The Seeker- The Story of James Gunner Lane.
(Hello there, Kevin here. In writing this fanfiction, I may deliberately twist some facts about, so do not worry if I do so. Please comment and write a review! This takes place starting in 1984, during Voldemort's uprising. If there are any grammatical errors that I passed over, please let me know.)
1. Boy
The Cornwells lived in Leatherhead, Surrey, in a fine two-story house on Orcutt Street. The house, made of brick, had a large, flowery garden out front, and a spacious yard. The lot was surrounded by a high stone wall, adorned at all four corners by wrought-iron angels. The living room was gracious and warm, filled with smiling pictures of the middle-aged couple and their two sons, Warren and Mason. There were five bedrooms, including a guest room and one used as a study. The Cornwells and their house looked like they would be featured in a magazine. But like any picture-perfect family, they had a nasty secret. His name was James.
James Gunner Lane was eleven years old, and an orphan. He was thin and small for his age, with a pale complexion, freckles, and vivid red hair. The Cornwells had taken him in as a baby, hoping to appear better in their community by taking in a poor, parentless child. But they wanted nothing to do with him any more. He was little more than a nuisance to them now. At first, he had been almost lovingly raised, but as he grew older, strange things started happening around him. When James was three, he had been playing airplanes with Mason, the two of them pretending to fly them around the room. Mrs. Cornwell left the room to make lunch and ran back into the room a minute later to the sounds of Mason shrieking. The two-year-old was being chased around the room by a flock of airplanes while James stood on the table and shouted, waving his arms almost as if directing the planes that had suddenly become self-mobilized. A year later, Warren accused James of turning his pet rabbit purple. James could not explain what had happened, but Warren was so sure of what he had seen. Another time, six-year-old James somehow got Mason to climb on the roof with him. Two hours later, Mason was in the hospital with a broken arm, and James was swearing up and down that he could fly, and that he had been trying to show Mason how. There was also no explanation for how the young redhead always got full marks on his school tests- when he knew practically nothing about the subject. His teacher accused him of cheating, but James knew it wasn't so. At one point, his teacher locked him alone in the classroom and ordered the young fifth grader to complete an entire exam- a secondary school final exam. When James received full marks on the exam, his teacher quite literally quit her job. She'd had enough of the antics of this latest generation- they all seemed to find ways around everything, and it was too much to try and keep up.
Not only did strange things always seem to happen around the boy, but he was unexplainably strange himself. His eyes were a different color every time you looked at him, and his hair always grew back freakishly fast, no matter how often or short Mrs. Cornwell cut it. And equally strange was his imagination and his off sense of humor. James was also obsessed with fake creatures such as vampires, werewolves, and ghosts. And for some reason, he was always coming home from school with some sort of a wild animal.
Needless to say, the Cornwells were half-terrified of the boy, and could not stand being around him longer than they had to, for fear that some of his strangeness would wear off on them. As a result, he was more often than not locked in the attic, which served as his bedroom.
The left side of the attic was full of boxes, old furniture, and the like. To the right side of the trapdoor was more stuff, except in the very far corner. This small area served as his living space, furnished only with a cot, a small desk, and a dim desktop light. A pile of books stood at the foot of the bed, and self-drawn pictures of mythical beasts and footballers plastered the walls. He had plenty of time to himself, for when he was not doing chores or using the restroom, he was forced to stay in the attic. Three times a day, Mrs. Cornwell would bring him food. Breakfast generally consisted of stale cornflakes and toast. Lunch was more often than not the same fare, and dinner was almost always a small, unfilling bowl of soup. He felt almost privileged when he was allowed to have leftovers from the family's meals.
There was scarcely a sign of his existence throughout the house. There were no pictures of him anywhere, and the Cornwells rarely spoke of him to anyone. He attended the public school with Mason, who was a year below him, but nobody knew of or spoke of their relation. When guests were over, James had to stay upstairs until they left, no excuses.
