The Brightest Star Of The Darkest Night

57. Epilogue

Current Year: 1991

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After the final scratch of his pencil, Jim paused to look at his handiwork, smiling a little to himself. From his notebook, two completely identical boys except for the 'X' mark on one's wrist waved back enthusiastically as they flew on their broomsticks in an open field. Ever since his new therapist had recommended this, Jim had found tranquillity in art as he had never known before in reality.

This was the only way he could see Harry as happy as he wished him to be, unlike the broken and abused image he usually saw.

Jim smiled at the picture before turning another page and looking around his room, his lips pressed into a thin line. Apparently, this new therapist had given him a task to draw something else after every two sketches of Harry, talking about not wasting all his time obsessing over what he had lost, (okay maybe not in so many words, but it had been the gist of what he had said.) and he had already drawn at least four sketches. Honestly, Jim thought it was nothing but Dragon shit!

So what if he was obsessed with the one who was born with him and was supposed to be his company for the rest of his life? And why was this a bad thing? Yes, Harry was dead, but Jim would hardly let him stay dead for long!

Jim scoffed, before pushing his sketchbook away. Maybe in the future, he will draw something as mundane as a quill, maybe the flower pot outside his window? But not today. 

Not when he still had vivid memories of his last nightmare, he had been forced to be a spectator, helplessly watching as Vernon threw Harry forcefully against a wall. Harry hadn't stirred or so much as taken a breath as his lifeless body crumpled to the ground, a delighted Vernon had then turned to the frozen form of Jim before the stupid walrus shifted to take James Potter's leering face. Jim had screamed and thrashed and tried to reach Harry, however, this only resulted in waking up to the worried face of Aunt Minnie.

Jim was pretty sure he had just witnessed the death of his brother. Harry hadn't stirred even a bit, or let out a painful moan as he usually did. The sight had broken Jim to the point where he'd suffered a major panic attack, this had been confirmed by Mediwitch Poppy and the Healers from St. Mungo's who arrived after Aunt Minnie had called them. Theyd had to resort to force-feeding him a double dose of Calming Draught. Jim hadn't wanted to calm down, he only wanted his brother back.

"Jim?" Aunt Minnie's voice broke him out of his musing, and he looked up to find her smiling face not far from his desk. She eyed the sketches he had drawn, her eyes softening a bit, "This is an excellent piece of art."

"Thank you," Jim blushed, before closing the book. He hadn't wanted to show the sketches to anyone except for the Therapist, he felt as though it was too private, but Aunt Minnie had snuck up on him while he had been distracted. Younger Jim probably would have screamed at her for such an invasion of his privacy, however, he refrained, now knowing he needed her to help shield him from his parents until he was seventeen and officially of age.

The books Adrian supplied had helped a lot, as did his new therapist. Though Jim didn't know how much help they would be once he started Hogwarts.

Minerva pursed her lips, remembering her talk with the new therapist who, on her request for advice, had urged her to stop telling Jim to move on and just let him talk. Telling him to move on will only push him away, upon hearing that she had regretted telling him to stop thinking about Harry and move on. After all, if they didn't help him get over it, how would the child move on from the grief caused by his twin brother's death?

"Do you... want to talk about it?"

Jim shook his head, eyes downcast. Minerva nodded. The therapist had also suggested she let him come to her on his own terms. Unfortunately, Jim's previous anger at the world had turned into melancholy, resulting in the child keeping to mostly himself, building walls around himself. And Minerva had no idea how to reach him.