Chapter 39: Brother's Keeper

(James Potter POV)

The silence of my flat pressed in, It was late, the streetlights casting long, lonely shadows across the living room floor. I tossed my jacket onto the couch, exhaustion pulling at me.

"Took you long enough."

The voice, a low murmur, sent a shiver down my spine. I spun around, wand already in my hand, heart hammering against my ribs.

The masked figure stood in the shadows of the hallway, their presence a familiar mix of danger and… something else… a strange sense of anticipation. I lowered my wand, my grip still tight.

"You," I said, the word a breath.

"Did you speak to your mother?"

I nodded, the weight of her confession, the confirmation of my deepest fears, settling over me like a shroud. "You were right," I said, my voice a hollow echo.

But still… "Why me?" I asked, the question a persistent thorn. "Why come to me with all of this?"

The figure stepped closer, the moonlight filtering through the window catching the glint of those unsettling blue eyes behind the mask. "Because we have a common enemy now, James."

"Van Doren," I said, the name a bitter taste on my tongue.

"Yes, Van Doren." Their voice was a low growl, a mirror to the rage that was building within me.

My father… Sirius… Even if they'd done something wrong, even if they'd gone after Arthur… They didn't deserve to die. To vanish without a trace. To be robbed of their lives, of their families.

"You still haven't answered my question," I said, my voice tight. "Why me?"

The figure hesitated, their shoulders slumping slightly as if a weight had settled upon them. "Because you're on the inside, James. You work for the Parliament. We need someone… in there. Someone we can trust."

They paused, their gaze unwavering. "But mostly… because I understand what you're going through right now. Because Vincent Van Doren… he wronged me, too."

"How?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

The figure took a step closer, their voice dropping to a whisper. "He abandoned me when I needed him most. Denied me… everything. He's not the man you think he is, James. He's a…"

They trailed off, their hand reaching up to pull the balaclava from their face.

I caught a glimpse of dark hair, the same shade as my mother's. But the eyes… those deep blue eyes… and the shape of their jaw, the set of their mouth…

They looked… like Vincent.

The thought sent a shiver down my spine. Could this person be…

"He's…" the figure began, their voice trembling slightly. And then, they lowered the mask, their face revealed in the pale moonlight.

And I stared, my breath catching in my throat, my mind reeling.

"Vincent Van Doren… is my father."

My mind spun, grasping for any semblance of logic, any explanation that would make sense of this impossible truth. "But… you can't be… Vincent only had three kids."

"He did. Arthur, Daniela, and Victor."

"And to finally answer your second question, about how I got past the wards… I'm your brother, James. My name is Brian."

Brother?

My mind completely short-circuited. "What the fuck… are you talking about?"

Then, I saw it again. The hair. The same shade as Mom's.

"HOW can you be my brother?" I practically yelled, the words a desperate plea for sanity.

"Think harder, James."

The hair… the blue eyes… like Vincent's… but also…

"Mom?" I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "No fucking way."

"Why would I lie to you now?" Brian asked, his voice softer, but with an edge of something… hurt.

"My mom loved my dad," I insisted, the words a desperate shield against this impossible truth.

Silence stretched between us, the only sound my own ragged breath.

"I was surprised, too," Brian finally said, his voice a low murmur, a flicker of pain in those blue eyes. "When I found out, years ago. How do you think I felt? My own mother and father… abandoned me. Just like that. Like I was… a mistake. Garbage to be disposed of."

He took a deep breath, his hands clenching into fists. He was controlling his anger, but I could feel the heat of it, the raw, bitter resentment.

"How else do you think I got past those wards?" he asked, his voice regaining its steadiness. "I could have broken them, of course. But that would have been messy. Unnecessary. I have her blood, James. I'm your brother."

My mind was still reeling. Mom… and Vincent… How? When? Why?

"He took everything from us, James," Brian continued, his voice softer now, drawing me in, his words like hooks sinking into my flesh. "… He took your father from you. He took everything."

He paused, his gaze intense. "Don't you want justice, James? Don't you want to make him pay?"

The rage that had been simmering within me for years, the grief, the sense of betrayal, it all surged to the surface, a roaring torrent threatening to consume me.

