James
The click of the door as he shut it behind him barely registered in James’ mind as he mindlessly made his way to his bed, pulling off his quidditch robes in favour of his more comfortable sleeping wear. He moved as if on auto pilot, his thoughts else where.
They had won. The quidditch cup was theirs, another year of victory for Gryffindor. And it was all thanks to the caption this year: James Potter. Everyone was in the common room celebrating, hence the empty dorm he stood- sat in now. He should be happy, he should be down there drinking fire-whiskey and cheering for his team but instead he’s here, an empty numbness soaking his bones keeping him company and the steady yet painful beating of his heart in his chest being the only thing reminding him that he’s real. The bed below him is soft but the hands touching it feel as if they don’t belong to him.
James wants to scream, to bang his head against the wall until he falls unconscious or cry his heart out; something, anything to feel like a person again.
It’s stupid. He personally thinks. Why in Merlin’s name does he feel like this, why does he feel so shit and empty, like the world is fabricated when he has absolutely no reason too. His parents are wonderful, he’s popular and has amazing close friends, hell he even has the best boyfriend to ever exist! Sirius and Regulus don’t have the same luxuries as he does and yet they’re all down celebrating. Remus is a fucking werewolf and you don’t see him sitting alone on his bed questioning if said bed is even real. He feels like a fraud, as if he’s making fun of people with actual problems when he feels like this and he thinks he should stop being so fucking ungrateful for the things he has. It’s frustrating and confusing and above all it doesn’t fucking help. Knowing he has no reason to be sad doesn’t stop him from feeling it. And yeah he knows Remus has said that it’s okay to be not be okay and not know why, but he wants to know why and he wants it to stop.
Headboy, prefect, captain of the quidditch team, mother hen of the marauders can’t feel like this. His role is to be strong, to comfort Sirius, to protect Remus, to hype up Peter and to tell Regulus that he’s perfect. How can he do that when he isn’t even sure they’re real, how can he do that when the all consuming thoughts of everything and nothing at the same time cloud his brain.
The urge to curl up into a ball and never see the light of day again is unbearably overwhelmingly and James honestly feels as if he’d do anything to feel something. He’s pushes his hands into his hair, gripping at the black strands and pulling as he drops his head practically into his lap. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block off the world. The sensation only lasts a few seconds and he knows he wants- no needs to feel more.
A manic sort of adrenaline suddenly rushes through him as he stands up and starts passing the length of the dorm, spinning around sporadically on his heal and marching over to the wall. He bangs his head against the sharp marble, a masochist grin stretching across his face at the shrill of pain flaring through his scull. He should have stopped there. Feeling alive he whips around to where his wand is laying on his bedside table.
In the back of his mind James was scared shitless of himself, the feeling of control slipping away at every movement. If anyone had asked him the day before if he was suicidal he would have denied it honestly. He’d never thought about dying at his own hands nor did he really have any reason too, even in his derealisation episodes. But his mother was always telling him to try new things. A first time for everything as some may say.
James gripped his wand in his hand, sitting down on the edge of bed and flicking the wand to lock the door of dorm. The eerie silence in the room echoed in his brain as he stared at his laid out wrist. Hesitation. Then he lifted his wand and spat out
“Diffindo!” Pointing it at his arm. A deep satisfaction coursed through his body as a shoot of excruciating pain filled his arm, blood oozing out of the gashes and dripping down onto the sheets of his bed. The red from the different cuts spread quickly around, seeping into his sheets and clothes. He ignored the light headiness he felt and held out his other arm, grinning from ear to ear. He felt amazing.
“Diffindo! Diffindo! Diffindo!” The pain was a different type of unbearable but he oddly liked it, manic laughter quickly joining the tears streaming down his face. Tears that he hadn’t even realised were there. He relished in the agony, a sense of freedom and accomplishment controlling his mind until the stinging pain brought him back to the real world.
Suddenly he could hear loud, frantic banging on the door and a man- Sirius his brain provided- shouting almost hysterically. Realisation hit him like a monstertruck, the shock of what he’d just done out powering his other senses and James stared down in horror, pain and regret at the gashes on his arms, the blood so thick he could barely see them. A wave of nausea flooded over him and in a quick act of pure panic he flicked his wand and unlocked the door before his whole world went black.