Timothy Blenkinsop (timothystail) wrote in plagued_logs, @ 2016-01-24 21:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | !open, 1999 january, gregory goyle, rating 15, timothy blenkinsop |
Who: Greg & Timothy
What: Timothy is crushed by guilt
Where: Hogsmeade
When: After this
Rating: R - mentions of guilt and a suicide attempt
Timothy had been struggling to cope with what had happened since Cyril had cut him down from the Astronomy Tower. Memories of what he had done under the Imperius came back to him like he was recalling a movie, only aware that the events were happening because of him. He hadn't been able to find out about the man he'd killed but the result of letting Bole out of his cell was mentioned again and again and each time reminded Timothy that Bole wouldn't be out there if not for his actions. Bole was a sick creature and Timothy had let him back out into the world. For a long time Timothy had been living in a kind of extended panic, his actions disjointed and frantic and his fear and paranoia insurmountable at times. He'd avoided Aster as though any contact between them would bring a plague on the boy he loved and he'd agonised for hours after meeting up with Anthony, sure that something would happen to him too.
Dennis had been injured and Timothy had always been the type to take on guilt unneccessarily anyway - now he had a reason to feel guilty and he couldn't cope with going unpunished anymore. Bole was a weapon that he had reactivated and his wand was the one that had cast the Killing Curse at that guard, someone's friend and son or brother, lover, father, uncle, someone, he had been a person and the faint hint of whiskers still on his face, still resisting being healed by the dittany was nothing in the face of all of that. He hadn't wished Bole had killed him because he needed to suffer, but he couldn't do it anymore. He hated himself for what he'd done and for taking the easy way out both, but he couldn't carry that weight around with him anymore. It didn't help that he'd all but hermited himself away, withdrawing from anyone who might have been able to talk him out of his head.
It was easy to find poisonous plants at Dogweed and Deathcap, but he didn't have enough knowledge about what would kill him quickly and he couldn't exactly ask for the plant or fungus best able to assist suicide. He'd stolen a short bladed knife from the countertop while the Herbologist's back was turned and he'd reopened the faintly scarred cuts along his wrists where Bole had cut him open, going deeper because he knew very well that it hadn't been deep enough to be deadly last time. He'd dropped the knife where he'd done the deed in an alley between the shops and had curled up there in the snow with all intents to just drift off into the cold, huddled up in his robe.
Until thoughts of Aster came through his head. He remembered the feeling of large hands stroking through his hair, along his recently abused tail, those kind eyes and that brilliant, effervescent smile and he had to see him in the flesh one more time. He hoisted himself up using the wall for support, his arms trickling blood hot and wet and itchy under his cloak, leaving only little yew berry dots to tattle tales in the snow, and made his way with the final determination of the resolved to see Aster once more before he went.