Chapter 11
I found the belladonna in a long-forgotten yellowing box. It once was enough to kill an elephant, but was also older than dirt. I ate all of it just in case. It was rancid. I hate that it didn’t kill me. I never could do anything right.
I lived to be dragged to another bloody senior auror meeting. Where had I gotten the poison, what did I plan to do with it? They bandied around accusations, avoiding the notion of suicide as diligently as my family had when uncle Domitius passed.
What worried me is how I used to muster contempt for these people, but I didn’t have it in me anymore. My mind wandered as they talked, idly wondering if they’d lock me up this time. Idly wondering if I had it in me to try again. My youthful hope to one day grow enraged and blaze out in glory was dead and gone. Perhaps I could just find the means to drift off. Consume the next poison somewhere less obvious so they wouldn’t have enough time to find and revive me.
I could tell it was Weasley’s first time being summoned for a scolding. These pricks needed someone to blame and he’d made the mistake of taking me under his wing. I expected it to bite him in the ass. I expected him to end up resenting me. I had underestimated the Weasel, and wasn’t that embarrassing.
Let’s not undersell it, the whole thing was humiliating. For me. Not Weasley, he came out smelling like roses. They accused him of being irresponsible and he nodded his head and acknowledged he hadn’t provided me the attention I needed. They told him he needed to keep me in line and he agreed that he needed to step up and do more to assess my behavior and provide me tools to help me where I was struggling. Weasley wouldn’t so much as backhandedly suggest I was responsible for what happened, even though I totally was, which made it very hard for me to hate him. I mean, not impossible. He also kissed ass like no tomorrow, constantly thanking them for their feedback and asking their advice and thanking them again for coaching him through this learning opportunity. They fucking congratulated him at the end for personal growth.
The worst of it all was how surprised I was when two steps outside their office, right as I reflected on how we’d gotten out scott free, Weasley grabbed my arm, preventing escape. Attempts to twist away were easily thwarted, until he shoved me up against the wall to hold me still. I gave in and faced him head on, just to see his face filled with rage for my troubles. Or perhaps it wasn’t rage. The alternatives were terrifying so I looked away.
Had I done it on purpose?
I never answered their questions and I wasn’t going to start. But I did remember the nurse that begrudgingly tended to me when I woke up undesirably alive. He told me it was Auror Weasley that found me unresponsive and brought me in. That didn’t mean I had to feel guilty about it. Guilt gnawed at me for so many things and, fuck it all, this was the one thing I had done right.
Almost right.
Although next time I’d go somewhere else. There was no reason Weasley should have to handle the body.