Where Are We Now?

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.

--

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.

Where Are We Now?

Chapter Two: Regret

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: I don't own any of J.K. Rowling's characters or events in the HP Books.

--

The woman stared at the pictures of James in her magazine. There was nothing that she could see that was so perfect about him. His mask, the one she would come to realize was always the one who existe, would never fall. Even as he flew, the still mask never came off. She yearned to see him once the emotional person he once was, but she knew it would never happen. Moving slowly, her gown swished softly as she moved in the car. How did she get turned into a person like him?

Was she like him? Was she as fake, as ruthless, and as cold as him? Looking at herself, she groaned at the dress she was wearing. It was far too low for her own taste and her makeup was too much. But sometimes, she felt like a plastic doll, forced to do what these people around her wanted her to do. Where was the muggleborn girl that would fight against anyone who pushed her down? She suddenly wanted to scream at herself.

She remembered when he had loved her like none other. But was everything, all those sweet words whispered to her just lies? Sometimes, she would lay in bed at stare up at the dark wood planks above her head and wonder if those nights that she had spent holding him would ever exist again. Convincing herself again that it was all in the past and she had to look forward, she slowly composed herself.

A mask of coolness formed on her beautiful face, as her dark-green eyes flickered here and there. She could hear the screams, the squeals and cat-calls that were outside the muggle car. It was almost as if she was in the place of James, as she stood outside, a slight smile on her face. Before her, a crowd of wizards and witches screaming her name.

James laughed with the woman, her arms wrapped around his waist, as they watched the muggle movie together in his flat. His mind wondered as he pretended amusement at the stupidity of the characters. How long ago was it that he didn't have fake everything that came out of his mouth? Was it so long ago that he could not remember it?

He lay in his bed, turned away from the passionate woman that lay next to him. Did he love her? Oh how he pretended he did. With their flirty kisses and warm hugs outside of their house, with love making that never ceased to arouse him (or so they thought), he was such a good actor to all, that even his own mother was fooled. They all believed that they were the ones that would truly be together, the ones that were made together. But how little did they know. It was more than obvious of her love for him. But did anyone, anyone turn around and look at his love for her?

Sometimes, he thought that everything that he knew and loved was just a lie, waiting to find him and capture him. He remembered those times, when he didn't have to fear the past that was just waiting, waiting for someone to discover.

He remembered a red-headed girl, with a violent temper, who took his breath away. He remembered a painfully handsome man, once his best friend. He remembered a sandy-haired man, who gave him the chance to win the love of his life. He remembered a mousy boy, his friend that always seemed to be there for him. And most of all, he remembered the terrible looks, the terrible glances that they all gave him once he changed.

Twisting in his bed, he knew he didn't have to, but was blinded. They offered him money, a chance to be remembered in history, a job, and most of all, a world that he could trap himself in.

“James, why are you doing this? Stop it! Why did you leave me? What did I do wrong? Don't touch me.”

“Get away from me. What happened to James Harold Potter, my best friend? This is a mistake, a mistake.”

“If you ever remember our words, in the far future when you're a famous Quidditch star, you'll remember this as the worst mistake of your life.”

“Shut the fuck up James. Just leave us all alone. We don't need more of your `I am god' shit.”

“James. Potter. Why I'd never think that the famous, handsome, stunning, and wonderful Gryffindor chaser would ever leave his friends behind. At least I remember your solemn swear to your friends in-what?-first year to your friends who then trusted you. And didn't you so happily swear to them that you would never leave them, that they would always be the Marauders? Didn't you? Well, I guess you, not Pettigrew as I speculated back then, but you, the leader of them all, was the one to leave them with no one to trust, no one to believe any more. And that girl of yours. I'll bet you've ruined her life forever. I remember that you promised her that you would never hurt her heart that you would never cause a single tear to slide down her face. I suppose you failed them all in the end.”

A burning sensation filled his eyes, as he struggled not to let down the tears. A man should never cry, his tutors had once told him when he did, from the pressure that he had to uphold. It was a strange feeling, he thought, as he squinted, telling himself not to let those tears down. He told himself over and over again that it was for his own good, that it helped him, only half-believing what he thought. But it worked, as he turned over again, now turning toward the woman who lay in bed with him. His heart didn't pump faster as he looked at her and a warm feeling didn't gush through him like it once did.

Was that all a mistake?

Was everything that had known for five whole years just a lie? Was it worth all the hatred that he had received from these people that more than often knew him better than himself? Smiling quite coldly, he turned over one last time and thought the last thought of the night.

Yes.

His hand clenched dangerously, as the men around him told him to calm down. Nasty rants of hatred filled his head, as he remembered how he had left them, and when he discovered his mistake, he came crawling back to them. But by then, they were far from forgiving him, so far that for the first time, it was them that turned their backs on his pathetic form. But that was truly an dramatization.

