DISCLAIMER: I do not own Lily and James. I can wish that I did with all my heart, but it will, sadly, never be so.
This is part one of the Seeker Trilogy. Review, please, and tell me what you think!
Watching the Seeker
Seventeen-year-old Lily Evans sighed and replaced her quill in the inkpot. She sat back in her chair, arms crossed, and surveyed the paper in front of her. This wasn't going at all well. And she didn't understand why. She'd never had trouble with her words before. They always just seemed to flow from her hand onto the page, but not this time.
Shaking her head, she shuffled through the stack of parchment beside her, pulling certain pieces out and reading through them, her eyes skimming over the parchment. Some of the papers dated back to first year, as she'd been writing since then. The parchment represented seven years' worth of spare time and obsession.
Suddenly, the papers in her hands were yanked away.
"What have we here? Doing homework during Christmas, Evans? Tsk, tsk. You shouldn't waste the holiday doing homework." James Potter. Oh, how she hated that boy! And yet . . he couldn't read those papers, he couldn't!
She got out of her chair and made to grab them back. "Now, now, Evans. Temper." She glared at him.
"Give them to me," she demanded in a deadly voice.
"Ask nicely." He was infuriating!
"Now." Her eyes and voice were as cold as ice. He folded his arms, looking at her in mock disappointment, the papers tucked protectively under his arm.
"That wasn't nicely. Now, if you can't say please, I'm going to have to take points, Evans." She made no reply, but darted forward and snatched the papers from his grasp. He glared.
"Stay away from me and my things, Potter. I mean it. I have put up with your shenanigans for seven years, and I'm tired of it. Leave me alone."
"Or else what, Evans?"
"Don't push me, Potter." She gathered up all her supplies from the table, and stormed out of the library. As she breezed through the door, a paper from the top of her stack fluttered off and landed on the floor. With a smirk, James picked it up.
"Hey, Evans, you dropped . . ." He started to call after her, but his eyes had caught the page. Quickly, he read the paper in his hands, frowning, forehead creased. When he finished, he took a deep breath and set off through the hall toward the Common Room.
He didn't expect Lily to be there, and she wasn't. He sank into a chair and read it again.
He sits. He leans casually against the trunk of a huge beech tree, the filtered sunlight splashing his face, moving in constant patterns as the June breeze blows through the leaves and branches overhead. The breeze plays with his coal-black hair, tousling it, giving him a windswept image, which he helps along by running a hand subconsciously through its length. His long legs lie sprawled across the grass with a careless grace.
In his hands, he holds a Snitch. Sitting straighter on the ground, he releases it. It flits around his head, fighting the breeze, choosing direction. Then, without any warning, an arm shoots out, fast as lightening, and fingers fasten carefully around the golden ball. Again and again he releases it. Farther and farther away it flies. Closer it comes to freedom each time, yet always it is recaptured by that same quick arm, those fast-moving fingers. Always it is drawn back inside the protecting shade of the beech tree, always it is brought back to its owner.
His friends watch and laugh, enjoying the game. He laughs, too, the familiar lopsided grin taking over his face. He is the picture of relaxation; calm, collected, and nonchalant. His face and posture bespeak an indifferent amusement, but his eyes betray him. Those hazel eyes show the truth. While he is relaxed, they are alert. He is composed, but his eyes are ever watchful. They dart from side to side, always following the flitting Snitch, always calculating, always judging. This is no game to him – it is a challenge. Always he watches, always he waits, waiting for the moment to strike. This is no game. It is more. He is more. He shows his true self this June day, under the beech tree. The person the school sees at every Quidditch match, yet only then. He is more. He is a Seeker.
James' mouth hung open. Lily Evans had written this about . . him?
Maybe not, he thought. Maybe it's someone else.
"Impossible," he whispered. "Who else could it be?" His eyes skimmed over the page again. He turned it over, looking for the line that said, "Just kidding." Looking for the line that said, "And I hate him." But it wasn't there.
He is more. He is a Seeker. Did she mean it?
