Title: Linger

Character(s): James P. + Lily E.

Summary: It was all pure coincidence that on the same day five individuals would seemingly run from their pasts. When the five people meet, will they help each other through their experiences, or will their pasts linger for the rest of their lives?

Notes: I really hope this catches on and that everyone likes it. I don't know how I got the idea, but in a way, I think it's a pretty good idea. Don't hesitate to follow, favourite or review! In fact, do just that!

Warnings: Includes cussing (yes swears) and hints of violence (if you squint your eyes)

James

James Potter normally held his head high, but today, he just couldn't find the effort to do such a task. He felt so hopelessly bored, and honestly, he didn't care if he had an essay to re-write because the last one hadn't been up to his usual standards – he just couldn't be bothered anymore.

Normally, James found himself compelled to do well in college subjects, and not just because he wanted to do his parents proud, but because he wanted to go on to make something of himself. James wondered briefly to himself, whether he should really bother to do any more work – after all, it wasn't like he actually cared about getting the A levels he had signed up for.

He didn't know what he wanted to do with his life anymore, every time he thought of himself ten years in the future he always came up blank. Furthermore, he couldn't even see the outcome of the courses he was on at the current state in time.

"That's it," James muttered to himself, as he rolled over on his bed and grasped his glasses from his bedside table. Placing them over his eyes, he yawned widely, sitting up and leaning on the head-board of his bed. King-sized, James mused, though he felt like anything but a king, "I can't do this any longer."

Being bored was the only thing that James knew he wouldn't ever be able to cope with. He would rather be tortured than be bored – though boredom was probably a form of torture for James.

Swinging his eyes over his to the side of his bed, James yawned again, glancing at his clock, and the digits that were made up in rectangular lights. 9:32. Despite his aching muscles, James knew that he wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep now. It was one of the curses that came with being a potter.

Standing up with a slight wobble in his step, James sauntered into his private bathroom – his parents were wealthy and spoiled him regularly – turning the shower on with a quick flick of a switch.

The water was cold at first, but by the time James had undressed and gotten in to the shower itself, it was hot, steam fogging up the window and mirrors. James had left his glasses on the side by his towel, but now he wished he hadn't. His eye sight was completely blurry and he cursed himself internally as he wondered to himself whether the blue-bottle was for the shampoo or the body wash.

He took a guess, and assumed it was body wash.

After his shower, James decided to have a shave, before continuing with his god forsaken essay on both criminology and psychology. James didn't even know why he was taking the god dammed subject in the first place, seeing into the minds of criminals – great – how would that help him if he ever came face to face with a murderer?

James ran a hand through his hair, a quirk that made him seem as if he'd stuck his head out of a train for the duration of a twelve-hour trip, as he dropped his pen on his desk. He just couldn't focus!

"Ugh," James muttered, "fuck it."

Had James not been bored, and half asleep, he probably would have never done what he was about to do. He wouldn't have gone to the many areas in his room where he hid several of his personal credit cards that he had opened to place money, just in case his parents decided to cut him off someday.

Had he not been bored, he wouldn't have gathered a small suitcase with his clothes, and laptop inside. Had he not been half asleep, he probably would have remembered to add his toothbrush.

In the front of his suitcase, James placed his spare pair of glasses, his contacts, and his lucky medal. Then finally the only the thing he had to do, was to decide not to back out – he needed to get his hands on his passport. He'd need it, at some point, his subconscious whispered.

He'd need his passport, and any other forms of I.D he owned. He was going to leave, and he needed all the proof that he was James Potter. His provisional driver's license was one for starters that he'd need. Then there was a print of his C.V – he'd obviously need that, wouldn't he?

James figured he'd work it out as he went along, and began searching his room for his passport. It took him nearly half an hour to realise that his family kept his passport down in the family safe. Cursing to himself once again, James stood up, picking his suitcase up and using his teeth to take his coat off of the hook by his door. Opening the door wider, he skimmed his shoulder as it shut behind him.

With just socks on, James was quiet as he stumbled down the stairs. He left his suitcase and coat by the stairs, as he made his way into the front room. The family safe was closed, per usual, and James scolded himself for not remembering the code.

"Is it 7, 2, 3, 2?" He asked himself quietly,

"Is what 7, 2, 3, and 2?" A voice asked from behind him.

Peter

Peter did not appreciate it when people called him names as he walked down the streets. He also didn't appreciate it when his parents commented that he should grow a thicker skin and get over the fact that other liked to degrade him through words. After all, his parents would comment, they always say words that are about themselves, not you.

Peter suspected that his parents were lying to him, but he wasn't so bothered – he'd dealt with their comforting actions since he was younger. He'd had to deal with over protective family members since he started getting bullied by the awful 'popular' kids at his old school. In fact, he had let the chance to go to sixth form pass by just to rid him of the nuisances that had punched and kicked him.

