Father to son.
Those words had never boded well for Rabastan in the past. His father was apt to ignore him and Rodolphus and when he did pay attention to them, it was usually only to tell them how to behave.
And, given the circumstances, Rabastan could only assume that this conversation was going to be exactly the same.
But in the past, the things that he'd been told not to do were simple matters of basic propriety that any child might violate – things like talking back to his mother, not eating what was put before him at dinner, not smiling politely to Druella Black and not dancing with Andromeda…
You didn't dance with Andromeda at parties when you were a child because you were too busy clinging to your brother.
Did his father know what he had been thinking for the last few days? Did he have an inkling that Rabastan was harbouring thoughts about Rodolphus that would most certainly be considered violations of propriety if anyone knew about them?
"Sit down," Joseph said, ushering Rabastan into his study and pointed at a tall, straight-backed chair. It was the same chair that had always sat across from Joseph's desk, the same chair that Rabastan had had to sit in every time his father lectured him…
"What is it, Father?" he asked quietly, settling onto the edge of the chair and clenching his hands into fists. "What did you want to discuss?"
Joseph sat down and folded his hands on his desk, examining his younger son. Rabastan tried to look anywhere but at his father – focussing instead on the shelves upon shelves of heavy, leather bound books, upon the quietly crackling fire in the grate, upon the papers stacked tidily upon the desk. He tried to read his father's cramped, stiff handwriting upside-down just to give himself something to think about besides the way he knew he was being examined.
"You do not want to be married to Andromeda."
The way he said it was simple, sober, a statement of fact with no emotion or question to it. Rabastan didn't respond and Joseph seemed to take his silence for assent.
"Why not?"
"I am too young to be married," Rabastan said quietly, still staring at the papers on the desk.
"You're sixteen years old. That is plenty old to be thinking of marriage. Your mother was married at sixteen."
"Girls can be married earlier than boys can," Rabastan said quickly. He looked up, biting the inside of his cheek. "Isn't that right, Father? Aren't men supposed to be older than sixteen when they're married? Aren't they supposed to have finished their schooling and perhaps travelled–"
"You will not be married for at least a year," Joseph interrupted. Rabastan could not tell whether he was irritated or simply speaking once again with that frighteningly expressionless tone that he used all too often. "You need not be married as soon as a betrothal is set. That you and Andromeda are engaged this year need not mean that you will be married for some time…"
"Then why must we be engaged now?"
Joseph fell silent, and now it was his turn to look away. He stared into the fire and Rabastan held his breath, waiting for a response. He could not help but wonder what thoughts could ruffle his father's straight, emotionless demeanour.
"What's the matter, Father?" he asked quietly. He shifted forward in the chair slightly, trying to catch Joseph's eye. "Has something happened? Something to the family? Is there a reason the betrothal must be finalized now?"
"You are too young to understand," Joseph said quietly.
"If I am old enough to be married, surely I am old enough to understand why I am to be married…"
Joseph sighed.
"It's… complicated."
"I'm not stupid, Father. I can understand if you'll only tell me."
"Rabastan… you know that you are- you are not strong…"
"Of course I know that. Everyone knows that." Rabastan swallowed. "I would not have thought that that was a problem… Andromeda doesn't seem to mind, after all…"
"Do you know why you aren't strong?"
"It runs in the family," Rabastan said automatically, then hesitated. "Isn't that it? Isn't it just that the Lestranges are- are weaker than some other families? Isn't aristocracy supposed to be a little… less strong than commoners?" he added.
Joseph let out a small, mirthless laugh. "It is often the case."
"Then why…"
"Do you know what weaknesses… run in the family?"
"Fainting," Rabastan said immediately. "Delicate stomachs. Blindness. Diseases of the heart. Diseases of the bones–"
"Impotence."
"Pardon me?"
"There have been many… many men in the family," Joseph said, lowering his voice slightly as if he thought that they might be overheard, "who have found themselves unable – for one reason or another – to conceive children. Surely you understand what a terrible thing this is for a family with a responsibility to pass on its noble blood…"
"Yes, Father."
"Andromeda is a promiscuous girl," he said simply, and Rabastan started a little, eyes widening. He had never heard his father speak that way – he had assumed that sex was a matter that concerned only Maria. "Rumours of her behaviour have been very… very popular. If she continues in this way, it may not be long before she is with child. And she will not stop – women never stop – behaving in this way until she is betrothed."
Rabastan didn't know what to say. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, his throat swollen and tight, and his mind seemed to have gone blank.
"Do you understand me?"
"Y- yes, Father…"
"If you are impotent," Joseph said, and Rabastan's face burned crimson, "and you are married early, the Blacks will have no proof, if there are no children, that it is you at fault and not her. As long as she has not been with child before you and her are married, if you cannot conceive, it could be said that she is barren. But if she gets with child before your marriage, but cannot have another once you are married, then you will be the person who is blamed for it."
"But- but I'm not…" Rabastan stammered.
"It is difficult to tell, until one has tried to impregnate a woman," Joseph told him. Rabastan's insides felt like they were shrivelling with embarrassment. "A man can seem perfectly virile and then find himself unable to get a woman with child…"
"I…"
"Which," Joseph interrupted, "is why you need to be betrothed to her quickly. Even a promiscuous girl can curb her ways when she is betrothed. Andromeda is not without some self-control… and then you will need to be married not very long after that."
"Just- just so that we can say- if she and I cannot conceive a child…" Rabastan's face burned as he said it, "so that we can say that it is her fault, not mine?"
"Exactly."
"But- but surely that is…" Wrong. Immoral.
"It is a matter of politics, Rabastan," Joseph told him. "I knew that you were too young to understand, but you must trust that your mother and I are making the best decisions for you… and for the family."
"Yes, Father," he whispered.
"You may go now. I will thank you not to sulk any more about your betrothal and marriage to Andromeda."
"Yes, Father."
He stood up and started for the door, feeling ill. The way that his father discussed matters of sex and marriage and childbearing – like they were all players in a chess game, to be moved and sacrificed because of his decisions instead of what they wanted – sickened him. He reached the door, then turned back.
"Father?"
"Yes?" He had taken up the stack of parchments that had been on his desk, the ones that Rabastan had tried to read, and began to shuffle through them, perhaps looking for something, but he set them down and looked at Rabastan when he spoke.
"Why are- why are so many men of the Lestrange family unable to- to conceive children?" he asked. It was an unbearably difficult question to ask, his voice shook badly and he did not know what sort of answer he expected, but he needed to ask it.
"It…" Joseph seemed surprised. "It is a matter of medicine, Rabastan. Their bodies are unsuited to it."
"Surely there are potions–"
"The potions have risks," Joseph said, rather sharply. "Children may not be healthy when their births are assisted by potions. I am sure that men who find themselves unable to have children consider these possibilities. Why would you think that they find themselves unable to conceive?"
Because their lusts are unsuited for it.
Because they don't want to lie with women and perhaps cannot even bring themselves to do it. Because the people who they desire cannot bear children with them…
Because they feel the same way that I do.
"I don't know, Father," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I don't know."