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"You know Mother would hate it if she knew you were doing that on your own," Rodolphus says.

Rabastan doesn't have to ask what his older brother is talking about. He's well aware that their mother would faint at the idea of Rabastan holding a tea kettle himself, let alone actually preparing the water to make tea. After all, they're Lestranges, and that means they're above doing anything for themselves.

He snorts. "Why do you think I waited until Mother and Father were busy elsewhere?" he asks, setting it over the flame on the stove. "No need to bother the house-elf while it's cleaning. Besides, it relaxes me."

"Do you… Could you make me a cup too?"

Rabastan frowns. That isn't the sort of tone Rodolphus usually uses. He usually sounds more forceful and confident, like the world is meant to bow to him (just as they've been taught, because while their mother babies Rabastan because of his illness, Rodolphus is their father's golden boy, an obviously worthy heir to the family). His voice is softer now, so unlike him that Rabastan can't help but worry.

"Of course." He summons a second mug with the wave of his wand. "Is something bothering you?"

He expects Rodolphus to laugh and wave him off. After all, they've been taught that only the weak talk about emotions; it's just one reason Rabastan has always feared that he is weak, not just physically, but mentally as well. Instead. Rodolphus heaves a heavy sigh and collapses into a nearby chair, his brows knitting together like he's trying to think of the right words to say. Whatever's bothering him, it must be serious. Rodolphus is one of the least considerate people Rabastan knows.

"I don't want to marry Bellatrix Black."

There it is. It's been over a month since their father announced the arranged union between their family and the Blacks. It had been a bit of a shock. After all, as devoted as Bellatrix seems to her family and their ideals, she hardly seems like the marrying type. Rabastan still remembers the look of disappointment in his brother's eyes; he had hoped against hope to be engaged to Narcissa Black, the only girl who had ever truly captured his attention.

"I know," Rabastan sighs, "but I also know you're going to do it anyway."

Rodolphus makes a face that confirms Rabastan's statement. Rabastan isn't surprised. He knows Rodolphus better than he knows himself some days.

"I wish I didn't have to." Rodolphus pushes a hand through his messy hair. "Do you think some of those other families have the right idea? I hear that Weasley bloke actually married for love."

Rabastan scowls. "We are nothing like the Weasleys."

"I know. Of course we aren't," Rodolphus snaps, his posture tensing like he's daring Rabastan to challenge him. "I only meant that it must be nice to be able to marry someone you actually love."

If he's honest, Rabastan agrees. Then again, he's never been in love, and he doubts he ever will. What difference would it make? His illness makes him such a poor match that his father would never even entertain the idea of arranging a marriage, and he has no idea how to talk to girls in a way that would make a romance grow organically.

"I'm sure it is."

The kettle begins to whistle, and Rabastan grabs it, pouring the boiling water over the teabags, steam billowing up from the cups. He sets the cups on the table and takes a seat across from his brother.

"We don't have the luxury of love," Rodolphus says darkly, grabbing his cup and absently lifting the bag by its string and dunking it again.

"For what it's worth, I still love you."

His brother rolls his eyes. "You're a menace."

A cup of tea isn't a miracle. It won't make everything better again, nor will it change Rodolphus' fate. Still, as Rabastan adds sugar and a splash of milk to his cup, he can't help but smile. Things aren't perfect. There's no way they will ever be perfect. Even so, in this moment, he has his brother, and he feels like that's enough. For just one moment, their problems don't matter, and there is nothing left in the world except for tea and good company.