Crisis of Faith

[Orwell Brocken]

A crisis of faith, that would be how Orwell would describe his current thoughts and feelings, he had always fought so hard for the cause and the cause had always come before everything else, but the teen was questioning what that meant, he sat in his classes wondering how he could use what he learned to better his cause but in reality he was beginning to question this idea that any of his classes would help, sure the herbology lessons would help him in the community but the history lessons didn't resemble the ones he'd previously attended, they were starkly different from the classes that he wanted to do, to follow, the teen had begun wondering about the usefulness of any of this school, but really the teen was also thinking about what his life would be like in his community, and the sort of thing that they were doing, what they fought for and what that asked from him. The people remained within the community, not often did the adults leave to go to real protests or to really fight back, but they did occasionally and he'd always been taught about the importance of it, but aside from a couple he hadn't been to that many, all of his work was in theory. But there was always the lesson on the expectations of someone in the community, in whatever coming revolution their beliefs pushed them to fight for, and as Orwell thought of it, he had to admit where he had previously known exactly where he stood with that, in the fight and knowing that his very life might be needed to further the cause, not so much over the last few weeks.

Orwell sat surrounded with books in the library, his mind surrounded by thoughts of this cost which ran along side his cause, the struggle as a constant possibility and it was where he thought or well knew that prior to Hogwarts that it wouldn't have even been a question: for the cause, for the betterment of the planet Orwell would have given his life, he wouldn't be too happy about it since he would long to see this better world but he would've paid that price without too much of a second thought, now he didn't think he could. He was always so strong in his convictions but that question left him unsteady in his views, he wanted to think that he would, he wanted to follow in the footsteps of many an anarchist or activist before him and if the call came to stand on the front line that he would without question and fear and help bring that fight, but every time his mind began to feel strongly about it, he thought of Archie, he hugged the first gift from him closer, he thought of the time they'd spent together, between the classes, sitting around just cuddling or studying together, watching him play quidditch, the birthday party he'd thrown him, and how much he couldn't imagine leaving those things or the possibility of those things happening again, he thought of the time spent with the other wild patch members and working on the monthly and suddenly all thoughts about the price of his life for the cause went straight out the window, Orwell suddenly had so much he would miss. He couldn't help but want to be selfish about it, to keep what he had continue fighting for the cause but maybe not having himself be on the front. He liked his life right now in his life, material possession right from the mouth of capitalism and all, his life had everything he had ever wanted or wished in it and he didn't ever want to not have it, or have to lose it all for the cause, but he didn't think he was capable of not at least fighting. Orwell didn't think it that bad to want things for himself, his community had always taught against want, but it wasn't like Orwell was asking for much, he wanted to fight, he wanted to win, but he didn't want the price to have to ever be his life.

The teen had had this moment of crisis during the previous night, he'd just gotten a letter from his parents telling him about how proud they and the rest of the community were with his actions in the Defence Against the Dark arts class, and their pride had bleed through in offering to take Orwell to one of the largest protests of the year during the coming school break, and they'd told him about how his Professor Styx would just become something more as he grew up, the type of person he'd always be fighting against with various degrees of dangerousness, and that it was good to fight back. It had been at the way they'd worded the fight back that Orwell had seemingly just remembered the sort of price which he could be asked, something he hadn't given much thought since his arrival at school, since he longer intensely studied the theory or the history, and his wonderings about it had brought him to lie awake most of the night, if Archie asked he would attempt to drop it all for him, if Archie asked him to do pretty much anything he would but this had in mind directly conflicted with the cause and lead him to wondering his own position in relation to the fight. Fundamentally Orwell wanted the destruction of capitalism, he wanted the world be a fair and equal place, where no one was badly treated, where animals were free and none were in terrible captivity, he wanted a world that was free from pollution and that wasn't doomed by the actions of greedy people who were the products of capitalism, he wanted the equal distribution of wealth, he wanted magical people to no longer felt the need to hate upon the muggles or the muggleborns. Orwell just wanted a fair world, but he no longer was so certain that his life would a price he would be willing to pay, and certainly not any time now, even if he did question the usefulness of what he was learning in the classes, the king of the flowers did love school and classes.

It was why he was surrounded by books piled high around him as he attempted to find answers within the books, answer the questions he wondered and reassure him of the likelihood of what he might end up having to do, and whether his reluctance really made him seem selfish. Having slept terribly and just headed straight for the library, the teens stomach grumbled loudly, but he ignored it as he opened then next book, intermixed with the library books were his own books, worn copies of the muggle books he was sure the library didn't have, things he had been given from home to take with him to school, which had been exactly for this reason, any crisis of faith or moments of wonder could be understood by extensive reading which the school library just didn't have, books about anarchism, about revolution, about socialism and previous movements. But no matter the notes he made, no matter the book he opened he couldn't find the answers to the questions currently plaguing his mind, would he be cast out of his community if he didn't want to make that price and they found out that he didn't want to, would they call him selfish when Orwell just didn't want to have to give his life for it, he didn't think this made his convictions about it any less strong, he still wanted the same things, he would still fight with them, stand shoulder to shoulder but he was beginning to think of himself as a little less willing to just be as much in the line of fire. He knew the other students at this school no matter how much they followed him in his little endeavours they would never be asked to do that, and he felt that while his convictions were strong, this issue he was having might make those around him think less of him, and thus as he flicked the book open in front of him the teen ignored the rumbling of his stomach and the growing exhaustion and knee he would push through until he had all the answers he wanted.
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i swear this was supposed to be short Other replies will be wayyyy shorter, I swear.

