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Bustling Muggle London was completely unaware.When you’re a child, you think adults have it all together. They know all there is to know about the world. How couldn’t they? A good few decades of experience—obviously they’ve figured it all out by then. But one day, it hits you. You’ve grown up, and realise those adults never had a clue.Well, that’s the sort of feeling each Muggle-born child experienced as they beheld the barrier between platforms nine and ten. They would look at the barrier, then back at the Muggle crowds—people on their daily commutes, or coming back from a family trip with their little ones moping about going back to school. People rushing from one place to another, one-track-minded—just point A to point B.Not one of them paid any attention to the children who walked up to the metal barrier between the two platforms, nervously prodding it with a single little finger, before taking a deep breath and stepping through. But for these children, that step was everything.These children left behind them the familiar London buzz, the screeching train brakes, the dreary sky, and emerged in a very different world. A world that, all along, had lain beyond a single barrier, and all those Muggles would never know. The Muggle-born children looked back only once at the barrier—it was not metal on this side, but brick—before joining the crowd.The deep red steam engine dominated the scene. Steam was gradually beginning to swirl from its chimney, as more children rushed to the platform with their parents. Owls hooted from their cages as children pushed trolleys, with briefcases piled. Cats meowed, draped across their owners’ shoulders. Parents fussed. Some of the younger children were wiping watery eyes and noses, their small hands trembling, some from excitement, others nervousness. Older ones were impatiently trying to locate their friends, craning their necks to see above all the other heads.One boy—a boy with messy black hair, square frames, and baby fat that hadn’t yet left his rosy cheeks—squirmed in his mother’s arms as she smothered him in a truly embarrassing number of kisses.“Really, Mum! I’ll be back for Christmas anyway,” he groaned, finally managing to wrench himself out of her grasp.“Oh, I know, I know,” she replied. “But I’ve never had to do without you for quite so long, have I? You will respond to all my letters, now, won’t you, James? And your father’s?”“You know I will, Mum.” He grinned.“Good. Now—oh, Fleamont, where’s the sandwich we packed for him? Did I give that to you?”Fleamont, James’s father, patted the pockets of his coat, and his eyes went wide as he failed to find anything. “Erm…”“Fleamont! We can’t send him without any food!” she cried, raising her eyebrows at her husband in accusation. “What have you done with it?”“Sorry, Effie, I’m not sure… Well, it has to be somewhere, doesn’t it…”She ran her fingers through her grey hair. “Somewhere could very well be the kitchen bench, and that’s no good now! Goodness me…”“It’s alright, Mum,” James sighed. “I can just buy something from the trolley–”“You mean sweets?” She gave him a pointed look. “No, no, you’ll need a good, nutritious lunch. It’s not a short journey. You’d think they’d have thought of a way to use floo powder by now, but I suppose it’s a matter of safety, or something…”“Oh, it’s here! I’ve got it!” Fleamont produced one neatly wrapped parcel from the inside of his coat, and handed it to James. “Forgot this coat has so many pockets… thought the weight was just that old packet of humbugs… Oh, where are those humbugs, then…” He returned to searching his pockets.“Thanks, Dad. Okay, I should go get a compartment.” James smiled at his parents, before throwing himself into both of their arms.“Now you remember, if any of the other kids try to pick on you again—” Effie started.James asserted, casually, “They won’t.”“Alright, but if anyone makes fun of your glasses again, or—”James stuck his hands in his pockets. “Mum, they won’t. I’ll make sure.”“Listen to him, Effie—the boy’s got it all sorted!” Fleamont ruffled James’s hair. “Maybe you’ll even make a nice friend on the train, before the school year has even really begun!”“Yeah!” But for all James’s enthusiasm, he still stayed in his parents' arms for a while longer.Further down the platform, another boy knelt on the ground near the train, trying not to look at the open door and the children beginning to pile on, as he took his little brother’s hands in his.“You’ll be okay, Reg. I’ll write to you, yeah?”But this didn’t console the younger boy, who removed one of his hands to drag it across his runny nose. His bottom lip wobbled, as he whispered, “Do you really have to go?”His brother nodded, smiling sadly.“But,” the younger one went on, “what if Mum and Dad get really angry? Please, Sirius…”“Y’know, young Master Regulus,” Sirius put on a mockingly snobbish voice and squeezed his little brother’s hands, “I daresay our dear mother and father will be angry much less often without me around.” He laughed. “I’ll be far, far away… Oh, but not too far,” he added quickly, as Regulus’s bottom lip wobbled more severely. “I mean, you can still write to me. And I’ll write to you, obviously.”But their conversation was cut short by their mother, who stepped forward towards the boys and, in a quiet, yet ice-cold tone, said, “Regulus.”Regulus immediately stood, turned away from Sirius and obediently went to his mother’s side.“Go on, now, Sirius,” she said his name like a dirty word. “And behave. If you have been up to any mischief, I will know.”Sirius stood up, black locks falling into his grey-blue eyes as he avoided his mother’s gaze, and responded, “Yes, Mother.”Sirius’s father stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Make the House of Black proud, son.”“Yes, Father.”Seemingly eager to be rid of him, Sirius’s mother walked away with Regulus, who looked back at Sirius and waved, bottom lip still wobbling. Sirius winked, before looking back up at his father. “Father? I was just thinking, if the Sorting Hat decided not to put me in Slytherin—”His father frowned. “It will put you in Slytherin, Sirius. The moment it touches your head, it will know that you are a Black, and it will know exactly where you belong.”Sirius shifted his weight from side to side a couple of times, before asking tentatively, “A couple of weeks ago, Andromeda told me about Great-Aunt Lycoris, and said she was in Rav—”“You’d do well not to listen to your cousin’s nonsense, Sirius. On the train, now, before it leaves.” He stuck out his hand.“Yes, Father.” Sirius shook his father’s hand quickly, before turning on his heel and running onto the train.Only a few children hadn’t yet boarded. One of these was Peter, a short, plump boy, his mousy blond hair neatly parted in the middle, and shoelaces untied. He was blabbering to his mother, as she practically pushed him towards the train.