Keep Calm and Conjure a Patronus Charm (boywizard) wrote in afic, @ 2011-06-15 15:11:00
Who Harry, James, and Lily Potter What Parental advice Where The cemetery in Godric’s Hollow When June 15th Rating Sadness Status Complete
To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep, No more; and by a sleep to say
Harry threw his journal across the flat’s living room and he was really glad that Hermione wasn’t there to see it. He was angry and he was frustrated and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do about it. He was trying to make thing’s manageable, he was trying to make the Resistance organised and refutable and people seemed far quicker to complain about his efforts than to help him make it work. It was getting more and more difficult for Harry not to just point out to everyone that things were getting worse not better and that so far the efforts of the Resistance had been both paltry and ineffective and maybe it wouldn’t hurt anyone to just let him call the shots and make it work instead of lecturing him over the tone he took when people were hurt, when people could have died. He didn’t have time for this.
He needed some air.
Leaving the journal where it lay on the floor, Harry grabbed the keys to his flat and headed out. Hermione hated it when he went out by himself, but he didn’t care. She won’t be home for a few hours. She wouldn’t notice he was gone at all.
Potter thought about what Albus Dumbledore might do, as he walked down the stairs and out the front door, glancing half-heartedly into the window of the shot they lived above before starting down the narrow streets of Godric’s Hollow. He thought about what Dumbledore would do in this situation and, much to his annoyance, he realised that Albus would never be in this situation. When Dumbledore made the Order of the Phoenix, he hand-picked the people that he felt he could trust. He didn’t care what the members thought--and indeed, Sirius Black and Severus Snape were a shining example of how dismissive Albus was about bickering between members, and he would have never put up with people telling him off or sneering at him to earn their trust.
And Harry was starting to wonder if that wasn’t his best approach.
Maybe he’d expected too much in joining the Resistance. Maybe he’d expected too much from the people who were involved. Maybe what he should have done was start his own group, like the Order of the Phoenix, and focus on doing the right thing. He needed people to trust him, and he needed people who he could count on, and at the moment, all the Resistance seemed to want was a scapegoat.
It wasn’t really his intention to end up in the church graveyard just a few short blocks from where he lived, but he was so lost in his own thoughts about the Resistance that he hadn’t even really been paying attention to where he was going before he found himself firmly planted in front of a very familiar gravestone.
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death
His eyes focused on the tombstone, and he took a step backwards and sat down on the bench across from their graves with a very heavy sigh. He missed them, of course, but it was in a different way than the way he missed Sirius or Remus; different from the way he missed Fred Weasley, or even Colin Creevey. He missed them because they were his parents, and that was all. He missed them.
He could imagine what his dad might say about this whole situation. He probably would have a few choice words for those people who were lecturing him, and he could imagine what Sirius might say about all this and, as much as he hated to admit it, Sirius would probably take Michael Corner’s side. He’d want to fight and be loud. Really, both his father and Sirius would have wanted to fight this. Wouldn’t be the first time they they used violence and hexes to solve their problems.
But even they had listened to Albus Dumbledore...most of the time.
Potter hit the back of his head against the top of the bench, as if that might help clear it, and when he opened his eyes he looked at the tombstone once again.
"What am I supposed to do?" He asked out loud, not even caring if he was alone in the cemetary or not. "What am I supposed to do?"
There was a moment where he sat there, holding his breath and waiting--actually waiting for an answer as if he might get one. His heart rose in his throat and then it fell, it just fell.