unspeakable | jegulus

and the monster was me

chapter title: the width of a circle by david bowie

tw: vomit, blood/injury, magical self-harm (for blood magic. and other reasons. idk if you've noticed by now, but james is a very unreliable narrator.)

"Are you alright?" They carried Snape to an empty bedroom. He was limp in their arms, like a living dead thing. The first room they peered into was devoid of personality, aside from ostentatious opulence. He assumed it was a guest room. Regulus shouldered the door open, almost dropping the boy they were carrying on the hardwood floor underfoot.

Snape said nothing. He looked hollow. Empty.

Hatred was eating James alive. He could feel it taking bites out of him, growing larger the more it fed. What had he done? What had he done? "Regulus, what do I do? What did you do when your mother—"

"We can't do anything," he said quietly. "He needs time."

"Time?" He was still running on nothing but fear. "Yeah, time, that makes sense. He's traumatized. I just tortured him, so he's in shock, so he needs time to process the pain, so he needs us to– what...leave him alone? Does it help to have a distraction? Should I get him food, or like, some of those drinks they have at the party, whatever they are—do I need to use a healing spell, can you heal this? Does he need a mind healer? Can I give him a—"

"James." Regulus cradled his face with both hands, gently. "You need to breathe."

Oh. Maybe that was why his chest felt funny. He was gasping, and he felt like he couldn't take a full breath. The fear that was keeping him moving was turning against him. It was paralyzing his lungs in his chest.

"Breathe..." James echoed breathlessly. His vision blurred with tears, and then they began to fall as an unholy, awful sound tore out of him. The world seemed to fade around him. Everything was a blur. Everything hurt. His head was a mess. His heart seized in his chest. He couldn't take a full breath. "...I'm...having...a heart attack..."

"No, angel, you're having a panic attack." He felt a hand in his hair. "Do you remember how you helped Sirius?"

"Five..." James whispered, because he couldn't get any breath. Another sob tore out of his throat, guttural and awful.

"Yes, soleil. Can you touch the floor for me? Just think about how that feels under your hands, think about the colour of the carpet over here, think about what your tears taste like right now. You'll be okay. You just have to remember how to breathe. I'm sorry, baby. I need to help Severus, I knew this would happen. I knew this would... after what happened when we practiced. I'm so sorry, angel."

James tried to follow Regulus' instructions, and focus on the physical things in the room, but all he could feel, all he could think about, was the static feeling under his skin, all over him, inside of him, and the pain he had put inside of Snape everywhere he burned. He was in a void, trapped in his skin without hope of escape. He cried, cried and choked on his breath and his spit until he was on his hands and knees, vomiting. It was all liquid, because he couldn't stomach very much food these days, and it burned coming up, the acid in him outside of him, coming out of his nose while he sobbed brokenly.

He remembered the cold, impersonal curiosity he'd had, the desire to improve , his desire to impress, to earn praise, and not for the first time in his life he wanted to hurt himself—badly. He remembered something very suddenly, looking hatefully at the veins winding up his arm. A lifeline, a raft on the open ocean. He couldn't survive this feeling inside of him. The water was deep, and the waves were pushing his head under. He was drowning. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. Sobbing so badly he could barely see, he took his wand out of his sleeve, rolled it down frantically, and, in a rush, pointed it at his own arm.