“And you still haven’t told me which House is the best one! I’ve heard it’s Gryffindor, but Bobby was telling me the other day that he thinks it’s Ravenclaw, because brains can get you far—though I suppose I don’t have much hope of ending up there, then…”“I’ve told you, Peter,” the woman said, slightly out of breath, “it’s about what you value, not what you can do—and thank goodness for that…” She didn’t bother lowering her voice for this last comment. “On you get, and make some decent friends, alright?”Peter nodded his head enthusiastically. “Okay, okay,” he grabbed hold of the handle and pulled himself onto the step, “I will, yep! Yep! Okay, bye, Mum!”“Bye-bye, my sweet boy! Be good!”He stepped onto the train, leaning his head out from around the corner as other kids moved past him. “I will! Bye-bye! I’ll write to you as soon as I get there!”Three short whistles sounded: three minutes until departure.A mother hastily wrapped her arms around her son, holding him tight against her. “You’ll be alright, Remus.”“I don’t think I should go.” His voice was soft. “I think we made a mistake, Mum.”His father reached a hand over to gently scruff up his son’s hair. “Don’t be silly, now. Everything has already been organised with Dumbledore. The man’s done a great deal for you. And Hogwarts is a brilliant place; give it a week—you won’t wanna come back home!”Two whistles sounded. Remus glanced anxiously at the train, the light grey steam billowing from its chimney.Remus’s mother knelt down before her son. “They’ll take care of you. Remember, Dumbledore will speak to your head teacher immediately after you’ve been Sorted, and they’ll speak to you tomorrow. And don’t forget to be ready for this Sunday, okay?”“I won’t forget, Mum. I never forget.”“I know.” She gave her son a sad smile. “You’ll be just fine. I promise. Yeah?”Remus nodded slowly. One long whistle sounded. Both parents gave their son a final hug. “I love you,” his mother whispered.“Love you too, Mum.”“Love you, Remus,” his father said.“Love you, Dad.”And so, with a deep breath, Remus boarded the Hogwarts Express.* * *James’s eyes roamed up and down the train corridor. This could be it. Wherever he chose to sit, he could wind up finding his best friend or his mortal enemy. James grinned to himself. How thrilling.An older girl, wearing a prefect badge, smiled in a friendly manner as she walked towards him. “First-year?” she asked, likely noticing his uncertainty in choosing a compartment.“Yeah, I am,” he replied, hiding away his nervousness by sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans—he had been terribly excited when his parents told him the Hogwarts Express left from Muggle London, as it gave him an excuse to try on some of his super cool Muggle attire. Some wizards refused to wear anything but wizarding clothes—James, and his parents, thought this was rather odd.The prefect ushered James to walk with her. “You can sit anywhere, but I think it’s a nice idea to sit with other first-years. You’re all in the same boat. Well, you will be, quite literally.” She giggled to herself—James had no idea why. “Let’s see if we can find some, yeah?”They walked along, the prefect knocking on compartments to ask for first-years, until they came to one full with four other students, all around James’s age. “Any first-years?” she asked.Two of the boys replied, “Nah, third,” but the other boy nodded, and the girl in the corner squeaked, “Yes.”“There you are, then.” She ushered James into the compartment, and he took a seat opposite the first-year boy. “Right, now don’t forget to change into your robes before we arrive. Have something to eat, too. We don’t arrive until dark. And drink in your first view of the castle. I wish I could see Hogwarts for the very first time again.” She smiled to herself, and made her way back up the corridor.The two third-years started talking loudly to each other. The girl beside him was facing the window—she didn’t seem overly willing to make conversation—so all James could see of her was her shoulder-length, deep red hair. Deciding not to bother trying to spark a conversation with her, James turned to the boy opposite him. He was dressed in semi-formal Muggle attire—a white collared shirt, a grey waistcoat and trousers—and James found himself saying, by way of introduction, “Nice shoes.”The boy raised one rather elegant eyebrow—James was in awe; he’d never been able to do that—and responded, “Are you making fun of me?” His voice was cool, but not unkind.James shook his head fervently. “No, no, of course not! I think they’re wicked.”“My mother made me wear them. I think my feet might be permanently disfigured by the end of the day.” He stretched his feet out before him and screwed up his nose. “I’ve got a pair of Muggle brand shoes in my luggage though. My cousin snuck them to me.”“That’s good of her,” James responded. “I haven’t got any cousins. Mum’s an only child, and Dad’s sister doesn’t have any kids, just ferrets. I always imagined it would be like having instant friends. Well, anyway”—he stuck out his hand—“I’m James. James Potter.”“Pleasure.” The other boy took his hand and, as gracefully as he had arched an eyebrow, shook it. “I’m Sirius.”James smiled. “Funny name. Not spelled like the word ‘serious’, is it?”“Nah, it’s after the constellation.” Sirius sighed and leaned back, crossing his arms. “Wish it was something more normal, like yours.”James shrugged. “I like your name. It’s fancy.”Sirius snorted. “Yeah, I think that’s the idea,” he replied, glancing down at his clothes.The compartment door opened and another boy squeezed in. He had already changed into his black school robes, James noticed. James also noticed that his hair strangely matched his robes—both were long, straight, and ink-black—except the robes didn’t have the appearance of slime. Wordlessly, the boy moved through the four sets of knees to get to the window, where he sat opposite the silent girl. James and Sirius eyed each other. The girl merely glanced at the boy, before looking back out the window at the rolling hills of the countryside.From what James could tell, she appeared to have been crying. James instantly felt bad, especially having assumed she was simply being rude. He supposed it must be hard for some people, especially first-years, to be leaving home for so long. Of course, James was going to miss his parents immensely, but all sadness was covered up by excitement.“I don’t want to talk to you,” she murmured to the boy opposite her, her voice high-pitched and strained.“Why not?” the boy asked. He didn’t move. Wouldn’t leave her alone. And, judging by the way she turned her nose up at him, yet avoided his gaze, was clearly the reason she had been crying—the reason that such an exciting day had been ruined for her.But, begrudgingly deciding it was none of his business, he tuned out of the conversation to ask Sirius where he got his Muggle clothes from. (Sirius’s parents, he learnt, had bought him the grey suit, but last year his cousin had bought him an extremely cool, burgundy ‘bomber’ jacket from a Muggle charity shop—Sirius couldn’t wait to learn a shrinking charm so he could actually fit into it).But James’s resolution to mind his own business didn’t last long—to be precise, it lasted right until he heard the boy tell the girl, “You’d better be in Slytherin.”