Thestrals.

He could see them now. James froze in front of the carriage, his heart still in his chest. He couldn't believe that he hadn't anticipated this. Of course, Dumbledore would send the carriage for them. He wouldn't make them walk the grounds with their trunks, and James had known since third year, when Peter lost a grandfather, that thestrals pulled the carriages. He had pressed him for a description, and he had seen the illustrations

But neither his mate's explanation nor any drawing in a textbook had told him that seeing a thestral would force him to hear his mother's rattling breath and see her eyes fade. James swallowed heavily and shuddered visibly. Sirius gritted his teeth at the sight of them, but, as though reading James' mind, acted as if they were invisible to him. James opened the carriage door for Sirius, and followed him in as though nothing was out of routine.

The ride was silent. James tried not to look out the window, and he knew Sirius was doing the same. He shivered through his thick cloak from something besides the cold.

The carriage halted, and James opened the door a mere second later. He dragged his trunk down, hearing the thestrals pad the ground impatiently with their hooves. His jaw tensed, and he tried to think of something else other than why these thestrals were suddenly so visible to him, why he could suddenly hear their breaths behind him.

The Healers walk out of the room, defeated.

He could hear Sirius' voice calling to him, but it slipped further away.

His mother's hand iss cold and stiff as he grips it. Tears are a luxury he can no longer lose himself in. His father and he stare at the unmoving body before them.

James lost his balance, barely catching himself. Sirius' hand was holding his shoulder. He knew that this reality was where his mind should be, but the memories were unraveling instead.

"You'll be expected to make some sort of statement tomorrow, Harold," Mr. Lucas says. "I'll calm the press down, pay a few people off. But I can only hold the Boards off for so long, Harold."

His father's face is in his hands, so James nods for him. Valerie is beside him, holding his hand. He wonders why she is here now, but James can't think about topics like that for too long. He can only think about what happened twelve hours ago.

"Potter? Potter!"

James blinked, shaken. Looking quite perplexed to see him there, Lily Evans was walking up to the castle with Amos Diggory's cloak around her. James knew it was his because the Keeper was standing right beside her without anything but his Hufflepuff jumper to protect his chest from the cold.

Sirius nodded in recognition. "Evans. Diggory."

"Dinner's about to start," Diggory supplied. "Looks like you two have great timing."

James glanced briefly down at their entwined hands. "So do you." Sirius noticed and raised an eyebrow.

"Pardon?" Diggory asked, puzzled.

"Well," Sirius replied, "You never made for the Quaffle"- here he tilted his head in Lily's direction- "while there was a bigger Chaser in the game, did you?" He clapped James on the back. Lily's eyes flashed in recognition of Sirius' analogy, but anything she had been about to screech at him was cut off.

"I'm a Keeper," Diggory stumbled.

"I'm not so sure," Sirius jibed, grinning for the first time in a while. "Might wanna reassess that, hey, Evans?"

Lily ignored him. She practically led Diggory up the stairs to the castle, but stopped suddenly when she reached the doors. Looking barely over her shoulder, she said, "It's good to see you're back, Potter."

"Glad to see you too, Lily," James answered. Lily snorted and walked inside. James stared the door, wondering what was going on. He didn't know how he was supposed to act. Normally, James would have punched Diggory's lights out for holding hands with Lily Evans. Now that seemed rash and unfounded. Lily could date who she liked- what did James care? He couldn't be with her right now anyway. The jealousy that he always felt when Lily was with another boy was there, but it was barely noticeable over the heavy weight of grief.

"Are you coming, or are you gonna wait for Evans' permission to come in?"

James felt the corners of his mouth turn upward slightly, but he couldn't tell if he was smiling or if he just wasn't frowning anymore. The boys trudged up the stairs, pushing open the heavy doors of Hogwarts, only to see Filch standing not five inches from the doorway.

Sirius was the first to recover. He looked down at the minute space between them. "I can see that you missed us too, Filch. Hug?"

Filch sneered. "Come back to make my life miserable, have you? To set off your dungbombs and your fireworks. To break every rule in this place, eh? That's why you've come back, isn't it? Well, you'll have to wait. Professor Dumbledore wants to see you, Potter. Immediately." He pulled James' trunk away from his grasp, looking more upset than we he usually saw them.

"We'll have to search these," Filch said, dropping James' trunk on the ground and kneeling beside it.

"Right here?" Sirius asked in indignation. "Students don't deserve privacy anyway." Sirius and Filch glared at each other, and James knew that Sirius had at least three pounds of dungbombs in his trunk. Normally, James would be worrying about his trunk as well, but this time he knew it was clean.

His stomach ached to proceed through the Great Hall, but instead James said good-bye to Sirius, wishing him good luck in an undertone, and walked up the Grand Staircase. The rough texture of the railing was comfortingly familiar as he ascended the stairs. Strangely, none of the staircases James traveled moved as he stepped on them, as if they knew the even their best efforts wouldn't prevent this student from reaching his destination. As James looked at the portraits lining the walls, he could almost see some of the passageways underneath them. James felt like he knew this school better than his own house sometimes, but at that moment, it certainly felt like more of a home.