She had to. You can't write something like this and not mean it.
"But she hates me. She tells me so every opportunity she gets."
Maybe she has more under the surface than she lets on. Like you do.
James shook his head. He didn't understand it. At all.
Lily stormed into her room and slammed the door shut. She placed the stack of parchment into the box under her desk, then collapsed on her bed.
"Stupid James Potter," she muttered. "Pompous, arrogant prat! I hate him!" She glanced at the box of parchment under her desk and sighed. "I hate him and I'm totally obsessed with him, and it's been that way since the first time I met him. This is not good." She'd spent every free moment she had since first year writing about him. As much as she hated him, he fascinated her to no end. Everyone thought she was over achieving, doing extra homework at night when she'd sit in a corner of the Common Room, scribbling away, and sometimes, that was right. But most of the time, she'd been watching James. Watching and writing.
Talking with his friends, taking exams, preparing a prank, charming a teacher, she'd recorded it all in careful, accurate details. She took from her pocket the paper she'd been working on in the library. She read it a few time, then crumpled it into a ball and threw it into the waste paper bin. She'd been trying for weeks now to roll together all her writings into one. She wanted to write James, to record him on paper, not scenes or dialogues, but James. But it was not going well.
She'd taken it from every aspect. Student, teacher, prankster, friend, enemy, she'd done them all, and nothing had produced the image she was trying to capture. She'd never had such trouble writing before. This project was consuming her, and part of what frustrated her so badly was that it should have been simple! This was James Potter, the boy she told every day he was immature and juvenile and shallow. It should not be taking three weeks of effort to sum up his character.
She finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, hoping the answer would come in her dreams, and preferably before classes started again. She could not be agonizing over this with N.E.W.T.'s a mere five months away.
James didn't know what to do. He read the passage over and over again the next few days. It was always in his pocket, always in his thoughts. He only hoped that Lily didn't discover it missing and demand it from him.
He wondered if Lily had written about what had occurred just moments later. He hoped not. In this passage, James Potter seemed an okay person.
He had replayed the events of that day over in his mind for the last few days. Whenever he thought about how he had acted, his cheeks burned with shame. He was not proud of what he had done. Not proud at all. He still had the Snitch, he still practiced with it. But he had stopped hexing people since then. What Lily had said had really gotten to him. Lily Evans may have annoyed him, and still did, but in a strange way, he wanted her to think well of him.
Until that day in the library, he had been sure she hated him through and through. But he knew she couldn't hate him as badly as he had thought she did, and still write something like this.
He didn't know what to do. It was as simple as that. How was he supposed to confront her about this? He couldn't do it face to face, nor could he do it with the Marauders knowing – he'd never hear the end of it. No, he had to think of a more subtle way of approaching her.
The Christmas holiday would be over in two days, and he wanted to get this done with before then. Maybe in the rush of the start of term, he could forget this whole thing. So he made up his mind to do something tonight. And he knew just the thing.
Lily got out of bed the morning before the start of term, yawning and stretching. She stopped when she saw that something had been slipped under her door. Curious, she bent and picked it up. It was an envelope, addressed to her. Opening it, two pieces of paper fell out. One she recognized. Reading the first line, she gasped and her pulse quickened.
He sits. He leans casually against the trunk of a huge beech tree, the filtered sunlight splashing his face, moving in constant patterns as the June breeze blows through the leaves and branches overhead.
"No," she whispered. "No. He can't have – he didn't –" She turned to the other paper.
Lily,
That day, when you left the library, you left this behind. I hope you don't mind, though I know you will, but I read it. Many times, in fact. I read and reread it and have continued to do so over the past few days. I'm still in shock. I thought you hated me, Lily, but maybe I was wrong. I'm not good with words, at least, not like you are. I can't write from a neutral viewpoint. I really can't write very well at all. But I'm going to try.