“Slytherin?”The boy turned to James.“Who wants to be in Slytherin?” James scoffed, and looked at Sirius. “I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”Sirius didn’t smile. “My whole family have been in Slytherin,” he said.“Blimey,” James responded, “and I thought you seemed all right!” Sirius certainly didn’t have the pompous air of a Slytherin that James had heard about. Posh, for sure, but not pompous.Sirius grinned. “Maybe I’ll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you’ve got the choice?”Easy. James’s mother had been in Hufflepuff, and his father in Gryffindor. While Hufflepuff sounded nice enough, the way his father’s eyes lit up any time he spoke about his time being a part of Gryffindor house told James everything he needed to know. James lifted an invisible sword. “‘Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!’ Like my dad.”The greasy-haired boy made a small, disparaging noise.James turned on him. “Got a problem with that?”“No,” the boy replied, with a slight sneer. “If you’d rather be brawny than brainy—”Sirius, still lounging back on the seat, interjected, “Where’re you going to go, seeing as you’re neither?”The image of this boy—in his immaculately ironed suit and shining shoes, instantly taunting the boy to whom he had not even introduced himself, and doing so with no more effort than one would use to squash a half-dead fly—caused James to burst out laughing.The red-haired girl sat up straight, her cheeks turning an angry red to match, and regarded Sirius and James with contempt. It would seem that she and that boy had made amends while James was minding his business, then.“Come on, Severus,” she said to the boy, her nose held high, “let’s find another compartment.”Sirius imitated her. “Oooh, come along, Severus.”James likewise mocked her haughty tone and stuck out a foot as Severus squeezed his way past James and Sirius, close on the girl’s tail.“See ya, Snivellus!” Sirius called after Severus, and the girl slammed the door.James turned back to Sirius. “‘Snivellus!’” He laughed. “That’s brilliant. Blimey, what a git. Did you see the way that girl was crying?”“I know plenty of people like him. But,” Sirius grinned mischievously, “they usually get fed up with you if you bother them enough.”James nodded sagely, then mirrored Sirius’s roguish smile. “You’ve got a history of bothering people, have you?”Sirius shrugged, still grinning. “Maybe a little. You?”“Not yet.”Sirius laughed. It was a good, strong sort of laugh, especially for so slight a boy. “Yet. Well, I can help change that. If you aren’t opposed.”“Oh,” James replied, “not in the slightest.”The other two boys left the compartment—noticing this, Sirius said to James, “Well, we might as well get into our robes too. I will, at least. I don’t want to sit around in these clothes any longer—the pants are far too tight.”“Good thinking, mate, good thinking.” James got up and followed Sirius into the corridor.Looking back at James over his shoulder, Sirius remarked, with a glint of anticipation in his eye, “Won’t be long before our robes are decked in red and gold, huh?”James grinned back. “No, not long at all, mate. Not long at all.”* * *Remus watched the final sliver of sun disappear behind a mountain. The Scottish Highlands really were as beautiful as his father had described. And, of course, living in a village in rural Wales, Remus had always been spoiled for picturesque surroundings. While his parents enjoyed staying inside to read the newspaper or watch the television (his mum had five sappy romance movies she would cycle through), Remus felt calmer, more at peace, sitting beneath a tree, by a brook, or staring out of a window on a rainy day and listening to the frogs croak. Would he enjoy nature quite so much if he weren’t part animal? Remus supposed he would never know…He shook his head, as though hoping his thoughts might spill out through one of his ears.Remus’s stomach growled. The train had to be almost there. Remus had already eaten both of his turkey sandwiches, his pear, and the sweets he bought from the trolley after realising he had no more food left. He was always hungry this time of the month—he’d completely lose his appetite in a couple of days, though. Maybe the hunger was his body preparing him. Or maybe it just had something to do with instinct…He shook his head again.“Are you alright?” the older girl next to him asked.Remus nodded, before turning back to the window. He rested his forehead against the glass and shut his eyes for a while…The train was rattling even more, now. Too much. Was something wrong? Remus opened his eyes.It was the girl next to him—she was shaking his shoulder. “We’re here,” she told him.Remus stepped off the train, and into the chilly night air of Hogsmeade Station. Remus’s dad had told him that the village of Hogsmeade was a pretty one, but, it being so dark, Remus would have to take his word for it.A deep voice cried, “Firs’-years! Firs’-years to me please!”It didn’t take Remus long at all to find that the voice was coming from a very large, bearded man. Remus walked over to him, joining the other new students.“Right then,” the man—or giant, perhaps, seeing he was four times Remus’s height—said through his dark, scruffy beard. “Well, if that’s all o’ yeh, you’d best follow me. Yeh’ll be gettin’ yeh very firs’ looks at ‘Ogwarts castle in a mo’.”The group followed him along a tree-lined path. Remus couldn’t see anything but the giant’s silhouette before him.Eventually, he stopped and turned to face the group. “‘Ere we are. Jus’ round this corner ‘ere, yeh’ll be able to see it.”They rounded the bend.It was magnificent.The castle looked as though it had been lit up by a thousand stars, the way it glimmered in the dusk. And it was huge—how was he ever meant to find his way to classes? The castle stood upon a cliff, with its many towers extending into the sky. And it looked old—medieval? Remus couldn’t remember—but pristine, unlike the many Welsh Muggle castles that had disintegrated over the years. No, this was very different to anything Remus had seen before.While he was in awe of the castle’s beauty, the unknown had always made Remus feel slightly panicky. He was so far from Wales, from his family… He wanted to feel excited—and he supposed he did, somewhere, deep down—but the next few days were bound to hold a lot of uncertainty: would the other kids like him? Would he be good at magic? Most importantly, would anyone figure out what Remus was?The group filed into a series of rowboats, which, at the giant’s command, began to glide across the lake. Remus watched the reflections of stars in the perfectly still lake as they rowed towards the castle. One star moved swiftly—Remus quickly looked up at the sky and found it, and as it made its descent to disappear behind the mountains once more, Remus crossed his fingers, shut his eyes, and made his wish—to eventually be able to call Hogwarts his home.
