#faeriesandthings

/rOLLS OFF MY BED AND BLUSHES FURIOUSLY

nNNNO come back that was rly cute,, thank you~ UvU

I-I volunteer as tribute!

Hm thanks for the warning :) I guess if I need to I could always read the manga after I finish.

something-really-fishy said: lives of millions of people depend on us DON´T SCREW IT UP NOW

[Under a cut for atrocious length.]

It was a strange thing, to disconnect. It wasn't as much losing touch with reality as it was losing touch with yourself, with your body, with everything that you are. Once you realize what's happening, it can be terrifying— especially if it's unfamiliar. There is no sense of control, no sense of safety, nothing but being completely alone with your inner self.

When Seamus had first disconnected, it was in spurts during the war. It had almost been a defense mechanism, to be honest. He'd welcomed being able to sit back and watch everything play out before him, welcomed not feeling like the one who sent those deadly spells, the fatal curses, the magic that killed people. No matter how Seamus tried to justify it, it weighed heavily on his soul. However, he would always sputter back into himself, almost like when, during a falling dream, one jerks violently into one's own body. Something, anything, could ground him just as quickly as it severed his connection, and it had become a cycle that continued long after the Battle, and long after he returned home. He'd grown accustomed to long periods of time simply slipping away, speeding by in blurs that he didn't remember. Hours. Days. Once, on and off almost constantly for a week. That was logical, though. Purposefully cut off from the world, drawn tightly into himself, what else did he have but his abstract thoughts to keep him company? There was nothing to ground him when he was shielded in a thick shell of terror and self-loathing.

But, when he'd returned to Hogwarts, the episodes had diminished in both duration and frequency. Here, he was filled with a sense of purpose that he himself could not formulate alone, and his reasons to stay calm, to stay in his body, were quickly coming to equal the reasons to panic and retreat, even if he was not consciously aware of any of it. All he knew was that he was getting better— less and less did he warrant the worry of others— and he was relieved.

And so, it should have come as no surprise when, upon another episode, he grew afraid. It wasn't simply the fear that inspired the depersonalization, but the fear that he would no longer be capable of reconnecting. The longer it spanned, the more this fear grew, and soon it was so blinding that he couldn't even be bothered to watch what menial tasks his body bothered itself with.

It had started that morning. To begin with, he'd been anxious. No matter how hard he tried, he was simply poor at both potions and charms, and the fact that he had managed to score Excellents on his OWLS simply attested to his dedication, and the long nights spent in the bowels of the school, practicing. The Potions class had finally reached information that thoroughly baffled Seamus, and though he'd been completely dedicated to writing the essay due previous to brewing a potion, he had no idea what he was writing about. The concept was nearly clicking, but there was something missing. On top of that, Seamus had been concerned with his friend Susan's withdrawal from him. He spent much time berating himself for his poor courses of action on their last outing, and rather than striving to fix the problem, he simply let it lie, staring him in the face. What really topped the cake was in fact very small. A simple conversation amongst the fifth years seated next to him in the Great Hall. They'd talked furtively about the year before, sharing stories and filling in a muggle-born student who had been forced to go into hiding. It was innocent enough, in retrospect, but simply hearing it had set off an avalanche of thoughts and feelings from which Seamus could not return. The twine connecting mind and body, knotted again and again along its length, once again snapped, leaving him to free-fall into the abyss of his own mind.

It took him a while, but Seamus finally noticed the change when he became aware of no longer being in the Great Hall. There was chatter, dim in the background, and bodies jostling him on all sides. Initially, he was not alarmed, but when he failed to come back to himself after five minutes, or ten, or twenty, he'd begun to panic. Soon, two hours had passed and class was let out for the day. He'd tried again and again to find something grounding, a sensation or thought to pull him down from space, but hands kept grabbing from the dark and pulling him back.