I haven't been the best person, and I know that. Maybe it's because I've never known how to act around you. I still don't, but I've made an image, and I have to preserve that, in my own way. You don't know, there's no possible way you could understand. You're different from me, as if that wasn't apparent from our seven years of hatred. You don't care what people think, and quite frankly, I admire that. I'd love to be able to say the same, but I can't. I care what people think about me. I have to. But I can't please everyone – I've found that much out.
I never understood you, Lily. Have you ever really understood me? This passage you wrote – how did you do it? How did you capture the mind set of a boy you've never really known? I want to know, can you give an answer? Because you did capture it. Perfectly. I'm a Seeker, but the trouble is, half the time I don't know what I'm seeking. I know you don't like me, Lily. But if you don't like me, why watch so carefully? Why write things like this?
You confuse, fascinate, and torment me, Lily. Now more so than ever before. The person you've seen when I talk to you isn't the one I want to show you, Lily. This day you recorded, I don't know if you wrote more about it. I hope you didn't. I'm not proud of what happened later. Keep this around, Lily, as it may be the only time I say this. You were right. I was an arrogant prat, and, in a lot of ways, I still am. I had an ego bigger than Hogwarts, and felt I had something to prove. But you didn't buy that, did you? You never did. You dared me to prove something else that day, Lily. You dared me to prove that I cared about something besides myself. Well, I do. There is something – someone – that I care about more than myself. You.
I've tried to change, Lily. But I can't change who I am. I can't change who all the people here expect me to be. You've seen the real me, but I can't let others see that. You don't understand, and I'm not asking you to. But I just wanted you to know that I tried to change. And I did it for you. I've been hiding, Lily. But you found me. Like the kid game Hide-and-Go-Seek, you found me when everyone else had given up. But I can't show that. I just don't know how. That's who I am, Lily. I can't change it. But for you, I tried.
I always felt like I had something to prove to you, Lily. I didn't think I've done a very good job of proving it, until I read this. Now I don't know. I'm more confused about you than I was before. Maybe you won't believe this. Maybe you'll just call me crazy. But I do mean it. This is hard for me. You've asked me to do something, live up to some standard that I'm not accustomed to. And I don't know if I can. I'm sorry.
-J. Potter
She lowered the letter, her hands numb, her heart pounding. He was confused? Well, he had succeeded in sharing his confusion. She couldn't stay here, she knew that. She had to know. She had to.
Lily jumped up from the edge of her bed and tore out into the corridor. She knew where he would be, and she had to find him. She ran through the halls, dodging students and suits of armor. She entered Gryffindor Common Room and looked wildly around. In a corner of the room sat the four Marauders, whispering and laughing.
"James Potter," she called, striding over to them. He looked at her, and for a moment a look of fright held his eyes. But then it was gone.
"Yes, Evans?"
"Did you mean this?" she asked, holding up the note. He hesitated.
"Mean . . what, Evans?"
"What you said in this note, James. The one that was slipped under my door this morning. Did you mean what you said?"
"Now, what did I say? You'll have to be a little more specific." She stared him down.
"All of it, James, but especially this bit. 'You dared me to prove that I cared about something besides myself. Well, I do. There is something – someone – that I care about more than myself. You.' Did you mean that?" Sirius had started to laugh, but Lily shot him a glare so fierce, he stopped mid-chuckle.
James swallowed. "I can't think why I would even write something like that, Evans, let alone mean it. You must have me confused with someone else." Fury boiled up inside Lily. Fury so white-hot that she could not remember ever being so angry. Not fully knowing what she was doing, she stepped forward and slapped James across the face. Hard.
A red hand-print rose on his cheek as he stared at her, mouth open, hand reaching up to touch the mark. Lily was shaking with fury now.
"You are a coward and a hypocrite," she said, struggling to keep her voice even. "You tricked me, James. You tricked me into thinking that maybe things could be different, that maybe you were starting to grow up. But I guess I was wrong." She turned on her heel and fled, not trusting her self-control any longer.
James knew it would only be a matter of time before Lily confronted him. He'd slipped a note under her door this morning, and was still wondering why he'd done such a thing. If she found him, here, and asked him about it in front of the Marauders, he would have to deny it and make it up to her later. He'd explained that much. At least, he'd tried to.