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“Pettigrew, Peter.”Peter jumped as his name emerged from the thin, pursed lips of the deputy headmistress. Professor McGonagall was a tall, imposing woman, with grey hair tied into a tight bun atop her head, and an intense stare. Peter walked towards her on legs of jelly and sat on the stool beside her, in front of the entire school.As he sat down, he couldn’t help but think: what if the Hat refused to place him anywhere? His neighbour, Bobby, had been telling him that it happens sometimes when the Hat can’t find much inside the person’s head. That wouldn’t happen . . . would it? What would his mum say if he was sent home?Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat upon his head.Aah, interesting . . . the Hat deliberated within Peter’s mind, its voice slow and sage. Very intriguing. Your mind is quite the whirlwind. What do you mean? Peter asked internally. Is it bad?
No, no, not bad . . . There are many values here. Hmm, many thoughts, many . . . ah, yes, contradictions. These may take some sorting through. Some Sorting indeed . . .
Please don’t send me home, Peter begged of the Hat.
Home? Of course not, child. Not home, but a House. But which? Or, which not? I do not believe you would do well in Hufflepuff . . . Yes, that is quite certain. And I do not sense a great value for wit. Admiration, certainly, but that is not the same. No, indeed . . .
The Hat took a long time. The first-years who hadn’t yet been Sorted grew fidgety. Peter glanced at Professor McGonagall—even she appeared to think it strange that the Hat was taking so long; her eyebrows were furrowed, and lips pressed tightly together. Was this it, then? The Hat hadn’t worked on him?
You might do well in Slytherin, mightn’t you?
Peter wasn’t so sure. The rumours he had heard about that House weren’t reassuring. Certainly not to Peter, who had managed to be an easy target his entire life so far. No, a different House would be better.
Ah, is that so? Slytherin’s great appreciation for cunning lies deep within your subconscious . . . yes, that is clear . . . But is it as strong as the value you attribute to courage? Hmm . . . this will take some weighing . . . With whom do you belong?
The Sorting Hat took even longer. Still no decision. Peter noticed Professor McGonagall glance at the headmaster. This was it. It hadn’t worked. They were sending him home.“GRYFFINDOR!” the Sorting Hat announced.Peter fell off the stool.* * *Sirius liked James, he decided, while the two sat together at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.They listened to Professor Dumbledore make his headmaster’s speech. He said all sorts of strange things—the usual welcoming and housekeeping was peppered with words like bumfuzzle, collywobbles, and taradiddle. It was an odd speech for an odd man. His robes were eccentric, adorned with cross-stitched vines and flowers of various breeds and colours, and they matched his pointed hat perfectly. His warm eyes looked upon the students through half-moon spectacles. His voice was lilting and gentle, and his white beard almost reached his knees.James leant closer to Sirius and whispered, “I bet you that beard’s gotten caught on a doorknob before,” making Sirius snort a laugh.After his speech, Professor Dumbledore waved his arms and food materialised on the tables. There were roast potatoes, creamy pumpkin soup, haggis, entire turkeys . . . There was more food than at a Black family banquet. Sirius ate until his stomach couldn’t fit anything else.After dinner, Sirius and James walked side by side, following a Gryffindor prefect and the other Gryffindor first-years to make their way from the Great Hall to Gryffindor Tower.Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat had made its decision as soon as it was placed on Sirius’s head. Sirius had been prepared to ask the Hat to consider Sorting him somewhere that wasn’t Slytherin, but there had been no need. And that made Sirius the first member of the Black family in . . . well, a very, very long time to not be sorted into Slytherin.His parents were going to murder him.Which might have been concerning, if Sirius planned on telling them. Which he didn’t. No, they didn’t need to know. And Merlin knows they would never care to write to him.“You said your father was in Gryffindor, yes?” Sirius asked James as they waited for the moving staircase to come back.James nodded.“What’s it like?”“You’ll see—I think we’re here.”They’d stopped a little way down a corridor at the top of one of the staircases. Before them was a large portrait of a large woman.The prefect turned to face everyone. She had introduced herself as June Foster, and was a tall fifth-year girl with olive skin, dark brown hair, and a friendly face. “Now,” she announced, “there’s always a password you’ll have to give to the Fat Lady—that’s the name of the woman in the portrait, I’m not just being rude. The current password is ‘Billywig’, okay? Don’t forget.”The portrait swung open to reveal a passageway, and one by one they all climbed through the hole, into the Gryffindor common room.Sirius looked at James, who seemed ready to burst with excitement.“Wicked, isn’t it?” James exclaimed.Sirius took in his surroundings. The room was large, but cozy, decked in tapestries and scarlet and gold drapes. A fire was roaring on the right-hand side of the room. There were couches, tables and chairs scattered throughout, and the moonlight shone in from the high glass-pane windows.In more than just temperature, where Sirius’s house was cold, this place exuded warmth.“Yeah,” Sirius breathed. “It is wicked.”June made for the other side of the room, ushering the first-years to an archway in the stone wall. “Come in, come in. Right, so, you’ll see there are two sets of stairs here.” She gestured to two staircases, one on the left, the other on the right. “The one on your left goes to the boys’ dormitories. You first-years will be the third door; the others are for other year groups. And girls, same goes, but up the stairs on your right. That’s the third door, but there’s a number one etched into the wood so you can be certain that’s the correct room. Well, I’m pretty sure they’re enchanted so you can’t enter another year group’s room without their explicit permission, anyway.”Sirius wondered whether he could ask one of the teachers for that enchantment. It would be perfect for keeping his parents out of his room. Last year his father had walked in and seen the Muggle posters Sirius had stuck up on his wall. His father had torn them all down and ripped them to shreds.He was pulled from his thoughts by June holding a piece of parchment under Sirius’s nose. He took it.