andromeda," he confided softly. "He'd have had plenty of time to- to do it, if he wanted to."

"I don't know why he'd want to." There was a very slight tremor in Rodolphus's voice, and he touched Rabastan's hair again. His hand shook. "What would he want with her when he could have you?"

"The same thing you want with her, I suppose," Rabastan said quietly, and the unspoken implication hung in the air between them – you could have me too.

Rabastan expected Rodolphus to protest. He expected him to bring out the natural excuses: you're my brother or she's my wife or I don't fancy men. But he remained silent, his hand moving shakily and idly over Rabastan's head, and with every passing second that he didn't use those excuses, the part of Rabastan that continued to exist in vain but desperate hope that someday his brother would love him tried to frame the silence as hesitation.

"I don't know if I would, if I were him," Rodolphus whispered at last. He had fixed his eyes on a point somewhere over Rabastan's shoulder, and refused to look away from it to meet his brother's eyes. "If I were the Dark Lord, and I- and I could have either you or her… I don't know if I'd want her."

"What are you trying to say?" Rabastan asked, and quite by mistake, his tone became hushed, as if Rodolphus's feelings might be frightened away by too loud a voice.

Another long silence.

"I don't know."

"Rodolphus," Rabastan pressed, though he knew that it was risky, "remember what you and I did… in your bed?"

A hint of colour appeared in Rodolphus's ashen cheeks.

"Do I remember," he scoffed quietly. "Not a day goes by when I don't… think of it."

"What do you think?" In the guise of brotherly embrace, Rabastan let his hand settle lightly against the small of Rodolphus's back. Rodolphus closed his eyes, and the colour in his cheeks deepened.

"I think about how… it… how you…" Rodolphus pressed his lips together. "Nothing."

"No," Rabastan moved his hand down very slightly, almost imperceptibly. "Go on."

Rodolphus seemed to struggle for words, and at last he said, very quietly, "I don't feel… like that… with Bellatrix."

In the moment, that was near as satisfying as a declaration of love would have been and Rabastan had to fight hard to keep from smiling smugly. When he was quite sure he could speak without sounding too pleased, he asked, "How did you feel?"

Rabastan could feel his brother's heartbeat, a little too fast. He could see Rodolphus's lips twitching up and down while he struggled frantically for words. Then, at last, he whispered, "Good."

"Don't you feel good with Bellatrix?" Pressing his luck, he knew, but he needed to hear his brother say such things if he would. He had hoped for so long – selfishly and cruelly, but hoped nonetheless – that his brother's marriage was just a miserable sham, that even with its façade of Pureblood elegance, they really were as unsuited for each other as Rabastan thought.

Rodolphus didn't answer, but he looked guilty, and that was answer enough.

"I try to," he said, after a tense pause. "But I can't- unless I- unless…"

"Unless you what?"

Rodolphus laughed mirthlessly. "You know, Rab, it would be hard enough to say if you weren't rubbing yourself all over me."

"Do you think about me?"

Rodolphus went stiff, and Rabastan held his breath, because immediately the thought came to him that he was making a terrible, terrible mistake. He had pushed too far, had relied too fully on his belief (hope) that Rodolphus felt the same way that he did. Maybe the kiss that they'd shared (and the other things; it hadn't just been a kiss, after all) had really just been a mistake for Rodolphus, and everything else really was just brotherly affection…

"I can't help it. Rab, I can't help thinking about you." Rodolphus's voice broke. "I try!"

"You…"

"I try not to think of you." Rodolphus began to babble, speaking in a hushed, urgent voice. "I try so hard, especially when I'm with Bellatrix; I've tried everything, I tried punishing myself when I thought about you or just n- not letting myself- but I can't help it, Rab, and what- what does that say about me?" He dug his nails into Rabastan's shoulders. "What does it mean that I'm thinking about my own brother this way?"

Rabastan wanted to say something. He was sure that in his mind, he already had a half-formed comment about how it was all right, how he understood (oh, how he understood), but barely had he opened his mouth to say it when Rodolphus's mouth came down hard against his.

It was a shock. That was Rabastan's first reaction. Not arousal or pleasure or relief, but shock. Shock that he was being kissed by his brother, yes, but shock moreover that he had not been the one who had to initiate it. Shock that it was Rodolphus who kissed him and not the other way around – and without him even properly asking or suggesting that he wanted it…

Oh, but he did want it.

He put his arms around his brother's neck, and Rodolphus pushed him up against the wall, so hard that his head thumped audibly against the wood, and Rodolphus – usually so conscientious about anything that might hurt Rabastan, didn't even slow down. He scrabbled at him and Rabastan arched his back and ground against his hips. He could feel his brother's hardness, pressed against his own, and felt him shudder when he moved against him. When Rodolphus broke away at last, his face was quite red and his forehead slick with perspiration.

"Don't stop!" Rabastan cried, and Rodolphus clapped his hand over his mouth.

"I'm not stopping," he said, and he sounded gentle, though there was a ragged quality in his tone that Rabastan recognized, for it was very close to his own voice when he was aroused. "I just- we shouldn't do it here."

"Why not?" Rabastan clawed fiercely at his brother's shirt. He had had enough frustration, and if Rodolphus was willing now, then he'd have him now.

"I don't want my first time with… a man…" Rodolphus's voice shook. "To be out- out in the open. I want a bed."

That surprised Rabastan. He hadn't thought of it as Rodolphus's first time with a man, nor had he ever considered that this – sex between two men – was something that he knew about that his brother didn't. Rodolphus was supposed to be the worldly one.

Rabastan didn't wholly dislike the feeling of knowing something his brother didn't.

"Well… come on, then," he said quietly, and took Rodolphus's arm. There was an especially illicit feeling in creeping into one of the bedrooms – avoiding the parlour, where Andromeda and Bellatrix still seemed to be – and when Rabastan shut the door behind his brother, leaving them in the darkness except for the late evening sun still on the horizon, he saw that Rodolphus had gone pale again.

He wracked his mind for something comforting to say, but all he could think of was, "Do you know what to do?"

Rodolphus looked a little sick, but he nodded. "I think so."

So Rabastan reached out and put his arms around his brother's waist, and while his heart beat practically in his mouth, he pulled him towards the bed. Rodolphus shivered a bit, and when he landed on the sheets and looked up at Rabastan, it was with pleading, helpless eyes.

"It's wrong," he said quietly, one last repetition of that statement, and there was nothing forceful about the way he said it. It was hollow, said more out of the last shreds of a false sense of duty than because it was believed.

"I know," Rabastan told him, and when he kissed him again, Rodolphus put his arms around him and kissed him back for all he was worth.