unspeakable | jegulus

all that i deserve

chapter title: you like me too much by the beatles

tw: graphic self-harm

James mirrored Regulus and his gentle, nervous energy. Regulus' mask was flawless. Uncrackable. James' was not. It was thin veneer, and he could feel how brittle it was. This wouldn't last. The storm under his skin was barely contained, there were too many threads of lightning burning inside of him. He took his hand and squeezed it tightly.

"I suppose I'll have to apparate us there. I doubt He Who Must Not Be Named is reachable by floo." The quiet anger coiling tighter and tighter inside of him wasn't in his voice, or on his skin. It sat in his stomach like a stone. He felt it there, slowly growing larger and larger with every moment that passed.

"Bellatrix told me we're meant to meet him at the Lestrange House." James looked at his eyes, pale as the sky, and wished he knew legilimency, he wished to look inside of him just once. How many secrets was he keeping? How many times had James fallen into his hands, trusting and loving, wanting nothing but to be loved and to love in return, and gotten manipulation and lies instead?

What would be unforgivable? What would be unforgivable? What the fuck would be unforgivable if this wasn't?

Regulus' eyebrows furrowed a touch.

"Are you alright?"

"Do you think I'm alright?" James couldn't force a smile. "I won't be able to eat. Is it rude to be early?"

"You want to leave early?" Regulus' eyes widened. He touched his hand again, and James let him. Walburga was waiting in the doorway with shining eyes. Her neatly manicured hands were clasped over her stomach. James didn't look at her, though he wanted to. If he did, he knew he would snap. The fire crackling in the hearth was too bright, burning his eyes, he stared into it all the same, imagining sticking an arm inside of it, feeling it lick off his skin. It might hurt less than the fire already raging in his head. He wished he could obliviate himself.

He didn't need this today. Not now.

He needed to trust the boy beside him with his life. Instead he felt like an idiot, a gullible fool still holding his hand.

Would it make him a bigger idiot to go along with it all the same? Why was he even doing this? Did he know? Would he ever know? He didn't want to talk about this, but if he didn't he knew he wouldn't be able to go through with it. He knew he'd freeze. This was the last thing he needed today, this ugly, awful revelation.

Why couldn't it be tomorrow, when he'd already decided, when it was out of his hands?

James wordlessly crossed the room and sat in the chair nearest the fire. He rolled up the sleeve of his robe, then the sleeve of the black shirt he wore beneath it. He looked numbly at his own forearm, scarred silver on his skin. He traced the first scar, the one Regulus had given him the blade for. He looked up at Regulus and Walburga, standing side by side. There was nothing gentle in him. He couldn't swallow it. He couldn't make it fit under his skin.

"Cold feet?" A nervous edge crept into Regulus' voice. He approached James like he was a spooked deer, like a wild animal. Slow, cautious.

Did James want to see him in any seat of power? Did he want to marry him? Did he want to marry a boy who lied as easily as he breathed, and hand him the world?

Regulus saw something in James' expression he didn't like. It washed over him. The nervousness, the sweetness, both vanished. His expression went cold, numb. His voice had a terrible edge to it when he said, "James..."

"There you are," James said softly, mimicking the way Regulus had spoken to him so many times, in his room, when they fought and he pushed him and pushed him until he snapped and became something with too many teeth in its mouth. He stood up and took two steps toward him, rolled down his sleeve, fire on the inside of his throat, pain in his chest. James knew how to hurt him. He knew better than anyone. His voice came out calm, and ominously even. "Your brother told me you're a snake. He said I was stupid to trust you. He said you're a liar. He was so sure you'd hurt me, I guess that's what snakes are supposed to do. Bite. Kill." He tilted his head, hating himself for every word coming out of his mouth, hating himself for every word he'd bitten back to spare this boy's feelings, his entire life a double edged knife guaranteed to cut him up no matter how he tried to hold onto it. Walburga was watching them, he was so aware of her he felt sick–like the devil was breathing over his shoulder, watching him sin. "I told him you're just a boy, I told him I think you have a good heart, I called him a prick. I was an idiot. You really are nothing but a snake." He pulled the bent pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and held it right in his face, rigid with suppressed rage. Regulus glared right into his eyes, mouth pressed into a thin, flat line. "I'm going to smoke now," James said slowly. "If you come outside before I'm finished, you will never see me again. Never. I need to think. You need to leave me alone."