If Wishes Were Bowtruckles
Part I: XII
He had always looked up to his brother.
Even when his brother went into Gryffindor; that was okay because his brother was his brother.
Even when he was Sorted into Slytherin, his brother still took care of him. Loved him. Protected him.
Even when he writhed on the floor, burning pain piercing his arm, he still worshipped his brother.
Even when his brother looked at him with loathing and called him "Death Eater scum," it was alright.
Because for the first time in his life, he was protecting his brother.
*
"Join me or your brother dies…"