Where Are We Now?
By: forestFIRE
Summary: Five years after Hogwarts ended, James has become a bitter Quidditch player with a girlfriend-who isn't Lily-that he hardly knows and has found that Lily's back in his thoughts and life once more.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns all the characters except for Camille.
Authors Note: This story was written because of a certain CRACK USER. It's a little hard to understand, I know, but each of the "sections" is from a different person's point of view. I hope you enjoy this story.
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The door slammed open, as a very weary, exhausted, and most of all, frustrated Lily Evans stomped in, leaving a track of snow on the once flawless carpet. Dropping her heavy bag, she removed her heavy cloak onto the floor, hearing her mother's rapt voice in her head about her messy habits. Her small frame fell into a plush armchair, as she wonder how she managed to choose one of the most straining careers in the entire wizarding world, mentally, physically, and emotionally. Wryly, she remembered those days when she craved work, being the workaholic she once was. But now? It seemed as if she had nothing left in her to work for, except the expectations of everyone around her. She had no family, except Petunia, and there was no male in her life that she could expect to spend the rest of her life with in bliss.
But no, she wasn't miserable at all.
Or that's what she told herself.
Her gaze fell around the cozy living room, falling on a redwood bookshelf full of photo albums, organized by years. Standing up slowly, she took a few steps toward it and pulled out the ones from her seventh year. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't looked at these for years, because the memories weren't happy at all. Blowing dust away from the first book, she opened it up to find a picture with her eyes glowing with vitality that she had long lost standing near the Hogwarts Express. A smile and a bit of cynical laughter began to rise from her, seeing how naïve she was and how innocent it all seemed. Turning more pages, she froze at the picture of her on the arms of James Potter, with the other Marauders clustered around them.
James Potter.
She had trained herself to hate those two words put next to each other, despite the fact that she knew she would always feel something for him. But she could feel that her person, in that picture, was full of euphoria, with a huge smile on her face. Looking at herself in the mirror across the room, she could only see a fatigued woman, aging, despite the fact she was only 23 and had no interest in what would happen to her for the rest of her life. But by the end of that year, she would find herself is such deep misery when he left. She remembered the night she waited for him, worried that he had somehow killed himself at his parent's house. When he came back the way he did, she was stunned, then angry, and then horrified at him. It was then, she knew, that she realized that he was always so perfect that there was none who could have resisted his charm. A Quidditch star now, the sexy chaser then. But his ability to twist, to turn, to change the world made everything different.
It was amazing to her sometimes, how he could lie to people so efficiently.
The Potter family, she contemplated, brought him up to be the person he is today. But was it she or her that changed him? But she might never know the answer to that question.
James stood still, his back arched, as he leaned against the wall. His broomstick lay next to him, as he posed for the cameras that burned his eyes, yet he never faltered to blink. He heard nothing, ignoring the squeals to the right and the snapping to the left. From someone's view who had never met him, they might've seen him as the ideal aristocrat, a cold harsh beauty, and someone that they should never cross. That was their goal anyway. His thoughts never left him, as he struggled to keep up the mask of slight amusement. A smirk that was laid onto his firm lips never ceased to move.
Another photo opportunity, another day. Would it never end? His mind wandered, stretching here and there, and finally reaching upon how he got there.
He was brought up to be here. He was brought up to stand and pose, to dance and sing, to rule the world will the power and wealth he had. And most of all, he had been brought up to learn to deceive, to lie, and to be able to toy with people's minds, hearts, and souls. But had it all gone to waste? Did his whole childhood, spent on pain and eloquence, get wasted? He could still hear the endless lectures that stretched from when he was born until Hogwarts. "James…remember to never show more emotion then you have to…you must be the player of the chess game and never allow yourself to be played by any other…pain brings nothing but strength…." The endless voices of his tutors and parents rang in his head, as he moved silently to his broomstick and got ready to fly.
Lifting off, he flew into the night sky. Somehow, a faint memory triggered his mind as he thought of how once flying brought him the greatest of joys. He could still feel the breezy day's wind, the cheers of the spectators, the excitement pumping all over his body, the sun burning into his back, and he could feel those eyes on him. Then, he flew for himself and his House, but now, what was it? A façade that brought him great wealth and fame? Shaking his head, he discarded that thought and flew aimlessly for what felt like hours. There were few times when he felt like this, wondering his own path in life. Most of the time, he just ignored these thoughts and focused on his reality. Suddenly, he realized that he was heading toward Scotland on his broom and veered back toward London. The bright lights of the city shone in his eyes as he flew toward his flat near the northern area.
He was perfect.
Or so they thought.
There was none, the magazines claimed, that was more perfect that James Potter. He was the epitome of pure goodness, a constant fighter against the Dark. He was kind, donating to charities. He was fit and handsome, with the girls squealing as proof. He was incredibly rich and powerful in politics, despite the fact that he was in sports. Whenever there was a cause that needed to be helped, it was always James Potter who stood up first. He was everything a man should be, or so they thought.
Did they know that he wanted to more then often rip their throats out? Did anyone know that he hated who he was? Did anyone realize that he wasn't the rich, spoiled celebrity that they all had grown up admiring? There was a few, he knew, that saw right through his mask. One was there, looking-no, staring-at him the whole time, measuring him, discerning his thoughts. His body tensed at the thought of the others. He landed softly on the porch of his house and opened the door cautiously.
A woman sat on his couch, her mouth parted in laughter. She was clad in only a thin nightgown, something he found was almost wrong in a sense. Her luscious brown hair was clutched in a large clip, with strands falling out of it attractively. The table in front of the couch had dainty feet on them, and her aquamarine eyes were absorbed into the screen in front of her. Turning around, she smiled at him.
A smile planted itself on his face, as he sat next to her, his arm around her shoulders. Would the show ever end?
A group of men sat around the pictures of James and a certain woman, with their hands tense and eyes almost flashing in anger. A handsome man sighed and wondered what his former best friend had turned into. They had lost their friendship when he had become to turn into the emotionless person that he was today. She was probably the best thing that ever had happened to him after the Marauders came along. But she had left him in the end, something that wasn't surprising. In fact, they had all left him in the end, all alone to deal with his own problems. It was always like a weight in his stomach, but he would never be able to understand or comprehend his change or even his own behavior. They had lost him, when he had decided that he would finally go back to the boy he was before Hogwarts. She had lost him, when he had decided to breakup with her and date people only for political power. But would they ever reach his heart again? He had never cried about this, never before. But just today, just today, two silent tears slid down his cheek as his heart ached for his friend.
Where was the James Potter that made their memories of Hogwarts sparkle with drama, excitement, and humor? Where was the obsessive James Potter that had drove them all insane with his inability to shut up about Quidditch and a redheaded beauty? Was the person just a figment of their imagination? He wondered why they suddenly chose to take out their pictures of Lily and James that day, on their usual night out together. Was it an omen? Mentally snorting, he realized that he sounded precisely like the Divination Professor on his off days. Turning on the muggle television that Peter owned, he was stunned to see the Quidditch game that James had just played in. Surprised, the weary-looking man across from him raised his eyebrow. Completely ignoring this look, he threw the remote at the glass, shattering it, as his eyes turned to a darker hint.