Two months since the start of term, James slipped out slowly from the building, making sure not to make a sound. Not only did he not want to alert any teachers that might be on the prowl, he did not want to awaken any fouls beasts that might be lurking in the shadows.

Like my mind.

James shook himself. He was not to be thinking thoughts like that. Bad thoughts. Unhappy thoughts. Big, dark, evil thoughts that would creep up on him like a big, black cloud, looming up behind him if ever he chanced to look, striking bolts of lightening through his already shattered life-

No, he thought angrily. I can't think like that anymore. I'm a happy man. He shook his head again, clenched up his face and transformed into his stag form.

Almost immediately, a sense of clarity came floating through his mind, and all his fears, worries, anxieties...all his thoughts, his human thoughts, went floating out of reach. Like how he was slipping behind in classes. Like how he was flying badly. Like how Peter looked a wreck, a very suspicious wreck. Like how Lily seemed not to hate him anymore. Like how Sirius and Remus were acting round each other. Like how Dumbledore had announced they were planning on having a school dance, to liven up everyone's spirits in the dreary winter, and James didn't want to go, didn't want to go near people entwined up in love, and alcohol, and rhythm, but he knew he'd have to go, to supervise, to place limitations on people's fun, to be the dominating spoiler he had always detested, to be the guy in the corner, with no one to hold, to be dreaming, thinking, aching...

These thoughts were gone. Out of reach. They had been replaced with practical thoughts. The air smells fresh tonight. There has been a kill in the forest; there is blood. The grass is cold. There is something in the tree. I am thirsty. The lake is close.

That's how James spent a lot of his time, living for the moment. But as soon as he was forced to change back, the terrifying prospect of tomorrow, and after that; his whole future, came hurtling towards him at a terrifying speed, until it screeched to a stop, inches away, just out of his reach, and if he could only stretch a little...sometimes he thought it was too far.

That night, last summer, it was.

James could still remember the thoughts running through his mind. He could still remember the icy cold feeling that felt like it was pulsing through his veins, I want to die, I want to die. He could still remember the incomprehensible pain as the blade pierced his flesh, but also the bittersweet thought that it would all be over soon.

He could still remember. Time doesn't heal all wounds, especially not emotional ones.

So he ran. He ran from the memories. Sometimes they would chase him, but as a stag, he was much, much faster.

'Hello.' whispered a soft voice in the distance, breaking his train of thought. He turned around and saw Lily, sitting by the lake. James sucked in a breath, and, on impulse, opened his mouth to reply, but remembered he was a stag, and closed it again.

'What are you doing here? I didn't think there were stags in the forest. I hope nothing hurts you.' she whispered, holding out her hand. James walked forward and nuzzled it. 'Nice animal, aren't you? Free animal. No worries or troubles...' Lily trailed off, and James noticed she was crying. He licked her hand gently, and she let out a small laugh, which was consumed by a sob. 'You know, you're probably the only one around here who understands me.' James looked at her in the eye and sat himself down, close to her. Lily made a small noise in the back of her throat.

'Tame, aren't you?' she said, and cooed softly at him. 'Settling down, huh? Want to hear my life story?'

James' heart missed a beat. Even in his simple animal state his human mind wanted nothing more than to know Lily's life story.

'You probably don't. No one does. No one cares about me at all.' she said bitterly.

James leant forward and licked her hand again. I care. Lily shook her head.

'My friends don't understand me. My peers judge me. My teachers' expectations are too high. My parents know nothing about me. No guys like me.' she said, putting her head in her hands. Suddenly, she gave a small laugh.

'Cept Potter.' she mumbled, then sighed. 'Except bloody James.' she said, and laughed louder. James' heart was starting to race, and his stomach had gone cold. 'Good old emotionally unstable Potter.' she said, and James looked up, startled. 'He tried to kill himself, did you know?' she said, smiling an unamused smile. James stood up quickly. Lily's face fell. 'What is it? Do you hear something?'

But James had long left her startled face. He ran, faster than he ever had. Ran away from the thoughts. Ran from the girl of his dreams, musing bitterly about him. Ran from everything that drove him insane.

But the thoughts were too fast. They clawed at his tail, latched onto his legs, made their way along his back until they reached his head, and clawed their way in.

He fell to the ground, defeated, as the thoughts scraped and scratched and penetrated his mind's defences, and settled somewhere in the core.

He lay there, in the wet, dewy grass, late one November night, conquered by his demons.