Mr and Mrs Pettigrew had been disappointed when they learnt that their son was going to stop his education at only sixteen. They hadn't been expecting much of him though, after all, Peter had told them that he had only gotten D's and E's on his GCSE's – they hadn't expected him to continue with any studies.

Peter had lied to his parents that day though. He'd passed with all C's and one B. He'd developed a plan – a plan that would help him escape the awful life he lived in.

Those people who called him fat didn't know anything – he'd been saving his lunch money back ever since he was thirteen. The bullies who called him stupid obviously hadn't seen his test results; he was an average student after all.

Peter had to admit, that yes, he was overweight, but he didn't need to be bullied over it. Some people just didn't know what having a low metabolism meant. He'd lost weight recently, not that anyone ever mentioned it.

Peter sighed; he'd have enough to survive on his own for a few weeks – maybe a few months if he was lucky. He bounced back immediately though, knowing that it was worth it, if only to escape the bullies that had darkened his life for so long.

Grabbing his passport and I.D, Peter stuffed them in his suitcase, before getting a good enough grip on his suitcase. Pulling it behind him, he placed his house keys in the pot in the front room, before looking at the house where he had grown up in, for the last time. By the time his parents' cuckoo clock went off to signal ten o'clock, he was out of his childhood neighbourhood, dragging his suitcase with him.

Lily

"Freak, go back to your magical land!"

Petunia was doing it again, mocking Lily on her childhood dream of being magical. Lily hadn't a clue why after ten years, Petunia couldn't just drop the envy she felt towards her sister, but she couldn't bring herself to retaliate.

That was probably what Petunia wanted though, Lily mused. Petunia was the type of person who always wanted to bring a reaction from even the nicest of people. Lily supposed that was one of Petunia's many lists of faults, picking an argument with every one, except her whale of a fiancé.

Lily often pondered on whether Petunia was sane – Vernon Dursley was one of the vilest, rudest men she had ever had the misfortune of meeting. He was dull and boring as well, and when the two held a conversation, which was rarely, he would brag about his promising career at grunning's, a company that manufactured drills.

"I'm not nine anymore Petunia," She sighed, as she flicked on the kettle, "I don't believe in magic."

Petunia had gone a rather dark shade of red, but whether she was embarrassed or angry, Lily wasn't so sure. She'd long since passed the stage of trying to understand her sister's emotions and actions. In fact, sometimes Lily couldn't even bother to listen to her sister as she ranted at her. Today it seemed was one of those days, where she couldn't be asked to interpret the words her sister screamed at her.

"Freak..."

Certain words sometimes got in through Lily's daydream, but it didn't bother her so much anymore, living with Petunia had taught Lily to have a tough enough skin to get by.

"Bitch... Sore excuse for a sister..."

Lily blinked blankly at her sister, as part of the puzzle of Petunia and Vernon slotted into place. They were perfect for each other, both as spiteful and venomous as the other. If the two ever had children, Lily feared for whoever came into contact with that devil spawn.

"Worthless definition of a human... Whore..."

Lily chuckled to herself, as she lifted the kettle up and poured some of the boiling water into her cup. Sometimes, Lily had to stop herself from laughing when Petunia used certain insults on her. Some were hurtful insults, but most, she could turn on Petunia in her mind and find herself laughing.

Using a tea-spoon, she placed two tea spoons of sugar into her cup, stirring them in, before using the tea-spoon to crush the teabag on the side of the cup.

"You know what Lily? I wish you'd never even been born! You're pathetic!"

That hurt, Lily admitted, as she turned to look at Petunia, with tears filling in her eyes. If Petunia had noticed Lily's tears threatening to spill, she didn't show any sign that she did. She continued hissing spiteful words at her sister, until Lily, for the first time in years, stood up for herself.

"What do you want Petunia?" She cried, "I don't believe in magic anymore because I'm not a child! I'm not a freak, and I'm not a bitch! When it comes down to it, you're more of a bitch than me!"

Petunia slapped her.

Lily blinked, tears rolling down her face – soothing the spot where Petunia had hit her. Never before had Petunia laid a finger on her younger sister, and Lily had believed that she never would. Lily supposed though, that she didn't really know what Petunia was capable of anymore.

"You what to know what I want Lily?" Petunia growled, not at all fazed by her own actions, "I just want you to disappear."

Lily was long past the point of no return – she knew that whatever she did now, she would never come back from.

"Fine," Lily whispered, "If that's what you want – I'll disappear."

And so, with that, Lily stormed up the stairs into her bedroom, and started to pack all of her possessions into one or two suitcases. Looking at her clock, she saw the time – 9:53. She would be gone by the time Petunia's senses brought her back to reality. She couldn't stand her sister anymore – she had been the push she needed to leave.

When the clock changed to 9:59, Lily was packed, having rushed the process, and was holding a photograph of her and Petunia in her hand. The two of them were smiling, like they had when they were younger and got along.