“First class is tomorrow,” she stated as she continued to take more timetables out from her robes and hand them around. “Tomorrow’s Thursday,” she added, noticing that one of the boys, a short, pudgy boy, was running his finger over ‘Monday’. “Breakfast is served in the Great Hall between six-thirty and eight-thirty, so you should be at class before nine. You’ll notice you have Herbology first tomorrow, which is outside in the greenhouses. Professor Sprout is lovely; she’ll be understanding if you’re late, but try to leave enough time to find your way.“Oh, and one last thing . . .” June’s voice turned slightly grim. “I’m sorry to end on a darker note, but Professor McGonagall—that’s your Head of House—wanted me to remind you all that Hogwarts has a strict policy regarding bullying, of all sorts, but most especially of the kind pertaining to blood-status. If you hear any blood-status-related harassment, report it to a teacher. Though, honestly, most of it comes from Slytherins, and I wouldn’t waste your breath on them. They’re all bark and no bite. And nothing seems to make a difference, anyway. Speaking from experience.” She muttered this final comment under her breath.Sirius self-consciously averted his gaze to his feet. While he knew June wasn’t speaking about him, his entire family (except Andy, of course) were the kinds of Slytherins to enjoy a bit of ‘blood-status-related harassment’. During several family dinners, Sirius had found his favourite cousin, Andromeda, alone in an empty room, her face tear-stained and crimson with pent-up frustration, after the dinner conversation had unsurprisingly turned to the importance of ‘blood purity’. Sirius didn’t fully understand why Andy cared so much about what the adults decided to talk about. And the desire to keep magical bloodlines pure seemed reasonable to him—his father had explained that it ensured their magic remained strong. But Sirius also trusted Andy’s judgement—she was probably the smartest person he knew—so he was confident she had a good reason for feeling so strongly about it, whatever that reason was.One of the girls, the one with the bright red hair from the train, spoke up. Her name was Lily Evans, Sirius had learnt during the Sorting ceremony. “Um, when you say ‘blood-status’, do you mean . . . being a Muggle-born?”“That’s right. Are any of you Muggle-born?” June asked.Lily and one of the other girls nodded.“Me too,” June said. “Well, just prepare yourself to deal with a bit of crap—ah, sorry, rubbish,” she corrected, “from the Slytherins. Some are alright, but most . . . well, most are pretty backward. Only seems to be getting worse, really.”Andy had told Sirius a very similar thing when he’d asked her what she thought of her House. She’d told him that she’d made a couple of good friends amongst her fellow Slytherins, but that most of them were ‘old-fashioned pricks’.The other Muggle-born girl chimed up. “So, is the bullying just name-calling, or placing, like, curses?”June shook her head. “Not curses, no, curses are very serious. More hexing than cursing”—both Muggle-borns’ eyes widened at that—“but hexing is still not too common. It’s mostly name-calling. Still not on, though, of course . . .The red-haired girl looked at the other Muggle-born and murmured. “I hate bullies.”The other Muggle-born girl looked sad. “Me too.”June noticed the exchange and added, “Please feel more than welcome to tell me or the other prefects about any bullying if you don’t want to go to a teacher. If we aren’t in the common room, check the bulletin board. We’re going to put notes up with our locations if you ever need to come find us.” She gave everyone a warm smile. “Well, you should all be getting to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day for you!”The boys and girls split off. James led Sirius and the other two boys up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. James shoved the door open and practically skipped into the room. There were four beds with red velvet bedcurtains, positioned in a circle against the rounded wall. Moonlight shone in through the arched windows, illuminating their briefcases, which were neatly stacked in the centre of the room.James claimed the bed opposite the door, throwing himself down onto it. Sirius picked the one to the right.The other two boys entered the room. The shorter, pudgier of the two—Peter, Sirius recalled, the one who had hatstalled—glanced fretfully around the room before scurrying to the bed between James and the door. The other boy kept his head down as he slowly approached the unclaimed bed on the other side of the doorway, next to Sirius. Sirius tried to smile at him, but the other boy didn’t meet his gaze.“Well!” James clapped his hands together. Peter jumped. The other boy glanced up. “This is us! Roommates for seven years beginning tonight! I’m James Potter.” With that, he leapt off the bed, approached Peter and stuck his hand out in a manner that was strangely formal for an eleven-year-old boy.Peter took his hand, and James used both hands to shake it. “Peter Pettigrew,” the nervous boy squeaked.“Pleasure. We’ll be thick as thieves in no time, I’m sure.”James crossed over to the other boy, extending a hand once more. This boy avoided eye contact still, but gingerly accepted the handshake.“I’m James,” James prompted kindly.The other boy looked up from where he sat cross-legged on his bed. “Oh, right. Remus. Remus Lupin.” His voice was a soft murmur.“Nice to meet you, Remus. And this”—James finally released Remus’s hand to gesture to Sirius—“is my good friend, Sirius Bl—”“Sirius,” he cut James off. “Just Sirius. Any of you call me by my surname and I’ll hex you.” Sirius smirked playfully, then regretted the comment when he saw Peter’s eyes widen and Remus retreat into himself.“Good, good.” James collected his cases from the middle of the room and began unpacking, the others following suit. “Well, let’s make ourselves at home, then, hey? This is home now, after all.”* * *James was an early riser, Remus was quick to learn, and Remus was a terribly light sleeper. James was up and rustling through his suitcase before the sun had even begun to rise. Remus shoved his head under the pillow, but while that muffled the sound of James getting dressed, it did nothing to drown out his racing thoughts. He waited until he heard James shut the door to their room as he left, then Remus climbed out of bed and sat in the window.It was still very dark, the moon doing most of the work in illuminating the grounds of Hogwarts. A large forest lay on the horizon—was this the ‘Forbidden Forest’ that Dumbledore had instructed the students not to enter during his welcome speech?