WHO: Anthony & Yulia Goldstein. WHEN: Friday, May 5th. WHERE: St. Mungo's. SUMMARY: And Anthony's crisis of faith starts in three, two, one... WARNINGS: Mentions of torture and death. Self-indulgent writing lol.
“I wonder what time they’ll be discharging you,” Yulia Goldstein said in Russian as she looked up from her book and fidgeted in her chair. “Would be nice if they could give something more than just a day. People have to make plans.”
Rolling his head along his pillow, Anthony stared at his mother for a few moments. “Well I assume they’re probably very busy right now,” he answered in the same language. “They’ll get to me when they get to me.”
Yulia frowned. “Some of us have important things to do, Toshka.”
“Mum. I’m not a child anymore.” His eyes did a slight roll as he began to pick at his bed sheets. “You don’t have to call me that.”
“You’re my child, Toshka,” she answered as she idly flipped a page of her book. “Besides, your Baba gave you that nickname. She’d be upset to learn you’ve decided you’re too old for it.”
His head rolled back to a neutral position. “All right, all right.”
“My point still stands though,” she said as another page was turned and her attention was drawn downward. “They should really give a more definite time. Your father and I have a lot to do at the Ministry right now, so we need to know when we can take you back home. Plus your Baba was hoping to take you to the Saturday afternoon Shabbat service at the temple. They’ve been asking about you. For the record, we told everyone there was a car involved and-- “
“I’m not going to any service at the temple.”
His mother looked up from the book she was barely reading. “Well not at this rate you aren’t. We’ll be lucky if we have you home in time to pick up a pizza.”
“No,” Anthony said as he shook his head. “I’m not going to any services. Not when I get home. Not when my leg is better. Not ever.”
“Toshka. You always loved going,” she started as she closed her book. “And I think it would be a positive-- “
He shook his head again. “There’s no point in going. There’s no point in any of it. It’s all pointless. There’s no point in going to services when there probably isn’t a God in the first place.”
“No. That’s not true,” she insisted with a slight plaintive tone to her voice. “God is always the-- “
“Did you know I prayed while the Carrows had me down in the dungeon? Because I did and they still kept going,” he son admitted. “He didn’t help with that. He didn’t help when one of them practiced the Cruciatus on me. He didn’t help when we all were in that room. He didn’t help the entire fucking year. He didn’t help with Seamus or Felix or any of my other dead classmates. Or the rest of us who were injured. He didn’t help any of us. He didn’t help any of us because he probably doesn’t exist. So, no. He’s not always there and I’m not going to bother with going to temple for the foreseeable future.”
“I’m going to take a nap now,” was all he said as he reached down and pulled the sheet up passed his head. “The pain potions are going to kick anytime now and I kind of don’t want to be conscious right now.”