Tousled

Of course, he made no effort to hurry. He strolled along at a leisurely pace, and I did not rush him. It was one thing if I broke the rules by myself, but it was another thing altogether if Levi were there with me. Not once did I see Mother scold him or threaten him with a wooden spoon; when it was he who disobeyed, she would sigh deeply and say no more. In my youthful naivety, I had thought of this as a grave injustice, a case of favoritism made somewhat right by the many times that Levi would aid me in my mischief. Only after my dear brother left would I see that this was in fact Mother’s way of restoring justice. After all, it was poor Levi who had to make the immense sacrifice of blood and tears needed to be Father’s student in the magical arts. She must have feared that a single chastising word, a single slap on the wrist, would have been too much for him to bear. In the end, she would go to her deathbed not realizing that her refusal to firmly oppose her elder son doomed him with his heaviest burden of all. For it was through her that he had a chance to feel loved and appreciated, and this chance would go forever unrealized. It would be through his own insistence that I be a good boy for Mother that he could himself have a vicarious childhood.