—and another smaller tree stood in the foreground. Its long branches swung erratically, as though moved by a strong breeze that targeted this tree alone.While there had been magic in Remus’s home, this place seemed to simply be magic.Remus sat in the window until pink soaked the morning clouds, then dressed himself and made his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast.The moment he entered the Hall, a pair of hands shot into the air, waving frantically to capture Remus’s notice. He walked over to find the hands extended above James’s beaming, bespectacled face.“Hi, Remus!” James patted the empty spot next to him on the bench. “Can you believe how many breakfast options they give us?”Remus took a seat and beheld the food before him. There was practically every option you could think of—porridge to pancakes, crumpets to croissants. Remus poured himself a cup of tea.“Toast?” James asked, already buttering it.Remus nodded.“I’ve been waiting for you all,” James said. He clearly had been waiting, too, having apparently finished his breakfast, and having filled in some time by doodling in the margins of the newspaper, the Daily Prophet.“I think the others are still asleep. Thank you.” Remus accepted the toast James had kindly buttered and cut into four small triangles.James shook his head. “Can you believe that? I could hardly sleep last night—I just wanted it to be morning already so I could explore the castle! Blimey, it’s brilliant.” He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “The kind of magic that’s gone into creating this place is just—well, I can’t believe it.”James’s enthusiasm tugged at the corners of Remus’s mouth. Maybe this place wouldn’t end up being so bad after all. Remus would just need to borrow a little of James’s sunny outlook—would just need to be a little more like James.But this fantasy was broken with Professor McGonagall’s approach. The tall, stern-looking witch stopped behind the boys and cleared her throat. “I hope you settled in well last night, boys?”James nodded furiously, and Remus gave a polite nod.“Wonderful. Well, when you’ve finished your toast, Mr Lupin, I’ll have you follow me to my office. It’s nothing bad,” she added, likely more to preserve Remus’s reputation with James than for Remus’s own reassurance—he already knew what this would be about. “Just a small matter of housekeeping.”No, Remus couldn’t be like James. He couldn’t be like anyone.He shoved another bite into his mouth, pushed the unfinished toast away, and stood.“See you in class!” James called, as Remus followed Professor McGonagall out of the Great Hall.Attempting to keep up with the professor’s stride—she was surprisingly swift for an aged witch—Remus half-jogged through an overwhelming number of passages, many adorned with tapestries and sconces. From within the portrait frames, the people (and, in the case of the rabbits’ tea party painting, the animals) greeted Professor McGonagall as they passed. Remus followed the professor up numerous flights of stairs until they reached a door partway up one of the castle’s many towers.Professor McGonagall ushered Remus in and offered him the seat in front of her desk. She sat opposite and folded her hands. “Now, Mr Lupin. I’m sure this is all a lot to take in, and I do not doubt that your condition”—she said this word in as ordinary a tone as the rest—“adds to the already present first-day jitters. Would I be correct?”Remus nodded.“Well, the Hogwarts staff, myself especially, are dedicated to ensuring your safety and wellbeing.” It did not escape Remus’s notice that she excluded mention of the safety and wellbeing of the other students that would be at risk by Remus’s sheer presence. “So in the next”—she glanced over her shoulder at the grandfather clock—“twenty or so minutes, I hope to set any anxieties to rest. Now, all Hogwarts staff are aware of your condition, but have sworn an oath to refrain from mentioning it to other students without your permission. The staff have been asked to keep track of the timing of each full moon and to make allowances for you at these times.”Remus shook his head, causing the professor to pause and raise an eyebrow. “Is something the matter?” she asked, not unkindly.“Please.” Remus’s voice felt very small. “I don’t need allowances. I can learn just as well as the others.”Professor McGonagall’s piercing gaze turned somewhat softer. “I do not doubt it. Nevertheless, your professors have been asked to keep your condition in mind around the time of the full moon, whether it be necessary or not. Now, the first one is this Sunday, yes? I want you to meet me here in my office no later than six-thirty that evening. Ensure you have finished your dinner by that time.” Remus knew he wouldn’t be hungry that night. “I will accompany you down to the Willow, then leave you before sunset. Did Professor Dumbledore speak to you about the Willow when he met with you and your parents?”Remus cast his mind back to the day that the headmaster of Hogwarts had arrived at Remus’s family home in rural Wales, the chickens running after the old man as he walked up the dirt path to the front door. Dumbledore had sat down with his anxious yet hopeful parents and explained that he would do everything in his power to ensure that Remus would be granted an education.“Um, Professor Dumbledore mentioned a ‘precaution’ . . .” Remus answered.Professor McGonagall nodded. “Yes, well, that precaution would be the Whomping Willow, a tree that has been planted especially for your time here. I shall accompany you to it, immobilise it, and allow you to enter the tunnel beneath it, which will then lead you to where you will spend the night. In the morning, you will be collected by Madam Pomfrey, who is the school matron and an excellent healer. She will take you to the Hospital Wing, where she will see to any injuries you may have sustained.”Remus felt slightly lightheaded. In the past, he hadn’t needed a professor, magic tree, healer, and hospital wing. He’d managed so far with just his two parents, a barricaded basement, and some bandages and home healing spells. He knew that he ought to be extremely grateful—his father had reminded him of that—but his face still grew warm with embarrassment to be causing so many to go to so much trouble. Remus lowered his head and fiddled with his hands.Professor McGonagall mistook this for apprehension. “Rest assured, Mr Lupin, Professor Dumbledore would not have made any promises to you had he been uncertain whether he could keep them. Your condition will not threaten your place at Hogwarts.”Remus looked up, where Professor McGonagall beheld him from behind her rectangular frames. She was the picture of control. Remus believed her.