Author's Note: Hello. Just a random idea that came to mind.

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters of the Harry Potter universe. I also do not own Stevie Smith's poem from which this fic gets it's name. Basically, I own nothing except a really crappy Ford Tempo I call Nessie that is falling apart.

Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he's dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning.

-Stevie Smith

James Potter rolled over restlessly. Sitting up he punched his pillow into a different position and rolled over again.

"Jem, will you knock it off?" Al's muffled voice requested from the other side of the attic/bedroom at their grandparents' home. "I know that you're too cool for sleep now, but I'm an official loser and I still think sleep is awesome, so could you just hold still for ten seconds?"

"Sorry," James murmured. He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the sloped ceiling. He felt awful. Ever since his mildly psychotic episode at the start of this summer, James's parents had refused to leave him alone for any extended period of time. They usually conned Teddy or one of his siblings to baby-sit him, but with the annual Ministry Ball that night, his parents must have believed he'd finally try something again. He assumed that they thought a whole onslaught of relatives would keep him from hurting himself. So, he lay there, wide awake, at the Burrow, surrounded in theory by practically the entire Weasley clan, as well as a few extras they had picked up over the years. James sighed again and resisted the urge to roll over. He didn't need to piss Al off any more.

Thinking back on it, James supposed that slicing his wrist open at the dinner table wasn't among his most brilliant ideas. Especially now, since all eyes were on him at all times. It was like being given a taste of Al's first ten years of life. He got a little more attention than he had bargained for with that brilliant stunt. His parents had even moved him into Al's room back home, using some pathetic excuse about getting a head start on redecorating for once James left home… in nearly two years.

He had just been so fed up with it all. Mostly because, after all of the acting out he'd done over the years, the one time he really needed attention, nobody was bothering to pay attention. This time, it wasn't his jealousy that Al and Lils were always the ones graced with the concern, while he was always the trouble maker that caused extra stress.

Mostly James was fed up with himself. Because after everything, even after The Stunt, he still couldn't bring himself to just tell his family what had been the cause of it. He couldn't muster up the courage… some Gryffindor he was.

Resentment rose up in his chest. The Weasleys always took care of each other in times of crisis. When Al was sick, everybody was there. When Teddy and Vic broke up suddenly over a stupid fight, everyone was there to collect the pieces and repair the broken hearts…

Nobody was there to repair James's broken heart. Because nobody even knew that James's heart was broken. Nobody knew that Adam had snapped it in two the day before his graduation because he felt he was making a mistake. Nobody knew because nobody, save for Adam, knew that James Sirius Potter was gay.

So, James mused, in his own personal case, if you add heartache to a secret, mix in a desperate wish for some kind of attention, and top with a family constantly thrust into the public eye, you get suicide threats and (highly unsuccessful) suicide attempts at the dinner table.

James sighed again, then held his breath. He listened for a moment to his little brother's deep breathing, before he dared to inhale again. He smiled slightly to himself at his mental use of the words "little brother." While Al was still scrawny, he'd shot up like a weed over the last school year… Little Albus wasn't quite so little anymore.

Peaking over the covers again, James took in his brother's form. Yes, he was most certainly asleep. James glanced down at the wrist he's cut at dinner; still wrapped tightly in snow white gauze… they couldn't seem to make it heal. He figured that its origin might have had something to do with it. He pulled away the gauze, and bit down on his lip as he picked painfully at the scab. It bled a little… hopefully enough to warrant more parental surveillance. He they saw he was keeping this up, they'd have to pay even closer attention. Maybe then he'd tell finally be able them, maybe then they'd know…

"Is Dad paying you to baby-sit me?" James asked Lily as she took as seat beside him in the backyard of their home. They were leaning against the tree in the backyard, looking out at the stream that ran the length of the end of their property.

"Nah," Said James's thirteen-year-old sister. She threw back her fiery red hair, an unsuccessful attempt to keep it out of her face. "This one's pro bono." They sat quietly for a few moments, both of them grasping desperately for something to talk about. Neither was being very successful… until Lily produced this gem. "Your wrist looks better now."

"Yeah," James said, rolling his eyes.

Lily's brown eyes suddenly caught James's blue ones. They held each other's gaze for a full moment, sadness creeping into Lily's eyes. "Didn't it hurt?" she finally asked.

"What?"

"When you cut your wrist, didn't it hurt?" Lily's innocence leaked into her voice, and James found himself surprised by it. Lily, poor Lily had seen so much, had been through so much, he had mistakenly assumed that she'd understand that this was just chalked up there with all of the other bad stuff.

James bit his lip, considering. "Yeah, I guess it did. Not much, but a bit."

Lily nodded. "Are you going to do it again?"

Now James found himself getting annoyed. This innocent act was hardly Lily's personality. He found it irritating that the typical know-it-all didn't know this time. He stood up, preparing to walk away. "You've never heard of subtlety, have you?"

"No," Lily retorted, hands on her hips, becoming an almost perfect model of her mother at thirteen, at least from what James had gathered. "My oldest brother is James Potter, so I never really mastered the art."

Smart-ass is back. Despite his irritation, James couldn't help but smile. "No."

Lily smiled widely. "You won't do it again?" The innocence had returned.

"No, I never taught you to master subtlety."

They stared at each other for a moment, unsure of where to go from there. James turned away again, planning to retreat to the bedroom he was forced to stay in while his parents dithered around trying to figure him out.

"Are you ever going to tell them?" Lily called after him, a slightly hopeful look upon her freckled face. "About Adam, I mean."

James whipped around, crossing the distance between them rapidly. "What?" His eyes were wild, a mixture of joy that somebody understood, somebody finally knew, and the fear of rejection that came alongside that knowledge. Terror consumed James's face. When he was only inches from Lily's thin, boyish body he whispered, "You know?"

"Of course," Lily said, crossing her arms, all guise of innocence now vanishing from her features. "I'm an expert observer, you know. I blend into the background easily…" A sly smile crossed her face. "I also caught you trying to cover up one of Adam's little love bites back in April. That only proved it for me."

"Does Al…?" James let the question hang.

"I haven't said a word to anyone," Lily said. "He might, but he's never said anything about it to me."

James flopped onto his bed, exhausted. His little chat with Lily earlier on in the day had left him with so many questions that it had drained him of all energy.

"Hey," Al said, looking up from whatever book he'd been reading when James walked in.

"Hey," James responded, face in his mattress, his voice severely muffled.

Albus frowned, putting his book down. Leaning back on his pillows, the thin boy stared at his ceiling, covered with enchanted stars from his childhood that he had never been able to let his mother and father remove. "Remember, when I was six and Teddy accidentally lit me on fire?"

James smiled ever so slightly, confused at the random-ness of the question. He remembered the day vividly. It was Al's sixth birthday, and Teddy, being the big fourteen-year-old he was, had decided that he was going to help light the candles on Al's cake. Little did he realize that Al was bouncing excitedly in his seat exactly three inches from where lighter Teddy held was. So, when James accidentally knocked into Teddy's arm, the shoulder of Al's jumper caught fire and the whole room went into frenzied panic-mode. James propped himself up on one arm. "Teddy's face was pretty priceless, and Aunt Hermione was the only one with enough sense to actually put you out."

"Yeah…" Al said, grinning. "Remember going to King's Cross the day I started school?"

"How could I forget?" James said, turning his head to look at the ceiling. "I had you convinced that you'd end up in Slytherin."

"Yeah," Al laughed. "That was the day Dad said we'd only share a room if he wanted up to blow up the house."

James was silent.

"Do you think he's trying to tell us something?"