Author's Notes: Because everyone writes about James and Lily, but really, what was it like before that angle? When it was James and Sirius, Remus and Peter, best friends?

Come inside and see...

A detailed look at how the Marauders came to be.

Impossible

It's impossible to share a compartment on a packed train with someone extremely outgoing and not become aggravated...unless that person is strangely kind.

He was a gregarious, swaggering boy of eleven years who wore glasses, had hair that was way too long, and didn't pay much attention to anyone else besides himself. One look told me Slytherin; the first words out of his mouth made me think Gryffindor.

" First thing I'm going to do is hex every Dark wizard out there until they're barfing up their own guts!"

Charming.

He didn't like my family's history in Slytherin, but he did like the face of the pretty redhead who sat in the compartment beside us; I sensed a story in the making. He sensed a chance to show off.

He fell in the Lake on the way to the castle; I laughed. But when he reached up and pulled me overboard as well, I wasn't laughing. I was thinking, This wizard's got guts. I like that.

He climbed out of the black water with his hair sticking up in three pointy tufts from his head; I smacked it down and called him Prongs.

He laughed. So did I.

We sat side by side and held our breath in the Great Hall as others of our age were sorted; when my name was called—"Sirius Black!", like an epitaph—I thought, See you in Hell, Prongs. He gave me a thumbs-up and winked. I grimaced and curled my lip.

It wasn't Slytherin after all for me, though, it was Gryffindor; I was so amazed I forgot to walk quietly through the near-silent Hall. My shoes squeaked like dormice on the floor. He laughed and yelled 'Padfoot!' across the hall.

I stuck out my tongue.

The long line of children was Sorted by and away—including the redhead from the train, who was in my House and seemed to think herself out of my league—before it came down to him; "James Potter!" they called, and it sounded like a benediction.

The cry of "Gryffindor!" was like music to my ears; as he slapped me an exuberant high-five, I could feel another story in the making.

The story of two very best friends.

Ex: Sirius Black

It's impossible, in my position, to feel like you belong...unless someone inexplicably understands you.

I was the outcast always, misunderstood, people always avoiding me for some reason they themselves did not understand. It had been so all along...today was no different.

I sat alone at the desk and read feverishly about the Wolfsbane potion. My source. My lifeblood.

Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Remus Lupin of Gryffindor. Supposedly brave and bold. What was I but an oddity, a freak amongst freaks? The scar of the bite not fully faded from my thigh, hotter than every other part of me, except perhaps for my face, red with embarrassment because I could feel them staring, again.

Books slammed down beside me; I jerked, glancing up at the one who dared stand beside me.

He was a seedy boy, short and very slight, with sandy hair and a very anxious expression; I recognized him as one of the three boys from my dormitory. He glanced around nervously before asking if he could sit. I consented; I was shocked enough not to consider the ramifications of a possible acquaintance.

I did not ask why he was late for the beginning of class; he did not tell. He merely leaned over and asked if he could look on with me. I consented again, in a stupor. He looked fragile...more fragile than me. I wondered if it was emotional or physical.

But I did not ask, and therefore he had no reason to answer.

" Peter Pettigrew!" The Professor said his name rather loudly; the boy looked truly terrified as he turned to face the front. Terrified like I felt, whenever someone said my name. Whenever they looked me in the eye. Afraid they would discover my secret...afraid they would see through my lies.

We shared that book all throughout class, and then, as we rose at its end, he looked me over with suddenly speculative eyes, and said, quite bluntly, " You don't have to be so afraid, you know. There are good people in this world."

Maybe he was speaking to himself; maybe he was trying to be mysterious. Whatever the case, I felt his words stabbing through me.

We walked to our next class together.

And for the first time in a life that already seemed too long, I had a friend.

Ex: Remus Lupin

It's impossible, as an only child, to feel like you'll ever fit in...unless someone forges a strange connection.

I already knew his name, his house, the sting of his hand slapping the top of my head. Innocent youths, we operated under secret code with words that meant things only significant to us, and occasionally he'd slip up and call me Prongs, and I'd retaliate with Padfoot.

