Peripatetic Problems
@tootsshoots-n-roots
19th August 1978
Situation found Tarquin in a garden he didn’t recognise, with a sharp feeling in his upper arm, but mostly an overwhelming rush of adrenaline. He’d been running, not from anything in particular, just running. Trying to get a rush out of something other than his usual cravings. Climbing unsafe Muggle buildings, jumping from roof to roof. It never occurred to him that there was a reason the raven-haired man had never partaken in Quidditch in Hogwarts.
He was clumsy.
It was curious the amount of thoughts rushing through his head as he began to plummet to the ground at an alarming speed. In reality, he must have only been falling for a mere few seconds, if that, before he apparated, but a part of him felt like his entire life flashed before his eyes. His life, his past, was the reason he’d been out there in the first place. So all things considered, it was a massive waste of time and energy. But at least he had clarified one thing in a moment that could have been his last – he wasn’t ready to die yet.
He laughed at his own pathetic behaviour. A man so eager to run away from who he was, he took it upon himself to roof hop, half hoping to fall, only to wimp out in the last minute and apparate to Merlin knows where. As the adrenaline began to fade, waves of pain rushed through him. His chest was on fire, smoker lungs did no favours when it came to physical exertion. His laugh turned into frantic gasps for air, and he attempted to sit up, only to collapse back onto his back.
His grey eyes darted to his shoulder, and he cursed loudly. Of course, splinched. It looked like all his limbs were there at the very least, he was just sporting a rather large gash over his shoulder. He didn’t mind blood, nor was he opposed to pain. The whole event, more than anything, irritated him greatly. He didn’t have the patience to lay here in an unknown garden – he wanted to return to his apartment. But he knew it was idiotic for him to apparate again.
Dittany. He needed dittany. Maybe the garden was convenient.
Groaning through the pain, he managed to push himself up to eye the plants in the garden he apparated in. And his heart sank. Why did he suck so badly at Herbology? From the corner of his eye, he saw a house, he must have been at the end of someone’s house garden. Perhaps, if they were not Muggles, they would grow Dittany. If they were Muggles… he would think of something else. It would be too mortifyingly embarrassing to get cured by non-magic folk. Disgusting, actually.
By some miracle, the young man managed to get to his feet and stumble towards the house. In the back of his mind, he was aware that he was trailing blood, and losing it just as quickly. But it was only evident when he got to the door, and instead of knocking, he fell straight into it and bounced backwards onto the floor. “Shit. Any fucker in?” He yelled weakly, clutching his shoulder with his free hand. “I’m bleeding all over your precious little garden.” He added as a slight snide remark.