* * *James waited until Sirius finally showed at breakfast with only fifteen minutes until class.“Where have you been?” James exclaimed as Sirius sauntered over. “I’ve been waiting for you since breakfast opened!”Sirius frowned as he sat opposite James. “You’ve been sitting here waiting for two hours?”James ignored the question. “Here, I saved you some eggs. Breakfast ended fifteen minutes ago. All the plates in the middle of the table vanished, so this was all I could keep for you.”James’s legs bounced and fingers tapped on the table until finally Sirius had eaten, then they practically sprinted outside to the greenhouses, asking for directions along the way.Five minutes late, they arrived in the greenhouse where a kindly, stout witch stood before the class.Upon seeing James and Sirius enter, she waved them over with two very grubby hands. “Ah, good, good, that should be everyone now! Take a pair of gloves each, you two, and pick a pot. As I was telling the others, my name is Professor Sprout, and during the next five years—or six or seven if you’ve quite the green thumb—I’ll be teaching you all you need to know about magical plants and their properties and uses.”James and Sirius took the only two remaining pots that were positioned together, and listened as Professor Sprout went over the safety notices.“We’ll be repotting the bubotubers today, folks! Don’t forget to wear your dragonhide gloves, and make sure you don’t give the plants too much of a squeeze. They’re only young, but some might be beginning to develop some pus, and we don’t want that getting on your skin! Right, now, watch closely as I demonstrate how to handle them with the appropriate care . . .”The two boys soon found that they had a knack for magical plants, as their bubotubers were repotted perfectly in a matter of seconds. So, while the rest of the class struggled to detangle roots from the soil, James and Sirius pretended to add some ‘finishing touches’ to their pots while they chatted.“. . . But surely your parents will find out sooner or later,” James stated.Sirius shook his head. “Absolutely not. How could they? They won’t ask, and I won’t tell. They never need to know.”James pressed on. “But don’t you have any family here at Hogwarts who might let it slip that you’re in Gryffindor? What about that cousin of yours you mentioned on the train?”“Andromeda?” Sirius laughed, as he aimlessly sifted the soil through his fingers. “Nah, Andy’s no snitch. Hates my parents’ guts, too. And rightfully so. That’s why I like her so much.”“Are they really that bad?” James frowned, unable to fathom holding such hatred for one’s parents.“Awful.” They were both silent for a moment, before Sirius added, “Narcissa might be the one to worry about. I don’t think she’d tell them—I mean, usually she just minds her own business—but if they ask her . . . Yeah, I suppose I’d better have a word with her, just to make sure.”“Is Narcissa another cousin?” James asked, grabbing his hand shovel to polish it again.“Yup. Andromeda’s little sister. She’s alright. Not nearly as cool as Andy, of course. Cissy’s kind of a typical girl. Obsessed with her hair and makeup. At least she’s not their other sister, though. Bellatrix is a lunatic.”“Oh?”Sirius looked James in the eye. “I don’t suppose you’d wanna meet someone who keeps a collection of dead rats for ‘experiments’?”“Oh, gross, no.”“Well then, let’s pray you never meet my cousin.”James screwed his face up as he attempted to mentally piece together these parts of Sirius’s family tree. “So are they all here at Hogwarts?”“Nope,” Sirius replied. “Luckily Bellatrix has graduated already. It’s just the other two who are still here.”“And that’s Andromeda and Narcissa?”“Yuh-huh. Erm, James, you might wanna stop touching the—”But Sirius’s words came too late. James, who had been mindlessly fiddling with his bubotuber plant, had accidentally managed to squeeze one of its pus-filled lumps between two of his fingers, and he watched as the thick, green pus shot out of the plant, landing across the table on the cheek of a classmate.James gasped. His classmate screeched, her eyes going wide as she raised an ungloved hand to her cheek.“Stop!” James yelled, as he ran around to the other side of the table, quickly yanked down the sleeve of his school robes—the fact that he was still wearing his gloves anyway had completely slipped his mind in his panic—and wiped away the offending plant matter from her face. It was then that he recognised her as the crying girl from his compartment on the train—the girl with the deep red hair and the slimy friend.She, too stunned to protest, simply stood there staring at the boy beside her, until James extended a hand towards her. “I’m really sorry about that. I’m James Potter.”Slowly, she took his hand. “Um, it’s alr—”“Miss Evans!” Professor Sprout waddled over. “Did you get bubotuber pus on your skin?”The girl opened her mouth to respond, but James cut in. “It was my fault, Professor.”Professor Sprout waved her hand. “Oh, I’m not concerned with who’s at fault here, not at all—these things happen! But let me see . . .” the professor bent down—only slightly, as she was only a little taller than the first-years—to inspect the girl’s cheek. “Ah, yes, lucky the plants are only young. But you should still have Madam Pomfrey give you something to keep the pimples at bay. Yes, might as well head to the Hospital Wing immediately, I should think! You too, Mr Potter, seeing as you’ve already repotted your plant beautifully!”“I know the way,” James stated. He did not, in fact, know the way, but still felt rather chivalrous saying so. He led the girl out of the greenhouses, giving Sirius a thumbs up as he went.James walked up the stairs, entered the castle, and was immediately faced with no less than five possible routes. Feigning certainty, he chose the corridor to the right, and had walked half its length before realising that the girl was no longer with him. He turned around to find her back at the start of the corridor, her hands on her hips. “You don’t know the way, do you?” she accused.“Oh, well,” he fumbled, “I mean, I assume it’s—”“The Hospital Wing’s at the other end of the castle. The south side. Meaning, we need to go that way.” She stuck out her finger to point dramatically in the other direction.