"Yes," I whispered, the word a broken promise, a surrender to the darkness that was closing in.

"Then help me," Brian said, his voice a whisper of temptation, of shared vengeance. "Help me bring him down."

"But… why just Vincent?" I asked, the question finally breaking free. "Why not… Mom, too?"

Brian hesitated, his gaze dropping to his hands. "I… I saw her once, years ago. When I was at Hogwarts. She was working at the Ministry. There was… guilt in her eyes. Shame." He took a deep breath, his voice softening. "I still don't… like her. I can't… fully hate her for that."

And in that moment, as I looked at him…at my brother, at the pain etched into his face, I knew, with a chilling certainty, that we were both victims of the same man.

Brian looked at me and said, "I know this is a lot to process right now. I'll leave you to it. We can meet again tomorrow. Here's my number."

He was right. This was a lot to process. I needed a fucking DRINK.

(Brian's POV)

The world twisted around me, the familiar lurch of Apparition pulling me away from James' flat and into the heart of Fenrir HQ. A hidden chamber beneath a derelict warehouse on the outskirts of London. It was a far cry from Vincent's opulent office, his gleaming towers, his carefully cultivated image of power. Down here, the air hung thick with the scent of magic, a raw, untamed energy that resonated with my own.

I leaned against the rough brick wall, a laugh bubbling up from my chest, harsh and ragged. The fool. James had bought it. Hook, line, and sinker. That righteous anger, that simmering resentment… It had been so easy to manipulate. A few well-placed words, a carefully crafted narrative… and he was mine.

"Brother," I scoffed, the word a bitter taste on my tongue. He was nothing to me. A pawn. A tool.

My mother… her, I hated. Hated her as much as I hated Vincent. Maybe even more. She'd abandoned me, cast me aside like a broken toy. But I wasn't stupid enough to tell her precious son that. Not yet.

"She'll get hers," I murmured, my voice a venomous whisper. "Just like Vincent."

People were so damn easy to manipulate. A little bit of fear, a touch of hope, a shared enemy… and they'd follow you anywhere. James, blinded by grief and a thirst for vengeance, was no different.

I laughed again, a harsh, echoing sound that bounced off the bare concrete walls. I imagined his face if he knew the truth. That I was the one who'd set the events in motion that led to his father's death. It was so simple.

I'd killed the old fool myself. He knew who my father really was, and I played on that. He trusted me, the old fart. I had played the dutiful student and Ravenclaw. All I did was send him a message to meet me in the Forbidden Forest. Claimed I had important info about Vincent.

And in his hubris, he came alone.

"Avada Kedavra," I'd whispered, the spell a cold caress against the back of his head.

And then, I'd vanished, leaving behind a legacy of chaos. The message I sent self-destructed, a charm I'd invented, inspired by those Tom Cruise movies.

Potter, fueled by grief and Black's venomous whispers, had gone after Vincent. Or rather, in their case, the next best thing. Just as I'd planned. They'd underestimated him, of course.

Vincent had crushed them.

I'd hoped to see it, to witness their demise firsthand. To savor their fear. But Vincent had been… efficient. Clean. No witnesses. No trace.

There was a part of me, a twisted, grudging part, that almost respected that ruthlessness. Vincent and I… we were more alike than I cared to admit.

Everything was falling into place. An informant inside the task force. Access to their intel, their strategies. Fenrir could now plan bolder, more devastating attacks. Hit them where it hurt. Expose the cracks in Vincent's perfect world.

The illusion would shatter. And when it did, I'd be there, waiting in the shadows.

I walked deeper into the chamber, the air thick with the scent of magic, of brewing power. The other members of Fenrir were gathered around a long, rough-hewn table, their faces a mix of eagerness and anticipation.

They were my army. My disciples. Bound to me by oaths of loyalty, by a shared thirst for vengeance, by the promise of a world free from Vincent's control.

They looked up as I approached, their eyes filled with respect – and a healthy dose of fear.

"It's time," I said, my voice a low rumble that echoed their own desires. "It's time we show Vincent Van Doren what it truly means to fear."

I will kill Vincent Van Doren. That was a promise.