We Were Enemies Once

I knew he was standing in my doorway, watching me leave his life forever.

I was sixteen. He was fifteen.

He was my baby brother. Still is, really. He was my first friend. He was my first enemy.

I went to him last night. I might be callous to Mother but I could not leave my baby brother without saying goodbye. That would be heartless.

His room was shades of black, the streetlight by his window having long gone out. When we were little and I was afraid of the dark, I would join him in his bedroom. When I was seven and afraid of Father, I would join him in his bedroom, hoping to protect him from the ghouls that don't just live under the bed in our house.

My brother. My enemy. My companion.

He is Dark. I am Light. We are both Black.

He is Slytherin. I am Gryffindor. We are brothers.

He was fifteen. I was sixteen. I hoped I would never face him on the battlefield.

I would never be able to kill him. If he became the Dark Lord's right hand man and massacred all of Hogwarts with a single spell, I still could not kill him. He is my baby brother.

I cried last night in his room. I never wanted him to be the enemy. When I was twelve I thought he was the enemy because he was Slytherin. That pain did not come close to the horror of last night. Last night I saw the Mark on his arm.

This was the boy I loved from the time Mother brought him home. I taught him how to ride a broom. I showed him the secret places in the house. We chased each other up and down the street as child. I gave him stuffed bears at Yuletide and ginger crackers at Beltane. I loved him the way I wanted Mother and Father to love me.

But now he belonged to another Master, one who would not care if my brother's soul was twisted and warped beyond recognition.

He tried to give me Father's necklet and his mirror. I would not take the mirror.

When I was eleven and leaving for Hogwarts, I feared for him. I would not be here to protect him. Mother and Father, I knew, were cruel people. I did not want my baby brother to learn to kill and torture the elves and unfortunate Muggle visitors the way my cousins and I did. It might have been too late to save my soul, but I would be twice damned if I handed him over to our parents.

I put on the necklet.

How are we going to live, being on two sides of the war? He could not kill me anymore than I could him. As Blacks, as Purebloods, as wizards, blood comes before political alliance. But I know that our allies in the war would see us as traitors. If our Masters let us free, surely, then our comrades would stone us.

I embraced my brother, weeping. I was doing what I swore I would never do. I was abandoning my brother. Mother kicked me out, but he could not join me.

He was Dark. I was Light. But we were both Black. Black as night. Black as sin. Black that obscures and blinds both Dark and Light.

He watched me leave. I wanted him to say something.

I forgot that Slytherins do not use words.

And now it is all over. Enemies, lovers, Light, and Dark fade into nothing.

Black is what remains.

Welcome home, Brother.

It is good to be home.