It stuck, just like we did, like a charm. Classes together, same room shared with two others boys—neither of whom we knew—and our inside jokes. Same bench in the Great Hall, same Quidditch team, same girls, same faults, same life. Like two halves of a whole. Two extremely troubled and troublesome souls.

The great change of our lives started out innocently enough; while sitting beside the fire one cold and blustery night, he hexed the armchair I was sitting in. I flew out of it. We laughed, that same laughter from the boat when I'd become Prongs and we'd started to become friends. And then he suggested we play the same trick on someone else.

It was a road we embarked on together and never looked back; life was never the same after that, never serious and never full of uncertainty and not fitting in. We were Sirius Black and James Potter, Prongs and Padfoot, two halves of a whole and two particles of destruction. They came to fear our names in the halls, to loathe the sight of us. We relished in this power, innocent as it was, and garnered more of it.

We were kings in our own right, rulers of a world of mischief none had dared besiege before. Our pranks reached heights unheard of, and we basked in the solitude and the splendor.

But solitude has its drawbacks, and before long there was emptiness; two alone was not enough. We needed more.

And we swore—over smuggled food and dimmed firelight—that no matter how many more came, it would always be us. James and Sirius, Prongs and Padfoot, slapped head, squeaking shoes, and mischief managed. Always and always and always, as endless as our imaginations.

Same dormitory, same mind, same personality.

It was a kindred soul connection; we were brothers.

Ex: James Potter

It's impossible, when you're a nobody, forgotten, to be loved...unless someone takes you for who you are.

I was horrible, nowhere near worthy of being a Gryffindor; not brave, not strong, not worth anything. I cowered when my name was called, fearing the pain that was abundant beyond the castle walls, in the place I had come from.

They all shook their heads and meet and looked away and never understood.

He sat beside me in Potions and Charms and Transfiguration; he was quieter than I was and always looked sick and feverish. People said he looked peaky, ill, usually close to the full moon. I hated them for talking about him behind his back; he looked tormented enough as it was.

The day we learned the levitating charm was a day I dreaded above all others as the first time I would have to demonstrate my wandwork; my hand shook and my knees quivered. I couldn't say the words right. My throat was tight and my wand hand was shaking and my knees were quivering and...

And his hand closed over my wrist.

" Close." He said; it was the first time he had spoken to me of his own will, apropos of nothing. " But you've not got the movement right...here, feel it, let the magic guide you..."

He sounded so much life a Professor, yet from day one the Professors has all disregarded me, subconsciously, or so it seemed, as a lost cause...I hated them for that bit, too.

But this strange, quiet, introverted, panicky boy looked calm and centered now, demonstrating by touch how best to perform the spell. And before I knew it—while I was staring at him, stunned—the feather before me began to float.

" There." He sat back, looking faintly proud. And I was proud, too. Proud of him, and proud of myself.

And I noticed something about him I hadn't before.

" You look kind of...moony, you know that?"

I gestured to his round face, his luminous eyes, and as I said it his lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile...the first I had ever seen on his face.

" I get that a lot." He said.

It was a warm smile, a welcoming smile, and I felt a very unfamiliar warmth swelling in my chest. When the lesson was over and we were on our way to lunch, I couldn't help myself asking if this strange, moony boy would sit with me. I sensed he needed the companionship just as much as I did.

He agreed; and as we walked side by side to our table, I wondered, for the first time, if this was what it was like to make friends.

It was the most wonderful feeling in the world.

Ex: Peter Pettigrew

It's impossible, when sitting alone with only one other friend for company, not to notice when others do the same.

It was just us...me and James, James and me, just like always. Everyone else was giving us a wide berth...maybe smelling the Dungbombs in my pocket. Maybe seeing the dangerous glint in James' eye. He was the only one daring enough to try this stunt with me, the only one who would ever be brave enough, considering the consequences of our last endeavor.

The means to our plan was sitting heavy in my pocket and smelling potently of waste; we only needed someone to throw them at now.

That was when we noticed them.

A tall, round-faced boy and a short, skinny one sitting alone, also with a wide berth. Obviously not well liked. Everyone would laugh. It would be perfect.

I nudged James and winked. He winked back.

And I was on my feet and halfway down the table before anyone else realized I was gone.