A few students passed him, fellow Gryffindors often stopping to say hello or, worse, sorry.. He even walked by three Slytherins, but all of them seemed to think it best to keep on their way. What was surprising was the number of girls waving at him, or pausing their route to talk to him. He was used to girls flirting with him, but the five girls he met along the way had not been flirting with him so much as throwing themselves at him. In fact, he was so paranoid that he was convinced the next sound he heard was another girl.

"James?"

He stopped, turning around halfway up the stairs to see Albus Dumbledore looking up at him.

"Professor," James said. "I was just going up to your office."

Dumbledore did not answer right away. Instead, he simply stared at James for a few seconds. It made James feel uneasy, as though he was being examined instead of seen. Unconsciously, James ran a hand through his hair, unknowing as to the reason why Dumbledore suddenly chuckled.

"What caused you think that I wanted to see you in my office, James? I realize that you are thoroughly conditioned to seeing teacher's in that environment, but today's purpose is not punishment." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Follow me." He began to descend the stairs that James had just walked up.

"Where are we going, Professor?" James asked, his voice rather monotone. This seemed to unnerve Dumbledore, for he paused and looked back at James before he replied.

"Desire fororrim eht eesot," Dumbledore said, smiling.

"Desire what?"

"I'd like to apologize," Dumbledore said, ignoring James' question, "for the carriages. Until only a twenty-one minutes ago, I did not know that you had actually witnessed your mother's death. I'm sorry if you had to experience any distressing memories."

That was what he wanted to talk about? His mother's death? If that was so, James really didn't want to be here. He already thought about that moment constantly, did he really need Dumbledore to pick it apart and examine it for him?

"Professor, I'm actually starving. Could we maybe pick this up later?"

"No, we could not," Dumbledore said sternly. "I'm sorry, James, but I really must insist." He turned into the landing of the next staircase and gestured for James to follow him.

They walked in silence for a while, into a section of the castle that James had rarely been. It wasn't until he saw a suit of armor that James recalled exactly what was here, but stayed silent as Dumbledore opened a door on the right. James entered after Dumbledore, observing a scene he already knew too well.

It was a dusty classroom. The desks were stacked on top of each other, and some were even toppled over. It was sort of the room that the Marauders would use to hide-out in after running from a prefect. James' eyes were immediately drawn not to the broken desks or the plain chalkboard, but the mirror in the corner.

Deciding it was pointless to pretend he wasn't acquainted with the mirror, he walked towards it. "The Mirror of Erised. I show not your face, but your heart's desire." He stood slightly off the side, not sure if he wanted to see into it anymore.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "What have you seen it before?"

"I saw myself playing professional Quidditch," James answered mechanically. "And then I saw Voldemort gone last year."

Dumbledore nodded. "A common sight these days, I'm sure. One you'll share with your counterpart. Hopefully."

"Was I supposed to understand that?" James said, already knowing the answer.

"Not at all. I would have been astonished if you had." Dumbledore walked closer to the mirror, but stood off to the side as well. "Many students have discovered the mirror and obsessed over the image, but I suspect far more have walked in here and not spoken of what they'd seen to anyone. What we each see in the mirror is extremely personal and private. Which is why tonight, James, when I ask you to step in front of the mirror and tell me what you see, I know exactly how much I'm invading your life."

"When was the last time you told your deepest desire to someone, Professor?"

"Not half an hour ago. To your father," Dumbledore responded calmly.

"My dad?" James asked, taken aback. "My dad was here?"

"Indeed. He wished to discuss your return to Hogwarts, among a few other things in which I'm not permitted to share. It was he who told me you were at St. Mungo's that day. But that is a story for perhaps another day. James, I really must ask that you trust me. Please step in front of the mirror."

James sighed, staring at the mirror for only a moment before giving in. What he saw there did not surprise him, but was almost more impacting so. There was his mother, as youthful as he could ever remember seeing her, smiling at him, and very clearly alive. His breath was fogging up the mirror he was so close. Her glasses couldn't contain the happy sparkle in her eye, and she stood straight and tall. She winked at him and laughed at something James wished he could experience with her. The image was so hopeful that it was agonizing. He swallowed hard, and turned to tell Dumbledore, but he couldn't find his voice.

"Do you see your mother?"

He nodded, turning back to his mother's face.

"I, too, see a dead relative," Dumbledore admitted, suddenly somber. "And I, too, feel guilty over her death." James tore his eyes from the mirror to Dumbledore, wondering how he knew.

"But I when I look into the mirror, I know exactly what it means. It means I'm human. It means that I want her back more than anything else in the world. And whatever guilt I may feel, I know that it is a regret. I know that my past doesn't make me a bad person. Do you understand, James?"

James looked back at the face of his mother, feeling the burn of tears. He tensed his jaw, blinked, and stepped away. "No."

He made for the door, sure that he'd feel Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder. He put his hand on the door knob, sure that he'd hear Dumbledore's voice telling him to wait.

He didn't.

When he closed the door behind him, there weren't many things he was sure of.