But what had really happened? It happened so quickly that he doubted that anyone of them had even realized that their friendship had disappeared, until the door that they never noticed had suddenly slammed shut.

It was strange; he and James had always been the best of friends. They had never hidden anything from each other, or at least not for long, and it was more than difficult for either of them to lie to each other. Or that was the way from him. Though they got over the occasional spats about small things, they always remained tighter than brothers, tighter than anyone they had ever known. But then…it had happened. They didn't speak to each other for a whole month, longer than when he had led Snape to Remus during the full moon. He received a letter on the last day of school, with additional ones that he was supposed to give to different people. Mostly, his was describing how he had enjoyed their friendship for the previous seven years, but it was time for him to grow up and enter the real world.

Lily's was the most distinct and different out of all of them. He remembered that she had burnt it in her anger, but he had secretly copied it before she did this. It was so horrible that he had practically memorized it.

Dear Lily,

I have found that our relationship of the past six months has been quite amazing, but it is not something that will last. So formally, I, James Potter, would like to end our relationship and friendship. We are not two people that were meant for each other; we are far too different. I had never expected that we would last and this is something I have done for the both of us.

Please accept this fact without too much grief.

Sincerely,

James Potter

He remembered how her anger had caused waves of uncontrollable magic seemed to come off her, causing many students to disappear within a few moments. And somehow, she accepted the letter without any grief, or so he thought, until he had visited her in the summer to find that she was in a complete depression. How James could have done something to a person like Lily was beyond him. As far as he knew, Lily was the one person that could make his life complete, the one person that he might find to live for, as he once told him. And he knew that James hadn't been lying then; one couldn't just fake love and infatuation for three whole years. She had gotten over his ex-best friend a long time ago, but he knew from being somewhat close to her for seven years that she would always feel something toward James.

Wherever she was now, whatever she was doing now, however she was dealing with the pain in her heart, his own broken heart reached out to her.

-->

Where Are We Now?

Chapter III: Panic

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.

--

Her feet ached, as she sat hours later, in the limousine, after the horrible modeling show. No, she wasn’t a model, but a famous Auror, a one so far from England. She could never return to England again, not unless the world had ended. And that, she thought, would not come for a long time. How could she bear seeing his image with that whore all over the billboards wherever she went? Though she hardly knew it, they were both running from the past that they once had, trying to pretend that there was never anything between them, no action, and no love.

She feared everyday that a tabloid or a newspaper would discover what they had. It was inevitable. But why, why was she so scared that someone would discover their relationship. It wasn’t as if they had very much to hide, as every man has had a previous relationship, not matter how in love they were with another. But she just didn’t want to get caught by the media and to be haunted once more by the treachery of James Potter.

Every time the English Quidditch team came to France, she saw them and felt the thrill of joy at seeing him fly again. But every time, it seemed to get worse and worse for her to deal with, as he grew cold and emotionless. It was obvious, as pleasure never showed on his face, only concentration. No one else would’ve noticed this change, but then again, very few people would have known James the way she did. After all, she was still the girl that argued with James for six years straight. His physical features hardly changed, except for the hardening in his eyes that had disappeared for so many years.

She remembered how he first came into Hogwarts, a boy with cold eyes that was the Potter heir. The first time she saw him, she felt sorry for him, remembering those childhood stories that her mother used to tell her about the children of rich people and how they were neglected and how they always turned out worse than the children of the common. But then, when he opened his mouth…oh how wrong she realized she was. In her entire lifetime of meeting with famous Purebloods and Muggles, she had never met any as arrogant and conceited in her lifetime. He genuinely expected that all the people around him were merely pawns that he was allowed to use to further his ideas and desires. Somehow, Sirius Black saw some good in him and became his friend. To this day, she still didn’t know how, but the arrogance began to recede, very slowly from him, and he began acting like a normal boy. It took him seven years to finally destroy all the egotism that he once had and then it all came back.

Sometimes, she wondered why life was so unfair and how it took him all those years to become less prideful but it most likely took less than one day for him to return to his First Year self, who truly was incredibly infuriating.

She knew he saw her. She knew that he had so obviously ignored her. But she couldn’t miss the lingering eyes on her body as he held their trophy of victory, every single time.

They were in France, her territory.

His hands dampened for once before the game, for probably the first time in years. Their faces straight, but their ragged breaths showed more than their faces. They were scared, almost nervous. For James, he felt as if he could not fail her, though he knew that she hardly cared whether they won or not. But why, he always contemplated, why did she always come? She sat in the same place, in the Top Box, next to the same people every time. Burning, his eyes met sunlight, as he flew easily. Automatically, a mask of concentration filled his face, as the quaffle was thrown into the air. The thing he loved abut Quidditch, was the way it made him forgot everyone, except the game. He no longer remembered the pain that filled his life after Hogwarts, but only the rush and excitement of it. It was an escape, another world that he could hide in. He was good at this, as well, and had no doubts of his ability to play well.

