The pause before he answers is, mercifully, not too long, and not even terribly awkward, given that he's looking somewhere past Lucius.
"Ah," he says, quiet. For probably a second or two, Lucius may be able to entertain the delusion that that will be all, and then Rodolphus just slowly puts his head in his hands. It's something he never would have done years ago — before Azkaban, before the war was lost, before Bellatrix died, and before Bellatrix died again. He isn't crying, of course, it's just that he's old and desolate and has no real coping methods anymore when it comes to all things Bellatrix.
Another second and then he says, at about the same volume and with about the same amount of emotion, "Fuck." And then, politely, though he doesn't look up: "Thank you."
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"Ah," he says, quiet. For probably a second or two, Lucius may be able to entertain the delusion that that will be all, and then Rodolphus just slowly puts his head in his hands. It's something he never would have done years ago — before Azkaban, before the war was lost, before Bellatrix died, and before Bellatrix died again. He isn't crying, of course, it's just that he's old and desolate and has no real coping methods anymore when it comes to all things Bellatrix.
Another second and then he says, at about the same volume and with about the same amount of emotion, "Fuck." And then, politely, though he doesn't look up: "Thank you."