just-what-the-doc-orderedâ:
It had been four days since Uncle Dafydd gave Caradoc an ultimatum, five days since Caradoc had been home from the hospital, and six days since he had momentarily stopped breathing.Â
His uncle had become accustomed to checking on his nephew at night to make sure he wasnât passed out face-up. Dafydd had found Caradoc laying in bed on his stomach and breathed a small sigh of relief, knowing heâd drank a lot that night. âItâs Daâs fucking birthday, and Iâm going to drink to him being another year closer to death.â
He had turned to leave his nephew to sleep but a cold creeping feeling of unease came over him. Everything felt too quiet. He went inside, turned on the lamp, and tried to rouse him to no avail. He smacked his face a few times and yelled into his ear to wake up. No answer. Dafydd finally checked for a pulseâŚ. Oh, thank god! It was weak, but there. He scooped him up, ignoring the pain in his back from a long day working at the docks and the fact his nephew was fairly heavy. He put Caradoc in the backseat of his car and sped to the nearest hospital, where doctors immediately set to work on saving his life. There was hardly a moment that Dafydd wasnât with Caradoc, and when he couldnât be with him he argued with the doctors until he was let back in. âHeâs too young⌠PleaseâŚ. Iâm responsible for himâŚ. He has to be okayâŚ. He has toâŚ.â
When Caradoc blinked his eyes open groggily late the next afternoon, he felt like heâd been hit by the Knight Bus. His head was pounding, his eyes throbbed the moment light hit them, and his entire body just felt wrong. He felt like he wanted to be sick but there was nothing to bring up. Dafydd heard him stirring and rushed to his bed side. When Caradoc finally managed a decent look at him he couldâve sworn Dafydd had aged twenty years in only a night. He should have bloody apologized for what he put his uncle through, but itâs like the words in his head just couldnât connect to his mouth. He stayed quiet, while his uncle sobbed from relief and fear. It would be too much for Caradoc to let himself feel the shame at that moment. He was too vulnerable, so his mind put up walls. Theyâd however be temporary and soon enough the guilt would seep in anyway. It always did.
Caradoc was sent home the next day. Like a zombie he shuffled into his room, where he paid no mind to the empty bottles strewn across the carpet as he made his way into bed. Sleep claimed him for hours, but when he awoke he wasnât alone. Dafydd was at the foot of his bed, watching him with a worried expression. It seemed he had been there a while. Caradoc was about to ask what was the matter when Dafydd burst into tears. He begged Caradoc to go get help, offering to assist any way he could. But as usual, Caradoc insisted he had things under control and that he didnât need any help. Why bother? He felt he was beyond help anyway at this point, although thatâs certainly not what his uncle would want to hear. âCaradoc, damn it! Youâve got to take this seriously! Serious as the bloody grave you nearly put yourself in!â Dafydd shouted, desperate to get through to his nephew. âI canât keep watching you slowly kill yourself without it breaking my soul more than any man could bear. Youâre not just taking yourself down, but the people around you too. Caradoc, you need to get help. You need to stop drinking. Or else, I canât let you stay here. Itâs just too muchâŚâ
Self-loathing filled Caradocâs mind. He had caused his uncle so much pain, when the man had done so much for him the past few years. How could he be such a selfish jackass? He found himself wishing his uncle hadnât found him the night before. A dark thought that seemed to ache his entire soul because it was so heavy and so painfully real. Dafydd was right. He was killing himself with the drinking. Maybe that was subconsciously his goal the whole time. Looking at his uncleâs haggard face, he simply nodded and said âOkay, Davâ. Iâll try.â He just didnât have much (or rather any) hope that heâd succeed.
Caradoc stood outside the apothecary in Diagon Alley, finishing up his cigarette before going inside to get supplies needed to brew a couple potions he needed. He wasnât much of a potioneer, but could manage simple recipes. Herbology had been more his thing, so he at least knew which plants could likely help him. He had been having trouble staying asleep ever since he woke up from that initial several hours of sleep after he got home from the hospital. Anxieties plagued him and he needed something to knock him out and quell the dreams. He was also hoping to brew up something to stop the headaches and the shaky hands heâd been experiencing. Itâd been days since heâd had a drink, and he knew he was probably going to fall off the wagon soon but his uncleâs worrying kept him fighting for now. He didnât want to let him down, even though it felt inevitable to him that he would. He always seemed to let everybody down eventually.
He looked down at his cigarette held between his twitchy fingers, and sighed at his inability to control the shakiness and knowing he probably looked half mad. He lost himself in thought for a moment, remembering the past few days as if heâd witnessed it from outside his body. Heâd hardly noticed somebody speak to him. âWait, whatâd you want?â he asked, leaning in a bit to hear them repeat their words.
It had taken Ted months to be taken serious enough to actually be accepted onto the trainee auror program. It wasnât that he didnât have the grades, he did, it just seemed that his reputation of getting into fights at Hogwarts had proceeded him. Alastor Moody wasnât exactly thrilled about having him on board, thinking that Ted was nothing more than a hot head, or maybe he thought that he was a muggleborn with something to prove. Either way, he had finally backed down and allowed it. Ted hadnât worked this hard since being within the walls of Hogwarts. How Sirius managed to train and work night shifts at the Three broomsticks and still be able to function was frankly beyond Ted.Â
At this point he had been awake for easily around a day and a half, planning on picking up some food and heading home for a much needed sleep. Thank god he had tomorrow off work. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he let his mind slip into wondering what sort of food he wanted. Something hot from the leaky cauldron sounded amazing, or maybe something sweet from Honeydukes, or hey maybe both. As he absentmindedly traipsed down the cobbles, his eyes landed on a semi familiar face. Spying a cigarette in the others hand, Ted crossed the busy street to ask if he happened to have a spare. It was a habit he was trying to break, but damn, he could use one after that shift. Â
âSorry mate, ah was just wonderinâ if ye happened tâ ave a spare smoke on ye.â Managing a sleepy smile as he spoke.  âDidnât mean tâ bother ye.â