 

[Massimiliano Moretti]

Massimiliano rarely ate within the Great Hall. Being rather the introvert, the Ravenclaw preferred his own company when he ate, especially after all of that magazine business. He had never really experienced bullying, before, having been privately tutored. He and his older brother had a strained relationship, but they were never the kind to fight. Clemente was far too relaxed a person for that - and probably too irresponsible to try - whilst Max understood that he was far too lax to bother with trying to hold grudges and fights. He wasn't quite a pacifist - sometimes, one had to protect themselves - but the muggle-born was by no means aggressive. He awoke early to collect some food for himself, and planned his day around staying in the library until lunch time - where he would restock his lunch box with lunch-time food and continue with his lurking within the library. He was a book worm, through and through, loving reading and loving understanding new and exciting things. The library was his greatest resource when it came to understanding the magical world around him, and he was ready to abuse it until the sun set and he had to return to the common room once more.

The Italian-born young man began puttering about the library, looking for some books to read today. He had few in the way of friends, being very quiet - not to mention he was utterly new to the school. It was always hard to show up at a new location, let alone entering his first magical school during one of the toughest years they have (besides seventh year and their NEWTs). He was even in a new country, for that matter, trying to remember the English he had been taught in youth and having to brush up on it every now and then. He wasn't so bad now, but his stomach churned with more than just hunger. Confusion wasn't a nice feeling for Max, he couldn't stand not understanding the things around him, and how they would affect himself. He believed that knowledge was an internal process that had to be treated seriously, but adapting to the new world around him was hard. Last semester had been quite the challenge for him, but he felt he had handled it with grace. He took a role in the school newspaper, he got involved a little in his classes and answered some questions, he felt like he was doing well. He wasn't sure if it was enough, however. His academic life seemed to be going well, but the chaos that was his home life was still yet to be addressed. But in the end, the blonde felt it all to be water off a duck's back. It would sort itself with some intervention, or it wouldn't. But he wasn't God, and he couldn't be Superman, either.

He tilted his head to the side in confusion when his blue eyes landed on a huge pile of books. He walked around the pile carefully, not having yet found the books he sought - turns out quite a couple were within this pile. His confused face brightened slightly at the recognising of a face - Orwell. A fellow Ravenclaw and member of the Hogwarts Monthly. Max had barely said two words to him, if he were honest, though he didn't mean this from rudeness. He knew little of Orwell, though he was quite the name around the school with his protests and such, but Max preferred the quieter way of life and tended to only get involved in small things if he ever bothered with group displays of anything.

"Um, hello, Orwell," he greeted quietly, pulling on the bun his hair was currently pulled up into in order to tighten it. He looked rather troubled, but Max wasn't sure if it would be prudent to point that out, or even try to help him. Could he help him? Maybe it was some class trouble. If it were, he'd have a better chance, at least. His distracted eyes soon found themselves back at Orwell when he heard a sort of odd rumble, and realised it must have been Orwell's stomach. Or his own. Either way. "Are you okay?" He slipped his lunch box onto the table, showing intent on staying. "I'm Max, by the way." In case he had forgotten. Which wouldn't be much of a hard feat, really.
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[Orwell Brocken]

Orwell had never had a real crisis of faith before in his life within the community, he had lived there all of his life before this place, he had questioned certain things but since all the other members of the community had been readily available, he had been able to talk with them, argue with them and just be able to figure what he needed to, this was different, he didn't have people to turn to, his friends were not the sort of people he could talk to this about and talking to Archie was his next best thing, but, he also didn't want to burden his best friend with such a likely easy option, the teen knew that most people wouldn't understand and though Archie was the only person who would probably understand it, or understand him, the teen had been so preoccupied in his mind he hadn't even thought to send an owl to Archie or to go wait outside his dorm room until he emerged, or until a gryffindor he knew emerged so that he would be able to get them to go wake up his best friend so that he could help him with this. No the teen was sat in the library, books surrounding him at this time of the day with a grumbling stomach and a tired expression on his face, but no matter what he read his mind wouldn't quiet down, no matter what he read he couldn't find an explanation which seemed to give him peace of mind, he was sure that he wasn't going to find his answer in books, but the teen only had those, so he just had to go that. Books held the answers to everything else, it seemed almost crazy that they couldn't help him with this, or that they were so confusing, Orwell sat shifting uncomfortably with the current book in front of him, with a sort of blank expression on his face, he was still tossing the question in his head and he rubbed his eyes tiredly, running a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh, would he ever figure the conclusion of this, or something that gave his mind something to hold on to as an answer to this question. The teen didn't understand why this was so difficult to figure out, or why his mind couldn't let it go, it had never been an issue before but it was like all of a sudden he didn't feel like he should have to pay the ultimate price for something he did admittedly really want, like the weight of what was asking finally sat clear in his mind and was just so heavy, Orwell wanted a better world, he would do pretty much everything for it, but he didn't know now why this was such a big issue for him, Orwell's values since coming to hogwarts hadn't really changed, they were the same, but this was just an element he was a little unsure about.