“Oh, right. Well, since you know how to get there—”“I don’t know how to get there, actually. I just know north from south.” She said this very matter-of-factly.James was unperturbed. “Well, you seem to have a better chance of finding our way than I do! I’ll follow you.”The girl turned on her heel and, without waiting for James to catch up, marched off. He caught up to her as she was asking for directions from a group of older students, who were seated around a large marble fountain in the middle of what must have been one of the castle’s many atriums. She turned to her left to ascend a series of staircases, James close behind.“So, I don’t think I caught your n—” James began, but was quickly shushed.“I need to remember the directions.”“Oh, well, I can help!”The girl sighed. “Alright. Listen. Those students said we have to go up these stairs, turn right, go up the spiral staircase, go across the bridge, go up another flight . . .” she continued to recount an impossibly long list of directions, as James grew increasingly baffled that this girl was able to retain so much information at once.“Well?” She raised her eyebrows at James. “Are you going to help me remember it?”“Oh, yeah, of course,” James responded. He had, however, already forgotten half of the directions. “But”—he smiled—“only if you tell me your name.”“Fine. When we get there.”“Wonderful.”James trotted along silently as the girl whispered under her breath, “. . . spiral, bridge, up, corridor . . .”, and she remembered the way flawlessly, until—“Wait.” She stopped dead in her tracks. “Are we meant to go up that spiral staircase?”“Uh . . .” James faltered. She’d definitely mentioned something about a spiral staircase at some point . . . They really could have done with a tour of the castle. Or a map. “Um, yes? I think so. I mean, we definitely needed to go up a staircase, I mean, you said something about two spiral—”The girl glared at him, evidently unimpressed. “Oh, dear. Oh, no . . .”“It’s fine! We can just ask someone else for directions again,” James reassured her. “But I’m pretty certain we need to go up two spiral staircases.”“I know that, but not yet! Something else came first.”“Are you sure?”“Do I look sure? Ugh, I can’t remember at all anymore, you’ve been talking too much! It’s all escaped my brain now.” She marched off again, up the spiral staircase.James jogged to catch up. They ascended one flight, only to find that the staircase ended there.The girl huffed again. “Well, this isn’t right at all!”James looked around. This part of the castle felt quite familiar. He turned to his left, and—“Oh, look! That’s the Fat Lady!”The girl rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s great,” she said sarcastically, “except that we’re looking for the Hospital Wing.”“Well, yes, but it means that we at least know that we are in Gryffindor Tower! And we can ask someone.” James approached a student who had just climbed out of the portrait hole, asked them for directions, then reported back to the girl. “Right, we need to go back downstairs, down the corridor on the left, and up the stairs until we reach the Hospital Wing!” James felt very proud of himself.They followed the directions until they found themselves standing at the open door to a large, clinical room. Along the left and right walls were many tall windows, and beneath these were a series of hospital beds with turquoise bedsheets.The two of them entered the room, and a kindly-looking, middle-aged witch in red robes and a white apron bustled over to them.“Dear, oh dear,” the witch—this was Madam Pomfrey, James supposed—tutted. “It’s only the first day! Ah”—she noticed the gloves that James had forgotten to remove—“what did Professor Sprout have you handling this morning?”“Bubotubers,” James answered. “I, uh, accidentally squeezed some pus onto—” He looked to the girl, realising he still didn’t have her name.But Madam Pomfrey cut in. “Right, no matter. Where did it get you?” The girl raised a hand to her cheek. Madam Pomfrey nodded and ushered her to sit on one of the beds at the other end of the room. “Well, it looks just fine to me, so I’ll just give you a prevention treatment. You’ll need to wait a moment, though—I have to finish mixing up another stomach-settling potion for Mr Hornby here.” James noticed that the boy on the bed opposite was a shade too green. “There’s always one who gets a little overexcited at the welcome feast . . .”Madam Pomfrey disappeared through a door at the back of the room, leaving the girl seated on the bed, swinging her feet, and James standing beside her.“So,” James began, “have I earned the right to know your name?”The girl glared up at him. “No, you haven’t. You didn’t remember the directions.”James smiled. “Well, maybe not the first time, but I did the second time! Surely that counts, right?”She continued to glare. “. . . No.”James frowned, then asked, perfectly bluntly, “Do you dislike me?”She raised her eyebrows. “I do, in fact.”“Oh. Why?”“Because”—she crossed her arms—“you were rude to Severus. And he’s my friend.”“That slimeball? You don’t like me because I was rude to him?”“Do not call Severus a slimeball!”“Well, he is a slimeball! Someone should show him what a bottle of shampoo looks like.”The girl raised her voice. “Oh, like you’re one to talk—I’d love to show you what a hairbrush looks like!”James opened his mouth, then closed it. He hadn’t been prepared for such a quick, sharp response. Then he laughed.The girl looked horrified. “What’s so funny?”“Well, you got me, didn’t you?” he responded.James’s hair was always sticking up at the back, no matter how many times he brushed it. Ironic, really, since his own father was the inventor of Sleekeazy’s, a potion used to tame unruly hair. While the potion flew off the shelves, it had never actually managed to work on James or his father.Laughter was apparently not the girl’s intended reaction. She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, I get it, you probably like how cool it makes you look—like a rowdy, messy, couldn’t-care-less kind of boy!”“You think it makes me look cool?”She huffed, and turned away from him. They were both silent for a moment.James had had people dislike him before, so it wasn’t an entirely new experience. But those people had always, always been nasty kids. Mean kids. Bullies. Never someone nice. Never someone like this girl. She needs to like me, James found himself thinking. She needs to know I’m nice. I’m funny. I’m cool. I’m not a nasty kid.“Hey, you know, I did remember some of the directions, so maybe half of the directions gives me half a name?” he offered jokingly. “Your first name? Or surname?”She didn’t answer immediately, but quickly gave in. “You don’t remember? Professor Sprout said my surname in front of you.”“Oh.” James didn’t remember. “Remind me?”She sighed. “. . . Evans.”James stuck out his hand. She rolled her eyes, but accepted his hand nonetheless.“I’m James Potter. Pleasure to meet you, Evans.”