done to death

[alt_regulus]

I can't sleep. I can't scrub myself clean enough even to sit in my own flat, so I've been walking for hours. The locals are all closed now; I can't even hide in the depths of another glass of fire-whiskey in a smoky corner. I'm writing beneath a street lamp, but the page is swimming.

I didn't want to do that! None of it.

I don't want to have done it.

And I can't undo it now. Any of it.

If I could

Even if I could reach all the way back to when it was not yet done. When was that? A dozen years? More.

You knew what you were about when you limited my wand to block any self-harming spell. You know I won't top myself like a Muggle. Of course not. As though I'd care at all the moment it was done, but I'm too proud to be found like that. Too much a Black. Too much a wizard. Too much yours to do it at all.

But I want it. Oblivion. Pitch blackness. Rest.

I can see her. Jaw wrenched open and aside. Eyes wide, locked on mine. And I can hear her.

She begged me.

And I was stone. Like you.

'It makes it worse, begging,' I said. 'You save a shred of dignity if you can keep from doing that.' It's all shreds and tatters in the end, regardless.

I couldn't stand it. I can't.

I won't. Though that's ridiculous, because, of course, I did. Did it, hating it, cursing it, myself, him, you, her, all. Why do we do this? What do you want that I haven't given, proven, purged? What else?

I wish you wouldn't answer that, but you will. Whether I asked or not. The answer is coming. Worse if you are displeased, but no easier, really, if you found it praiseworthy. Each is worse, more impossible, more

There aren't words for this. But you'll know it whether I write or don't write, and the thoughts are clearer, I know. But the words are mine, for myself, to make it real. Finished.

It won't ever be finished.

Comments

[alt_amycus]

Crying into your firewhiskey, eh? Never did like whingers. Ought to be thanking Him, you ask me. Why regret? Never regret the scourge and the keen edge of knives, and the pure cleansing flame. Your job is to harvest the grain from the chaff. Why trouble yourself if the chaff blows away in the wind?

Red looks best in moonlight, or by candleflame. A professional would appreciate that, but no, He sends you.

Perhaps He'll send you here for real training up. Seeing as my property has been taken. Could use an assistant, now that I'm back among the pigeons. Find I miss having a devoted bootlicker about.

But perhaps that's why He keeps you.

Order Only

[alt_sirius]

I've read this over at least five times and I still can't quite believe it.

Merlin, what is that monster making him do?

[alt_narcissa]

Oh, Reg. First Draco's bad news and now you, as well.

Do come see me when you are at liberty again.


I hope this doesn't mean you're begging off the auction?