He didn't think she'd come to confront him in front of everyone, so he was absolutely shocked when she rushed into the Common Room.
No, Lily, no. Not here. Not now. Please. But she came.
"James Potter." He tried to be casual. His friends were staring at him.
"Yes, Evans?"
"Did you mean this?" She held up the note he had spent all last night writing. To deny it would be to risk Lily's wrath, to confirm it would mean awkward questions later. He needed more time.
"Mean . . what, Evans?"
"What you said in this note, James. The one that was slipped under my door this morning. Did you mean what you said?" He could feel the eyes of the other three Marauders on his face, waiting for his answer.
"Now, what did I say? You'll have to be a little more specific." She shot him a look that could have curdled milk.
"All of it, James, but especially this bit. 'You dared me to prove that I cared about something besides myself. Well, I do. There is something – someone – that I care about more than myself. You.' Did you mean that?" No, why did she quote that bit! Sirius had started laughing, but one look from Lily silenced him. Thank you, Lily. And I just hope I get a chance to explain.
"I can't think why I would even write something like that, Evans, let alone mean it. You must have me confused with someone else."
She slapped him. He had been expecting her to scream and rant, but not slap him. He never expected that from Lily. He stared at her in open surprise. She was shaking with fury.
"You are a coward and a hypocrite," she said, struggling to keep her voice even. "You tricked me, James. You tricked me into thinking that maybe things could be different, that maybe you were starting to grow up. But I guess I was wrong." She left. James closed his eyes, and, not wanting to answer any questions, he stood.
"James? What was that all about?" Sirius asked him.
"No, no. I've got to talk to Lily, guys. Get a few things straightened out." He left them, staring at him, then at each other, no one really understanding what had just happened.
He wasn't far behind Lily as they sped through the halls. He could see her bright red hair flying out behind her.
"Lily, wait, please!" he called. She sped up. Cursing, he ran to catch up with her. He grabbed her wrist, she spun around.
"Let me go."
"Not until you let me explain a few things."
"I have nothing more to say to you, Mr. Potter," she said coldly.
"Nothing to say to me? That's fine, but I have a few things to say to you." He turned and pulled her along the corridor and into the Heads' Common Room. "Why did you do that, Lily?" She looked at him in disbelief.
"Why did I do –"
"I meant it, Lily. I meant all of it. I spent all last night working on it."
"Then why did you –"
"Oh, for goodness sake, Lily! If you read it, you should know why already!"
"That's not good enough, James!"
"It's going to have to be!" She stared at him for another moment, then turned and stormed into her room. James moved to go after her, but she emerged again and shoved a large box into his arms. It was filled with scraps of parchment.
"What should I do with them? Dump them in the fire? Or do you want them? Because all that is a lie!"
"What is . . what are these?"
"Seven years worth of you. That what it is. I've spent every spare moment I had watching you, writing about you. And it's all been a lie."
"No, it hasn't," he said, giving the box back to her. "If they're anything like the one I read, they're more me than anything else."
"But if you don't show anyone, then it really doesn't matter, does it?" He remained silent for a long time.
"I didn't know you wrote."
"There's a lot you don't know about me, James, because you've never taken the time to find out. I write only about things I don't understand. Because maybe if they're on paper, staring me in the face, I'll be able to understand them better. But after seven years, I'm still clueless, James. I don't understand you! You said that maybe these meant I didn't hate you, but that's not true. I still hate you, but that doesn't stop me from being fascinated with you. You're like a bad dream I keep having, but can't get rid of. And I know that all I have to do is understand the dream to be rid of it, but it keeps changing whenever I feel I'm getting close. I don't know why you do this to me, James. And I don't understand why you won't change, if you want to so badly."
"If you're looking for answers from me, I can't give them to you."
"You can't? Or you won't?" He didn't know what to say to that. She turned and went into her room, closing the door behind her.
