His eyes were bruised underneath. Dark circles stood out on his pale skin. Eyes that were once framed by dark lashes and tan skin were now the most prominent thing on his thin face, so dark against his white skin. He used to be healthy, good-looking even. He used to think of his appearance, to care.

But he hadn't since that night.

He closed his eyes, his hands clenching the marble top of the bathroom counter. He breathed in and out, trying to rid his inner eye of those eyes, the ones who had caused his new look. Every time he closed his, he saw her eyes looking desperately at him, pleading for help.

He didn't help.

"James, get out of the bathroom! There's only so much you can do about your despicable hair, you know. You can't stay all day in there, primping for some ungodly reason. I always knew you were feminine!"

His sister, Lily, was banging on the door. It rattled on its hinges and threatened to open but the lock held strong. There was not a hint of worry in her voice, not even a quiver of concern. The words were said with mirth and a teasing quality that only Lily Luna Potter could pull off. He could just imagine her knocking, pushing back her auburn curls and bouncing on the balls of her bare feet. He could see the slightly annoyed look in her brown eyes, eyes that were so like their mother's and so unlike that of her namesake. Lily Evans Potter had had green eyes, emerald green eyes: green eyes that had shined so brightly with so much life before being extinguished by a ruthless murderer.

Her eyes were like that too.

It was his fault. He should've helped her. He should've rid her of her pain and attackers. That woman had a family. She had friends and coworkers that cared for her and noticed her absence. He let an innocent woman die because he was afraid.

He was a coward.

"James! Get out!"

Now her voice wavered slightly. He usually answered her yells. In fact, he always did. He never could keep his mouth shut. And yet, he had never been so quiet. Never before had he ducked away, keeping silent. But he did now, just as he had done then.

It's what killed her.

With a frustrated yell, he punched the mirror. How could he stand here, pitying himself, when a woman just died? A woman that he could've saved was dead and yet he stands here, wallowing in self-pity. It was sickening. What was wrong with him? He had never been as brave as his parents and his own namesakes. Why couldn't he be as brave, as strong, as them? They wouldn't have let her die. They would have jumped out there and saved that woman's life. They would have ensured she lived, even if they died in the process. They were heroes.

He was not.

The shards of the mirror flew everywhere, shattering against his skin and cutting the flesh leaving what could very well end up being scars. He didn't care. For once, he relished this feeling, this pain. It was physical, so physical, and so much easier to deal with than the emotional pain and guilt he had dealt with since the incident. That hadn't been pain. That had been agony, slowly ripping him apart from the inside out until he couldn't breathe and couldn't deal anymore.

He couldn't take it anymore.

It was too much, too much pain. Tears welled up in his broken brown eyes, causing his eyes to shine with the realization. He picked up a shard and stared at his reflection in the small piece. He closed his hand around it and clutched it tightly, feeling the jagged edge slice open his hand. He couldn't stand feeling so weak, so small. He had always been the bigger man, always brave and popular, with a slight tendency towards arrogance. He wasn't used to feeling so helpless.

Only a slight hesitation took place before he brought it over his wrists. He didn't think. There was no need, not for this. His thoughts mirrored his actions, and he knew that. He was nothing, just a worthless face in the crowd who couldn't save one person. That woman deserved to live, not him. And so he would end it himself.

And he closed his eyes.

OOO

"Mum, James won't get out of the bathroom! I need to brush my teeth and shower!"

Ginny Potter was not unaccustomed from this occurrence of her daughter complaining about her eldest son taking too long in the bathroom. Yet she found herself sighing and trudging up the stairs to yell at James for his hogging the children's only washroom. She also found herself rolling her eyes at the fact that her husband decided to go with only one for the kids.

She was just about to yell when she heard the crash. Her breath caught before she rushed up the stairs, taking them up two at a time. Doors flew open all around her except for the one room she was heading for. Fear made her blood boil. She couldn't lose anyone else. She certainly couldn't lose her firstborn.

She would not let anything happen to her children. They were growing up without war and without possible death waiting every time they step out the door. They were as safe as possible, though not as safe as she would have liked, obviously.

"What's going on, Mum?" Albus Potter asked, stepping out of his room. Worry was evident in his face as he scanned her terrified face, searching for something to relieve his suspicions.

"I would like to know that as well."

Harry Potter stepped out of his office and exchanged a concerned look with his wife. Despite not knowing what was on the other side of the door, he walked calmly over to it and rapped his knuckles against the wood.

"James? What's going on in there?"

Silence ensued. When a minute passed, Harry pulled out his wand and blew the door down, not one for patience when something possibly gruesome waited on the other side. Sure enough, something terrible did wait them in the washroom floor. Their eldest son, James Sirius Potter, lay on the floor with his wrists sliced open, blood staining the once pristine tile.

Ginny and Lily screamed.

OOO

Sitting in the waiting room of St. Mungo's, was not what Catherine Ross thought her Saturday would contain. In fact, she wasn't sure what she was doing sitting in the hard plastic chair, staring at the faded green wallpaper that surrounded her. James Potter was not her friend. She didn't even like him.

Okay, maybe she did a little, but not enough to sit here in these terribly uncomfortable chairs for him to open his eyes like some lovesick fool. No offense, of course, towards the Potter/Weasley family who sat in the room with her. Depending on the person, the group was a teary mess. Ginny Potter and Molly Weasley were crying in their own ways, whether it is quietly in Ginny's case or heartbroken sobs in the case of Molly. Lily Potter was curled up in her chair, her head rested on Albus's shoulder, with a slight track of tears running down her cheeks from her chocolate brown eyes that looked almost identical to James's.

Al was staring blankly at the wall, clearly uneasy on the fact that he had nearly lost his big brother. The two didn't get along, Cat knew, but they both loved each other. The whole family was close, despite James's arrogant behavior, Al's dry sarcasm, and Lily's witty insults. That fact alone had kept Cat from completely isolating herself from her own family. If a group of people that were so unwilling to allow themselves to get close to one another can love each other with the ferocity that the Potters did, she could tolerate the not-so-hidden insults with underlying messages and the verbal abuse from her family.

It might be worth it in the end, right?

But that didn't matter at the moment. Cat shook herself into reality as the Healer entered the waiting room. Instantly, everyone looked up at her in the hopes of good news. She smiled.

"Everything is fine with him. It was a close call, but he will live. Go easy on him right now; he needs to rest for awhile. Mrs. Potter, I would really like to discuss what may have caused this. I believe a therapist is in order?"