It was a miserable existence, and all James could do was dream.
Which was presently what he was doing. James Gunner Lane lay sprawled out on his mattress, snoring lightly. He was still wearing his clothes from the day before, as he had forgotten in his tired stupor of the past night to change into his pajamas. A ray of morning light crept into the room from a small, nearly unnoticeable hole in the ceiling that he had accidentally and unexplainably made a few years back, illuminating a spot on the mattress sheet directly in front of his nose. Over the minutes, the small finger of light traveled from the sheet onto his thin nose. After a while, he stirred, a hand brushing the side of his face and shielding his eyes from the solitary beam. "I'm up, I'm up," he said to no one, something he always did in his long hours of solitary confinement. He lay there a moment longer, covering his eyes, finally getting up with a sigh to combat another day of summer's boredom. He hated summer. At least in the other seasons, he had school. And even though he hated school as well, it was a little better than staying at home all day and catering to Mrs. Dinah Cornwell's every need.
He wasn't allowed to address her as anything other than 'Mam' or 'Mrs. Cornwell,' whereas her sons called her not only 'Mum,' but by her first name. And James was not allowed to have any sort of contact with Warren or Mason. Warren, who was nearly twenty, had little to do with him anyways. Mason, a year younger than James himself, loved to tease and cause trouble for him. This was his favorite pastime, besides pestering his father to take him out places. James had to address both of the boys as 'Sir,' as if they were of higher standing than he. Which of course, in the Cornwells' eyes, he was.
Not long after James had woken up, Mrs. Cornwell rapped on the trapdoor with a broom. "I've got your breakfast, Boy," she called before letting down the hatch and climbing up the ladder with a tray in hand. James, who suddenly realized that he was quite hungry, walked immediately over and took the tray.
"Thank you Mam," he said, holding the metal tray with both hands. On it was a bowl of the usual cornflakes, but this time, there was no toast. He said nothing about it, but Mrs. Cornwell seemed to know what he was thinking. "Mason was very hungry this morning, and ate the last piece. If you're good and do what I tell you, you'll get two pieces at lunchtime." she said in her snappy voice, and James nodded quickly. "Yes, Mam. Thank you." She didn't seem to notice his thanks, for she continued talking, looking down at him disdainfully. "Now today, I want you to weed the garden. Do that before it gets too hot, because I don't want you getting all sweaty and smelly, because your bath day isn't until Tuesday." Even though I'll be getting dirty because I'm working in a garden, he thought privately, but said nothing. He kept his face blank as he uttered another "Yes Mam."
"And after that, you are to cut the lawn. Then I want you to do the dishes, and this time, don't break any." The last sentence was said with a scowl. James looked down under the tray at his feet. "Yes Mam, sorry, Mam." Mrs. Cornwell looked satisfied, as if her job was done, and retreated back down through the hatch. "And don't take too long eating- no more than ten minutes!" With that, she shut the hatch and left. James listened as her heels clicking against the floor grew distant and disappeared alltogether. He trudged over to the bed with a sigh, and plopped down, taking the bowl of cereal off of the tray. He wolfed it down as quick as he could and made his way downstairs into the kitchen, where Mrs. Cornwell stood, talking to Mason. Mason looked over at James as he entered, and smirked. He was taller than James by at least eight inches, with dark, well-groomed hair and a pointed nose. His clothes, unlike James's, were fashionable and well-cleaned. James, though constantly reminded that everything he had was inferior, looked down at his own ragged, baggy jeans and his too-large gray T-shirt and sighed.
"Hey, Loser," Mason hissed, hugging his mother as if to suggest that he had one and James didn't. James said nothing in response as he put the tray and bowl into the sink. James stuck up his fingers in an 'L for Loser' sign at Mason as he disappeared out the kitchen door into the backyard. That, he considered a victory. But Mason would make him pay later, he was sure. He'd better get done what he could now before Mason messed him up.