Lily sat on the edge of her bed, completely bewildered. Finally, in a fit of temper, she pulled a handful of papers from the box and threw them into the air. They fluttered down all around the room, much like the snow falling outside the window.
She sighed, pushing her hair out of her face. "I don't understand," she told the papers now settling themselves upon the bed, the floor, and the desk. When she received no answer, she went to the door, and looked through the peep hole. James was sitting on a chair in the Common Room, playing with his Snitch. Lily smiled despite herself as it tried to fly away, only to be caught again. She gasped as a thought occurred to her. She pulled from her pocket the two pieces of paper James had given her that morning. He is more. He is a Seeker, her own words said. I'm a Seeker, but the trouble is, half the time I don't know what I'm seeking, he had written. She flew around the room gathering papers, then sat on the floor, quill in hand and reread all of them.
This one spoke of the Sorting from first year, that from an encounter after exams in third. Here, one talked of a prank pulled just before Christmas, there, a scene of a normal evening of homework. She took her quill through all of them, underlining this sentence and that passage, looking for what she wanted.
When the last paper had been read and marked, she waved her wand, and all the papers flew into the air, arranging themselves in chronological order. She waved her wand again and the outlined portions separated themselves from the pages, and the papers left with holes flew back into the box. She walked around the room, reading what was left, then sat at her desk with a fresh piece of parchment and, smiling, began to write.
Lily spent the rest of the day reading, rereading, writing, and revising. After term started, she refused to go to bed until she had spent another hour perfecting it after all her other homework was done. Friday night, five days later, she word the final word and put a triumphant period at the end to finish it. She replaced her quill in the inkpot and gave an accepting nod. It was finished.
She waved her wand and sent all the passages that had lined her room for five days back into their parent writings. She crawled into bed and started to turn out the light, but at the last moment, dashed back over to the desk and took up her quill again. At the top of the first page she wrote her title. "The Seeker."
And I don't understand why you won't change, if you want to so badly! Lily's voice continued to echo through his mind as term started. The topic of what had happened Sunday morning never came up between the Marauders, but James knew that was only because Remus was keeping Peter and Sirius from asking.
But I can't show that. I just don't know how. That's who I am, Lily. I can't change it. But for you, I tried. He had written that as his excuse, but even in his mind it sounded shallow, and was not a proper excuse by any means. He knew Lily would never accept it, and neither did he. But for you, I tried.
"But I obviously didn't try hard enough, did I?" he whispered one afternoon in the Common Room.
"What, Prongs?" Peter asked.
"Nothing." His eyes drifted to where Lily sat in a corner, scribbling on a piece of parchment. Is she writing about me?
"Okay. So, when are we going to pull our latest attack on Snivillus?" It was now or never.
"Let's lay off Snape for a while, okay, guys?"
"What?"
"What?"
"What?" Three pairs of eyes turned to him.
"Well, Snape's probably had a rough Christmas, I just think we should leave him alone for a while. And while we're at it, let's stop hexing the Slytherins without a good reason."
"But," Sirius sounded totally lost. "We have a good reason. They're Slytherins."
"That's not good enough, Padfoot. Not really. Besides, I don't know about you, but I've got enough homework to keep me busy until late summer, at least. Plus there's studying and all my Head duties. If you want to plan pranks on the Slytherins without any reason but to cause trouble, you'll have to do it without me. But, if they really deserve it, I'll be the first to jump in and help." He felt someone looking at him and snapped his eyes up to Lily. She was still looking at her paper, but she had stopped writing and was smiling a little. She was certainly close enough to have heard what he had said.
Remus turned slightly to see who James was looking at, and then put two and two together. Thankfully, he didn't say anything to draw the attention of Peter and Sirius.
"Well, he's got a point. You should definitely take Prongs' words to heart, Padfoot. If memory serves, you've got detention with McGonagall every night this week. Don't want to fall behind on your homework with N.E.W.T.'s drawing steadily closer, now do you? I think James really does have the right idea. Let's lay off pranking for a while."
