Helpless

[ - ]
Printer ePub eBook
Table of Contents | - Text Size +
Story Notes:
July 25, 2007
Another one has been lost.

Instead of feeling upset, Minerva is relieved when Ginny Weasley doesn’t return from Easter holidays. For the first time in all her years of teaching, she wishes that Gryffindor was empty, that all the students had refused to attend, and that they were all hidden away safely. Unfortunately, too many have returned. As long as there are students here, she’s forced to bite her tongue and keep her hand off her wand. It’s too dangerous to fight back when the students are at risk, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the voice in her head urging her to take action.

After she makes sure that all the female students are in their bed, safe and sound for another day, she quietly leaves Gryffindor tower and goes to the boy’s dorms. She’s relieved to find Longbottom and Finnigan tucked beneath their covers. The room is dark, but she doesn’t need light to see the bruises on their faces, the busted lips and swollen eyes. It’s been months of seeing the same thing, of cringing every time Longbottom has a new bruise or Finnigan has another busted lip.

The first time they were injured, she offered to heal them herself, but they refused, all of them refuse even when Poppy has them in the infirmary and has to fight back tears at seeing the extent of their injuries. She can still hear Longbottom’s voice in her head as he told her that they’re a symbol of hope, and that they didn’t really feel as bad as they looked, which she knows is a lie. Hope in the blacks and blues that cover pale skin. He thinks she doesn’t understand, that none of the professors understand, but of course she does. She and the others would wear their bruises proudly if they didn’t have so many depending on their protection.

She looks away from the sleeping boys and does her best not to stare at the empty beds in the dorm. She thinks about the empty seats at the dinner table when she’s alone in her room, and she can cry for those who will never again attend Hogwarts and worry for those who are lost or missing and pray for those who have undertaken a task that no one should ever have to face. She can’t do anything to help them, but she can do her best to care for those at Hogwarts, which is why she’s pleased to find the boys in their beds tonight.

Too often lately, she finds their beds empty during her searches. Patil and Brown are often gone, too, but she’s not worried about the typical concerns when boys and girls have snuck out after curfew. Not now when every day is another trial just to survive. It gives her pause to consider that her normal worries of mischief are forgotten in lieu of the suspicion that the students are planning rebellion.

She longs for the days when she’d catch students snogging in abandoned classrooms instead of practicing curses no adult should even know. Their youth and innocence has been lost while she’s remained quiet and docile, too scared for their safety to stand up for them. She hates fear, always has, especially when it’s her own. What example is she setting for the students when she meekly shuffles from class to meals and back again, never daring raise a hand when she hears screams coming from Defense Against the Dark Arts and turning a blind eye to the torturous actions of professors.

Professors. The Carrows don’t deserve to hold their wands much less teach children. She worries that the younger students will never again feel safe in the classroom, will never understand the joys of learning and the advantages of knowledge. They’ll associate learning with pain, which sickens her and causes the voice in her head to become louder, demanding that she stop being so bloody careful and take a stand. She has the courage, without a doubt, but if she dies, who will watch over the students?

So, she has to ignore the voice, has to grip her wand so tightly she’s surprised it’s not broken yet and grit her teeth as she watches and listens and is forced to do what little she can. It’s frustrating to be so helpless, and she keeps expecting to break one day, to just be unable to remain calm and cool and unaffected around those who would delight in her making one wrong move. She won’t give Riddle the satisfaction, of course, which helps give her the strength to do nothing, something that is far more difficult than anyone would ever guess.

The students are fighting back as they can, trying to remain hopeful and refusing to give in to fear, and she is so very proud of their example. She tries to keep them safe, tries to prevent them from being caught and placed into detention, and she tries to cover for those she knows are feeling the same restlessness but are young and strong enough to possibly do something.

She won’t let them do anything stupid, but if she prevents their planning, it’ll just be worse. She was young once, after all, and she knows what this feels like. She survived two wars and hopes to survive a third, but, when the time comes, she’ll gladly risk her life for her students, for her children, and then this nightmare can end.

End