Many families were split between Dark Lord sympathizers and Dumbledore's Army during the war in the wizarding world and his was no different. The day was a miserable one and everyone was always wary of everything going on around him or her. He was to remain concealed until the veil of nightfall. He occupied his time by secretly watching the happenings around him. Peeking down upon the street he could only see the flashes from hexes obscuring his view. This had been going on so long that he had lost count of the killings, days, and curses used in his assignments…
A tear slipped out of his eye mourning for the loss of his beloved brother but then again his brothers had all turned their backs on their heritage. His mind was muddled from all the events that night had contained once he came to the conclusion that his family was the most important rather than his commitment to the purification of the wizarding race. He sat down in the street next to his brother's lifeless form and thought. He thought about his parents and where they could be now. He thought about his four other brothers and if they were still in the realm of the living. He thought about why his cause to fight was good enough to cause his brother's death and if it really was. And lastly he thought about his brother lying beside him and how he would have felt knowing that his own brother had killed him. He really wished he had some more of that whiskey to help erase his thoughts of his deceased brother as he moved onto his right arm wincing as he did so, not remembering his injury. Finally he came to a conclusion that all he wanted was to see the daylight, rejoice that he was still alive, and bury his brother properly with his parents and other brothers. Right then when his guard was down a curse shot out and he blacked out.
That morning a redheaded man stumbled upon the two lifeless bodies of whom he identified as his sons.