Sirius eyed the two of them carefully. "Well, Wormtail will prank with me, right?" he asked, draping an arm around Peter's shoulders. Peter pushed him off.
"Actually, I've got a lot of homework, too, Padfoot."
"Fine. Desert me. But it's no fun pranking by myself!"
"Then join the study group," Remus said. "Trust me, you'll thank us for it someday." James smiled. But for you, I tried.
Saturday morning found James once again in a group with the Marauders. Lily approached him and, without a word, held out an envelope. He took it. She smiled and left.
"What was that about?" Peter asked as James looked down and read the front of the envelope. James Potter. Confidential.
"Head stuff, I imagine," James said.
"Well, open and let's see," Sirius said eagerly, scooting closer for a better look.
"Sure, Sirius," James replied sarcastically. "I'm going to open an envelope that says 'Confidential' where you can read every word."
"What, aren't you?"
"Hm, let me think about it. No." Sirius pouted.
Back in the Heads' Common Room, James opened the envelope. Lily was nowhere in sight, but her door was closed, and James had a feeling she was watching him.
The Seeker
James Potter. A man of many faces. He is Prongs, a friend. He is Potter, an enemy. He is Mr. Potter, a student. He is James, a teacher. He is a Marauder, a prankster. He is James Potter, Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and Head Boy of Hogwarts. But there is more to James Potter, that not many people see. He is a friend, an enemy, a student, a teacher, a prankster, a role model. But he is more than that. He is a Seeker.
James Potter. For six years, he has been Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And it is only during these games that he actually shows the real James Potter to the world. Only in the air and on a broomstick is his life's purpose simple. For on the pitch, he knows what he Seeks. Take him out of the air, put his feet on firm ground, and he has no idea. But still he Seeks.
James Potter. He Seeks. He always Seeks. Sometimes what he needs is just outside his grasp, other times it seems miles and miles away. But never has he found what it is he searches for. Never has he been able to grasp it, to circle life in triumph of a completed and successful search. Because as he Seeks in life, he drowns in life.
James Potter. From a distance, from the outside, he appears invincible. Day by day, he is always the same. Daily he laughs, he sits, he works, he teaches, he smiles, he thinks, he imagines. But also daily he drowns, he loses, he despairs, he agonizes, he misinterprets, he makes mistakes, he lives the same nightmare. He Seeks, and never finds. And so his life is empty. And the emptier it grows, the more confident he must appear on the outside, or people may begin to guess.
James Potter. Why is he afraid? Why can't he change? He believes that to change is to show weakness. That to show weakness is to lose. He says the world is different, yet he struggles to be the same. Why hasn't anyone taught him that it's okay to be different? Why hasn't anyone taught him that Seekers are everywhere, and can only cease to Seek be throwing off the fear of being seen as different.
James Potter. He strives to be the same, and that makes him different. He struggles every day to change, yet does not understand that he has already changed. He was dared to prove that he cared about more than himself. Why doesn't he see that he did? He was asked to live up to a higher standard. Why can't he see that he has?
James Potter. He is more. He is a Seeker. He says he knows not why he Seeks. And that is why, when he looks at his hands, he does not see he has already caught it. And it long ago stopped struggling to get free.
James Potter. Once he sees what he has, once he sees what he has become and what he has achieved, he will stop drowning. He won't stop Seeking, because a Seeker never stops. But he will Seek higher heights and achieve higher dreams. Once he sees, he will live!
James Potter. He is more. He is a Seeker.
James lowered the paper. Lily's door opened. He looked up at her.
"Thank you," he said.
"I've been working for a week on it. It's finally right."
"Do you understand?"
"No, but I've come closer to it. And I've realized something."
"What's that?"
"I don't hate you anymore. If I ever really did."
He grinned. "Does that mean you'll come to Hogsmeade with me on Valentine's weekend?" Lily almost rolled her eyes, but smiled instead.
"Sure."
Any good? Did you like it? Review!! Then go read part two: Capturing the Seeker