A Tale of Two Brothers

Chapter 37

1998

A few days after they'd graduated, Jason and his friends had officially joined the Order of the Phoenix. Even though they were not directly involved in the 'battles' so to say, they were quite satisfied with the job of finding Voldemort's horcruxes.

The knowledge of the existence of those items solved a lot of questions they had about Voldemort's return, though something about them always left Jason feeling uneasy. He couldn't place a finger on it, but even hearing the word made him feel... not normal.

His mom had started acting strange too in the past few years. She was always alert and restless, and looked tired even after resting for an entire day. She frequently fell ill and disappeared in her room for days sometimes. His dad and uncles seemed to know something, but no matter what Jason did, they refused to talk about it. While his dad and Remus looked worried, both the Black brothers looked angry at whatever was happening to his mom. It reminded Jason of someone he did not like to think about, but Jason knew that his mom would never do such a thing. Not to herself and neither to her family. They had suffered enough; his mom would not go down a dark path.

Sirius was the best thing that had happened to them.

The moment Jason had seen the black dog under a dusty cart in Hogsmeade, he'd forgotten every bit of sadness and worry about the students he'd helped sneak out. All that mattered in that moment was that his uncle, who had looked ready to faint at that moment, was in front of him, breathing and alive.

Though Jason felt his joy was nothing compared to his dads and uncles'. The three of them were leaping up and down, laughing and crying at the same time when Sirius was brought back into the castle.

Though that news had distracted Jason's family away, the fact that he and his friends had helped the students run away did not escape the notice of the others, and they had to hear quite an earful from the rest of the Order.

But it was all alright in their opinion.

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1996

Harry would be lying if he said he disliked the war. Maybe he would've, if he was on the Order's side, which encouraged its members not to kill. It was ridiculous. What was the point of fighting when you couldn't kill the people who wanted you dead?

He loved the rush of fighting; nothing compared to the triumph he felt when a body hit the ground because of his curse, the warm blood matting his hands, and most of all, seeing the fear in the faces of the people in front of him. In moments like those, Harry could finally let the rage within himself out. It all felt great during a battle when he was hardly able to hear anything beyond the ringing in his ears and the intoxication of the dark magic flowing through his veins.

But it all came crashing down when the silence came.

All that would stay with him was his own reflection in the mirror, looking at him with disgust and abhorrence, choking him from behind the glass and cursing him for everything he did.

It was never able to do anything more than that, and Harry hated it.

The faceless bodies would sometimes rise up in his dreams and push him closer to the mirror as he struggled to run away. But in his dreams, it wasn't the good Harry waiting for him on the other side to scream at him for his sins. It was his current self. The monster with blood-matted hands and love for torture who smiled and coaxed him to come forward. It wanted him to go over and give himself up. It wanted him to let go of that guilt he carried everywhere with himself.

But that guilt was the only thing that kept him sane and reminded him of what he was here for.

Yet sometimes, Harry felt that the monster had succeeded a long time ago.