Ex: Sirius Black

It's impossible, when someone sneaks up to you on very squeaky shoes, not to notice their arrival.

I was only feigning concentration over my Potions essay, being quite aware of the fact that, for the first time in nearly five years, I was sitting beside someone of my own choice, in a silence that was not awkward...a someone who had been kind to me, who had spoken to me when I did not speak back, and who had noticed that I was deserted and had welcomed me in like a friend.

Now we were sharing our first meal together in a kind of quiet that I felt no need to bridge—nor did he—simply sitting and staring into space or textbook and not saying much. It was simply that—that undemanding presence, comforting beside me—that made me feel strangely in control of myself, less on the verge of panic than I always was.

And that was when my senses—always tuned beyond normal capacity, especially my sense of smell—detected the faint whiff of a rancid Dungbomb; my nose wrinkled, my body tensing.

Peter glanced around as I shifted away from him.

" What's up?" He asked, sounding terrified.

" Don't look behind you."

The air shifted in a current that ruffled my hair; my wand was out and at the perpetrator's throat before his hand had arced more than halfway backward.

His gray eyes were surprised as they ran the length of the wand to meet mine. I recognized him at once; he was one of two other boys—besides Peter and myself—who shared our dormitory.

" Nice reflexes." He commented.

" Fast enough to hex you if you don't drop that thing." I warned, nodding to the Dungbomb in his hand.

" Fair enough." He dropped the offending item to the floor with a clatter. " Well, game's up. Best if..."

And he shouted for someone down the table, calling them a name I did not recognize.

Prongs.

Interesting.

Ex: Remus Lupin

It's impossible, when your invincible friend is forestalled, to bear it like a man.

Sirius, Padfoot, my first real friend, who had a real sense of humor and a real knack for timing, had been thwarted. It was shock beyond belief as the rangy boy made him drop the Dungbomb; I was already on my feet and halfway around the table when he called my name.

The taller of the two boys did not look intimidated by us...Padfoot and Prongs, lords of mischief. The smaller boy did; he cowered against the bench, his watery eyes flickering between us quickly.

" Prongs." Sirius said. " This moony-faced wizard caught my quickest reflex over his shoulder like he saw it coming. It was incredible."

I knew that significant look he gave me; though my heart protested—Just the two of us, Padfoot and Prongs, always and always and always—I could see that he was right.

" Hey, you." I said. " Moony."

The tall boy glanced around, looking a token nervous but otherwise indifferent.

" Yes...Prongs?"

I smiled despite myself; I liked his nerve.

" How would you and the little worm here like to join our quest?"

It was perfection

Ex: James Potter

It's impossible, when life seems to hand you all that you wanted on a golden platter, to not suspect the worst.

For here they were...James Potter and Sirius Black, whose names were spoken with fear in the corridors, and who, coincidentally, were also in our dormitory...and they had asked my friend and myself to join them on their rise to glory, as Gods amongst insects! It was shock beyond all belief, joy beyond comprehension...and longing for something that seemed unattainable.

" Why would I do that?" My first and only friend inquired.

" Think of it!" James sat heavily beside me. " You and the little worm here look like you're pretty much on the outskirts. Out of sorts with everyone else. I know you think we're prats, but give us a chance. We're looking for someone to...ah...help us out, maybe stand lookout during our adventures or else be a voice of reason when we go too far. It would be ideal for you and the shaky one." I resented the nickname despite the truth of it, and I tried my best to glower at him.

" Yeah, think of it, Moony!" Sirius added, dropping down beside James. " Fame, glory...and friendship! Because once you go in, you can't get out. Me and James are in this to the end...whatever end. Why not band together the fearful and the fearless?"

There was a general exchange of glances and I could see the thoughts racing behind his eyes, reflecting in mine. Both of us outcasts, offered a chance to prove ourselves beside James Potter and Sirius Black. They were both wonderfully well-known...we were not. Several months into term and people still misspelled my last name. They sill avoided him.

What else could we do?

" You've got yourselves a deal."

We said it simultaneously.

" My God, Prongs, it's us all over again!" Sirius laughed. " So it'll be Prongs and Padfoot and Moony and...and..."