Pulling her suitcases down the stairs and out into the street, Lily didn't say anything. She left no notes – Petunia would get rid of it and claim there hadn't been one, she knew – and with her sleeve she wiped her tears away.

A photograph of two sisters, sat limply on what had been Lily's old bedroom.

Sirius

"Here's your new passport – Mr. John Harris. It's been nice knowing you." The man Sirius had talked to was a criminal who had sold many fake in his time – including passports, drivers' licenses and citizenship cards. It all came at a price though – Sirius always knew it came at a price. But then again, he'd had no choice but to pay the man.

"Thanks, Mundungus." Sirius doubted that Mundungus was even the man's real name, but he knew that he felt glad to know at least the man's alias. It made him feel as if he knew someone who didn't judge him for something that had been on the news.

Then again, Sirius mused, Mundungus was a criminal so he didn't have much he could judge. Sirius could remember watching the news three days ago, and he could remember his blood boiling in his veins and his face paling.

Death of thirteen gunshot victims by mass murderer – Sirius Black,

Sirius could calmly say that he hadn't done such a thing. He'd never even held a gun before, or had he even thought about harming innocent people. But it was over for him now... he had to move on and take on a life as John Harris.

With his hair dyed a dark shade of blonde, and his eyes a green colour due to contacts, Sirius looked like a completely different person. Now all was left was to have a hair cut at some point and to dress differently and then he'd start to believe his own lies.

He'd have to create a completely different identity for himself. John Harris, Sirius planned, would be a man who didn't get in trouble with the police, or drive at ridiculously high speeds. He would be a man who didn't get drunk every few days – hell John Harris would be a respectable man.

With a duffel bag with some clothes, and some sentimental possessions, Sirius pulled it up on his shoulder, and placed his passport with his wallet. He was glad that his duffel bag had a secret zip, where he could place his more important possessions; it helped him a lot.

Nodding at each other, Sirius and Mundungus walked in separate directions of one of the dark alleys in London – and out into the light streets of London. The cars were in a traffic jam, as they usually were at nine A.M, and the wind brushed litter across the streets.

The bus, Sirius predicted, would take forever to get to where he wanted to go, and so quickly, he jumped into one of the taxi's – placing his duffel bag next to him.

"Heathrow airport," he instructed after the driver asked him where to go, "and if you can get me there by eleven, I'll add an extra hundred."

Remus

"Will all passengers please put on their seat belts; we will be touching down shortly." The hostess had a heavy Yorkshire accent, Remus decided, as he put his seat belt on with a click. The flight, Remus decided with a shiver, had been too long. Sure, he mused, it had only been an hour and a half long, but it still made him feel on edge. After all, the police could do anything in the space of an hour.

Remus hoped they hadn't discovered the body yet – he'd been terrified when he had opened his eyes late last night to see a knife in his hands, and one of the boys who had bullied him all his life dead beside him. After all, he, Remus Lupin, was apparently one of the nicest calmest people, if what people said were true.

But they didn't know. People didn't know that Remus was a monster – he'd just murdered someone for crying out loud! He was a psychopath or something along those lines. He couldn't even recall wanting to call someone a name, least of wanting to murder someone.

For as long as he could remember Remus had never really become angry. He'd grown up with the same temperament as his parents – the two of them had very long fuses. In fact, Remus was sure that even as a child he'd never even had one temper tantrum. He always did the right things, and he never let himself be affected by those who called him out on his mistakes.

Remus had gone down to the back garden, after pulling on some track suit bottoms. The bully, a boy called Dolohov, was standing on the patio with a psychotic look on his face. He had held a knife.

"Try and bite back now, Lupin."

Remus shook his head – he couldn't bring himself down like that. He couldn't blame himself for simple self-defence. Still, he felt guilty, anxious, and jumpy – he was feeling every negative emotion he'd ever heard of...

He was glad that the woman he had sat next to had fallen asleep, even if the flight hadn't been that long. Anxiety rushed through him again, as the plane started to experience a little amount of turbulence as it came down to land. Looking behind him, he realised he shouldn't have been so worried – the security guard hadn't even noticed him yet. The hostesses hadn't paid him any mind at all, only earlier when they asked if he wanted a drink.

In front of him, Remus could see a girl with bubblegum pink hair arguing with her parents. There were also others dressed in suits, as if waiting to get to a business meeting or something along the same lines.

The landing – the one thing that Remus had always hated when he went on a plane – went by quickly and within seconds, they had landed safely into the airport. Remus hoped that he'd be able to catch another plane before they found the body. The old abandoned shack by the burnt down church – Remus had thought it was the best place to bury a body, but now he wasn't quite sure. His life was over if he was caught...

"On behalf of British Airways," the hostess spoke through her intercom, "welcome to London, Heathrow."