rodlcstrange:
Rodolphus had always been a multi-faceted person, one with two distinctly different personas. There was the public image he displayed, one that brimmed with his trademark confidence, charisma and unyielding self-assurance. The other was a distinctive contrast to the likeness he diligently maintained, a private one, shown only in the presence of those he trusted implicitly. In a moment of weakness, the latter had once again been shown to the person who, for so long, had been his closest confidante and one of the very few to see this carefully hidden and deeply vulnerable side of him. In the years that had since passed between the two brothers, the lines of the true nature of their relationship had blurred considerably. Rod wasn’t quite sure where they stood anymore, and nearly every part of him feared they had ventured well past the point of no return. Rab had been right in saying they saw each other constantly, but their time together never extended beyond surface-level interactions for the sake of keeping up appearances. If the conversation at hand was any indication, any hope of true reconciliation between them had long since passed. Apart from their kinship, there was little that distinguished them from the many nameless and faceless subordinates that Rod encountered on a daily basis. “It… Nothing. It doesn’t matter,” he said, his rather caustic response coming just as promptly as his younger sibling had initially questioned him. When it appeared their exchange was heading in one direction, the nature of their interaction shifted moments later, from one of indifferent hostility to open vulnerability. Rod remained still and listened intently at first, but the moment came where he could no longer remain silent. “And what, you think you’re singular in your suffering? That any of this has been easier on me than it has on you, or that I wouldn’t move heaven and earth if it meant I could go back and make things right between us?” The latter prospect is one that crossed his mind often, and he often found himself falling deep into thought about what could be done to right the wrongs he had made in the case of his younger brother. It all seemed so hopeless now. Words were usually never a problem for Rod, but try as he might, in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to communicate that which would have cleared so much of the misunderstandings between them. How was he to say that the departure of his brother plagued him, or that there was scarcely a moment that went by where he wasn’t consumed by the absence of the person who meant more to him than anyone or anything else? How much he wanted to continue to be the protection that Rab needed, or for that support to be mutual, in ways that the eldest Lestrange so desperately needed? Swallowing hard at the lump that had formed in his throat, Rodolphus turned away from his brother, hoping that his averted gaze might prevent the quickly forming tears from cascading down his cheeks. Instead of preventing it, his actions had the opposite effect. “I tried, Rab. Merlin, I fucking tried. For over a year. But after that, after having to look at the empty seat where you used to be, where I wished you were, week after week, month after month, I couldn’t…” Voice cracking as he neared the end of his confession, eventually letting out a deep breath as he sharply exhaled. The only further response he could manage was to slowly shake his head at Rab’s question. “I don’t know much of anything anymore.”
Though the surface level of their versions of self-expression were drastically different, the Lestrange brothers had fundamentally nearly identical methods of dealing with their problems. Rod worked, and worked, and overworked; Rab lashed out at whatever was easiest to target - ultimately, they both had some mechanism to avoid dealing with the root of problems. The problem, here: Rab didn’t know how to deal with the distance that had grown between them. The chasm dividing the two was so wide that he couldn’t begin to figure how to bridge it, and so he was left speechless at Rod’s display of emotion.
So he had come back. Rab had just been too late, too stubborn, like always, and in being so had put what had felt like the final nail in the coffin on their relationship. He didn’t know his brother well enough anymore to know the details of his personal life: he had little idea of who his friends were, of who he talked to at the end of long days or of much of anything. He did know, though, or at least he thought, that if they were after all so similar, that Rod was feeling the same loneliness he was at the loss of his brother. The sting had worn off over the years, but it was nonetheless present - he had his friends, he had Helena and Reg and Liv, but none of them filled the same place in his life.
“I don’t think I’ve had it worse than you, I just - “ He looked at him, cheeks and eyes red and fingernails squeezed desperately against his thumbs. “I thought you...” Something snapped, then; something welled up and boiled over and all he knew was to hug Rod. He hadn’t done so in so long, and the embrace was so familiar, so safe - immediately he felt as if some part of him long dead had begun to come back to life.
“I’m sorry,” he said, choking back a sob, and he was nine years old again, clinging to his brother for dear life when he was one of the few people around whom he felt safe; he was fourteen and full of rage towards everyone except Rod; he was seventeen and he wanted to hug him again more than anything else in the world. “Rod, I love you. I love you.”