He reached around James to tweak my cheek.

" And we'll have to call this little rat something..."

Resentment again at his teasing, but no longer so pronounced. Whatever it took to make them accept me, I would endure it.

" Hey!" James said, suddenly. " Isn't he the one that Mary accidentally gave a pig's tail to in Transfiguration?" And he began to laugh raucously.

It was pain beyond belief, like hearing my father's raging voice all over again—though it had died with him some years ago. I bent double and tried not to hear their laughter, tried not to feel my friend growing stiff with anger beside me...

" Well, well, the worm with the pig's tail!" Sirius chortled. " Put them together and you've got..."

" Wormtail!" James interrupted.

And as he spoke, four large goblets brimming with icy drink appeared before us, summoned by thought, it seemed; Sirius reached out, seized one for himself and for James, and pushed the others towards us.

" But those nicknames are too loud, too long." He said shrewdly. " We'll be needing another name...something we can use to pass through the darkest of circles, to the deepest of depths...a name all shall fear, a name that will be written and revered and the tales of it shall be told again and again!" His voice gained volume as his imagination seemed to soar. "So what shall we be?"

There was pensive silence all around; then I heard a low mumble from beside me.

James leaned forward, brow furrowed.

" Didn't catch that, Moony. What'd you...?"

" My mother." He said it more loudly this time, but it was still no more than a whisper. " Used to call me a marauder when I was very young."

I sensed that she had called him that before he had come to be so...introverted. So poised and careful, as though he feared he would explode if he acted at all out of turn.

James and Sirius exchanged a long glance; I picked up my goblet for lack of anything better to do, and Moony, after a moment, did the same. The air was very thick with tension.

And then suddenly we were all smiling at one another, and Sirius and James lifted their goblets, and we followed suite.

" To the Marauders!"

Ex: Peter Pettigrew.

Enter: James Potter—Many days followed that induction of the Marauders, so many that they became impossible to tally. There was so much to be learned—that Moony was a werewolf, that Sirius' family was fueled by pureblood mania, that Peter's father had abused him, and that my passing fancy for a girl on a train would into something much, much more powerful...something like love.

Enter Sirius Black—A lot of things changed over the next few years, but it all boiled down to one thing, divided into four: us. Our bodies. Our skills. Animagi, the lot of us, by our fifth year, bearing the burden of one friend's terrible secret because when you're a Marauder, the pain of one is the pain of all. That kindred soul that was just me and James split and became four—Moony for his face, Wormtail for his hapless lack of bravery, Prongs for his hair that looked like the devil's scepter, and me, Padfoot, for old shoes that never stopped squeaking. Even beyond graduation our story continued, but there it began to twist in strange ways.

Enter: Peter Pettigrew—But here we sit, and whoever you are, reading this, there's so much we want you to know. We want you to know that we took a vow to never forget one another, to never let go of that bond forged over summoned goblets and teasing words that insulted, and that prevailed through artful pranks, dismal detentions, tearful nights, hopeless moments, all of the lies, the secrecy, the fear as the enemy rose to power. It was sustained by the laughter, the nights spent awake when by all accounts we should have slept, the embraces, the shared looks, the smiles and the passed notes and the life that was us...the Marauders.

Enter: Remus Lupin—And while it may seem that some secrets should never be told, here we lay before you only the beginning...ending unknown, words and deeds unplanned...so that you may see that the truest bond of them all is the most unlikely sort of friendship, when four utterly opposite wizards put their heads together and decided to become something greater than themselves. No form of charm, potion, enchantment or any other bit of magic could ever equal the love that became known between us, the bond that no foul deed or ill word could destroy. Wolf, rat, stag, and dog—together, always.

Enter: The All—Overall, it's impossible to share a four-bed dormitory, three square meals, countless boxes of Chocolate Cauldrons, clandestine maps, squeaking shoes, hidden knowledge, veiling cloaks, unknowable power, every secret, every wish, every day, every night, every dream, your heart, your hope, your life, your self...with three wonderful people, and not become brothers. It's impossible.

We know.

Ex: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs—THE MARAUDERS

—Mischief Managed!—