Mischief Managed

35: The Order

Bravery takes the best of us. It takes kindness and strength, dignity and honor. I used to think everyone had it in them to be brave. I'd like to believe they still do, but I can't think of it without conjuring up images of all the people who have proven otherwise.

People I knew all my life. People I was supposed to trust. People who I'd always assumed were brave turned out not to be.

I can't bear to think that you lost your bravery too. You're brave- you were brave- I knew that, but maybe you just got twisted. By hatred. Revenge. Betrayal.

I admit, it's tempting to fall into the same trap.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Peter came to me, teary-eyed and shaking. I had been in the midst of practicing my violin in the dungeons, but apparently my once-private practicing spot had become everyone's knowledge.

The sight of Peter, who was typically so stable, functioning, suddenly so utterly despaired, threw me off.

As selfish as it was, I wasn't in the mood for a pep talk.

"Peter?" I said warily. I set down my violin on the wood table. "Are you- are you alright?"

Nice going, Bree. That was the dumbest question ever.

Of course he wasn't alright- he was crying and distraught and coming to me, of all people.

He shook his head, and his hands began to twitch at his sides.

"Want to talk about it?" I offered, beckoning inside to a spare stool in the corner. I couldn't imagine what had him so upset. Maybe it was just everything catching up to him- the war, the killings, the pressure to do the right thing. It was enough to terrify anyone.

He trod slowly and unsteadily to the stool, his legs quaking as he walked, and when he sat on the stool his short body crumbled in on itself.

Into his hands, he mumbled, "I'm such a coward."

"That's not true, Peter," I said immediately. It had to be the right thing to say; I couldn't say Peter was the bravest of us, but he wasn't a coward. He was a Gryffindor. Brave at heart.

Seventh year was ending in exactly one month. I was certain Dumbledore would stay true to his word and offer me and the other Gryffindors a position in his defense against Voldemort. Peter needed to stay strong. He needed to join us because, well, Voldemort seemed to be winning.

There were Muggle killings- the ones reported at least- on a weekly basis. Students were slipping away from school, tucked away by fearful parents. At least my mother was safe. She was safe in New York, and I was glad I no longer had to worry about her...but thinking about her opened a dull, festering wound in my chest. I knew she was making the wisest decision in her eyes, but I couldn't think of her without my mind whispering you abandoned me.

Peter shook his head more quickly, and whimpered. "No...I'm not brave."

I shifted on my feet. I wasn't sure if I should come closer to him, or stay my distance as he sobbed. I'd comforted James, Remus, and Sirius on several occasions when they'd cried. But never Peter.

Again, I had to wonder: why would he come to me?

All I said was "Peter..."

He sniveled into his hands.

"I don't want to die," he said. His fingers trembled against his cheeks.

I moved closer.

"Peter," I said again, "why would you worry about dying? You're safe here. You're with Dumbledore. You're with us."