The teen's head snapped up looking at the person who just spoken, his soft green eyes taking a moment to readjust themselves as he looked between his work and the boy in front of him, seeing that he was a little older than him and the one from the monthly, the layout guy, the king of flowers nodded his head at him, "Yeah," he replied to the boy saying his name, although this boy's name escaped him currently, his mind too preoccupied by the books in front of him, as he attempted to find the right words to currently describe how he felt towards this morning and what he was reading, and this boy had maybe made the wrong choice to sit down next to him and inquire as to how he was, Orwell, looked back at his notes, and back at the book he had open and was using more than the other currently open books. The introduction at least brought this guy's name back to him, "Max," he repeated with a tired sigh, before he rubbed his eyes and looked back at his work, "I'm working," he told him, trying to ensure that the other one would stay quiet and just let him work away, because Orwell knew that the moment he tried to talk about was wrong the teen would bore Max and probably scare him away. Orwell's stomach grumbled again but he mentally told it to quieten as he leaned in towards the book and just kept reading, it was when he had finished the page that he groaned loudly and just looked at Max, "I'm political, right everyone knows me as that political guy, constantly kicking up a fussing, doing strange things," he had the words strange things in quotations, clearly showing he thought them ridiculous, "I was raised in a political community, I spent more time learning about politics than I did magic before I transferred into the school, but this school has little politics, no one here seems to care about the fate of the world, I get called weird for pointing out some of the flaws and for questioning where no one else does," he had a tone of disbelief, "But, I was raised to put the struggle first, to put the fight for the better world first, I put the struggle first, I would leave the school if they asked me to, and to dedicate all my time, all of my life to the struggle, but, I don't want to be a martyr for it, ever," Orwell just said bluntly pointing to his work, "Are my beliefs and values undermined because I don't particularly want to die for it," he sighed, "I have so much here, I would give everything for the struggle, but I don't want to ever have to give up living for it, not that I ever will probably, but if I was asked I don't think I'd just say yes as easily as before, does that make me wrong, does it diminish my resolve for the cause," Orwell asked him in one long breath, trying his best to figure out everything. Orwell trying his best to stay as calm as possible with this, but knowing that it was a little complicated and really he wasn't even expecting an answer from Max, maybe he might just scare him away but Orwell didn't know what all this really meant and talking to someone about it really was just the absolute best option.
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[Massimiliano Moretti]

Massimiliano sat in silence throughout Orwell's entire speech, hands perched on his lunch box and nodded on occasional when appropriate. He definitely had a dilemma. And, whilst Max was not terribly political - especially when compared to Orwell - having a crisis of anything generally was very similar to any other crisis. However, he didn't really feel as if he were that qualified to offer much to his fellow Ravenclaw, other than food. Unclipping his lunch box, he offered some of the contains to Orwell, before picking a quarter sandwich for himself. But, he had offered his ear, so he didn't see the harm in at least trying to comfort his fellow Ravenclaw. If he didn't want to hear it, then Max was happy to just finish his lunch and get to reading in silence if it came to that. Obviously he had a lot on his mind.

"Honestly, I don't think it diminishes anything," he replied simply, with a small shrug. "People can put all of their faith into something, into a concept that they believe in endlessly, but that doesn't mean that just because you don't want to be a martyr that your resolve's worth less than anyone else's. Sometimes, dying for something isn't the best option, sometimes a battle is won by taking little steps, rather than jumping right into the deep end and making final decisions." He took a quick bite of his sandwich, giving a short motion with his hand to silently ask him for a moment. "I'm not where you are, I'm not well-versed in politics enough to have much of an opinion just yet, but I have been in situations where you need to make a choice, on how far you're going to subscribe to what you believe - and strike a balance, so that you can be comfortable in your belief, and fit comfortably in wherever you are." Another pause, and another bite. "It's not bad when you realised that there are more important things than what you believe in. It's important to stick to your beliefs, but your life and happiness is just as important, and if there's something making you happier than 'the struggle', maybe your struggle isn't what's supposed to be on your mind right now. You might not see it, but you are more important than any movement, Orwell."
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