The quaffle passed back and forth between the other chasers and him, as suddenly, the crowd cheered and booed wildly as they scored. Before he even knew it, the score was 100-20, England. The quaffle was passed to him, as he caught it by the tips of his fingers, and urged his broom to go faster. Dodging a bludger that came from the left, he weaved in and out of the other players, gasps in the audience at his skill at maneuvering. Finally, he came within reach of the goal and threw it with all his strength, aiming for the left ring. The keeper hadn’t been expecting this and reached for it, but missed it by an inch. His breath, which he had felt that he had been holding for the last five minutes, was let out.

Perhaps it was twenty minutes later or even half an hour, when he noticed the crowd was suddenly quieted, suddenly fearful. He heard screams of fear and pointing toward the open air on one of the sides. The other players looked around, trying to figure out what was going on. As they looked far into the horizon, it was all that they needed.

He was coming.

Thousands of screams were heard by everyone as they scampered away or apparated. He noticed that there was such chaos from the fear of the man that getting out of the stadium in such pandemonium would probably cause more deaths than the new Dark Lords. The English and French Quidditch team flew back into their respective areas. He noticed how she, unlike the other people around her that disappeared, stood strong and others joined her. With her wand out, it looked like she was ready for anything. Moments later, they entered the chaos, shooting curses and hexes here and there. Inside the locker room, he couldn’t hear anything, except the howls of agony and screeching above them.

He toweled his sweaty hair hurriedly, as his heart pounded in fear. Years ago, he wouldn’t have run; he would have fought while holding her hand to calm her. Now here he was, acting like a person who she would have despised for their cowardice. Even in the room, there was panic and fear from the Quidditch players who were believed to be the most courageous people around. Some didn’t bother to clean up as they flew with all speed in any direction, any except the one where the men in the dark cloaks were coming from.

They left France, without winning for the first time in years.

They met once more, at a pub in London. It was all over the news, everywhere they went, that almost a hundred people were killed in the attack. With twenty Aurors laying in their coffins, they prayed that she was not one of them. There were rumors of how he had captured half the French Quidditch Team and a bit of the English team as well. But it was so obviously false, when the tabloids began to claim that the players were now robots, after they were all sighted practicing. A slight burden seemed relieved off their shoulders, when they saw that she was alive and well, with no injuries.

A mousy-looking boy asked, “Why are we always so secretive about the fact that we care about her? It’s not like James cares anymore. It’s not like any of the bosses care.” They raised their eyebrows at him, but nevertheless, sighed in response to his true words. There really was no reason why they pretended they never knew her. Just like James did. Just like James.

When the sandy-haired man commented on this thought of his, they didn’t make any response to his words, except for a few sighs.

“Lily would be disturbed if she knew we were still watching her outside of Hogwarts. She’s a big girl now and doesn’t need us watching her. I doubt she ever did.” The handsome man spoke, for once without a tinge of humor in his voice.

“We have a right to be scared, you know. Haven’t you seen any of the Wizarding hospitals? They’re so full of injured Aurors and Ministry workers that the organization of the building is completely off. And believe me, I’ve seen some of those Healers and they look like they’re fighting a war that they know and think will never end.” The tired looking man commented.

Snorting, the man with the watery eyes said, “That’s because the Minister’s sending all the Aurors to do the stupidest things. It’s better that the public hears about how many Aurors are falling then how the Aurors are waiting for someone else to kill this bastard. They head into missions without filing all those files like they used to, so most of them have no idea where the hell they’re going. I’ve heard from this guy in my office whose brother is an Auror that he was once sent into Canterbury and almost got captured because he accidentally Apparated into a Death Eater campsite.” They chortled at this, with hidden despair underneath their laughter.

The sandy-haired man left soon after this, leaving two galleons for his butterbeer, though he so obviously knew that he gave them extra.

Sitting on his couch after he returned home, he stared emotionlessly at the photo in front of him that he had so recently discovered in his overgrown pile of memories from Hogwarts, of the two of them kissing, hugging, and holding hands. How could such a beautiful and amazing couple fall to such depths? One was now involved in a relationship with a woman he didn’t love, the other, closing into herself. This was something that they at least would never be able to heal, something that they would have to do together. But would they want to? Would they even want to after all this time, time without each other? He wondered about it often and throughout the many hours spent on this topic, he really had found only one. Lily and James were not made for each other.

But whatever the case, he didn’t want her to think that they didn’t care; she used to be one of the closest people to his heart. He couldn’t lose her, he couldn’t. But what to do?

He turned his attention to the empty page in front of him. And he wrote. He wrote with tears in his eyes, with his hand shaking, with his heart breaking. He wrote of his hatred for James, what life was; he wrote of everything that came to his head. Without even looking at it again, he gave it to his owl and looked around the flat.

How desperately did he try to ignore the pictures in front of the newspaper that was on the coffee table before him, of her impassive face, her cold eyes hardened from life.