A/N:I've been wanting to write a Marauder fic for ages now and I finally decided to do it! I hope I'll get this right, and if anybody has any suggestions, I'd really like to hear them, honestly.

This chapter is divided into four parts-one for each of the Marauders-and I've done it in alphabetical order. Remus' is the longest one, just because I think there's a lot to explain in his case.

Disclaimer: I own Harry Potter and everything related to it. Just Kidding! No, I don't (Wouldn't it be awesome if I did, though?) That all belongs to the amazing J.K Rowling. Always has and always will. I only own a few of the characters I'll introduce later. And Sirius-him I own in my head and I swear it's perfectly legal there. Yeah, I agree, I have issues.

Prologue

Sirius Black sighed as he watched the important-looking owl approach his house, a letter clutched tightly in its beak, a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He already knew whom the letter was from and, although he was excited, Sirius couldn't help but feel hopeless.

He would be in Slytherin—how could he not? All of his family had been in Slytherin and it was only natural that he would be also.

He opened his window, stepping back to allow the owl in. It flew into his room, dropped the letter onto his head, before flying back out. Sirius smiled as he reached atop of his head and grabbed the letter, turning it over in his hands. Finally, after almost twelve years of waiting, he was going to go to Hogwarts.

He hoped against hope that he would be different, that he would be the first Black to break away from tradition and be sorted into another House. He didn't care if he was Sorted into Hufflepuff. Any House would be good as long as it wasn't Slytherin.

"Sirius!" Mrs Black's voice carried up to his room and Sirius sighed. "Come down here, boy!"

"Coming, mother," Sirius called back as he set the letter on top of his nightstand, staring at it longingly. He wished he was there already, instead of here, where he was expected to go downstairs and greet the rest of the Black Family and act as if he belonged.

He walked out of his room slowly, trying to take as much time as he could before having to greet them. He stopped suddenly, turning to look at his reflection in the mirror at the end of the hall. He stared into his grey eyes, frowning slightly, as if he were thinking very hard about something.

"I won't be in Slytherin," he whispered in a determined voice to his reflection. "I won't."

Remus Lupin sat quietly at the top of the stairs of their cosy, little home, trying his best to listen to his parents' conversations without making his presence known. It wasn't hard, given that his parents had their back to him and the stairs were situated just so, that he was able to see them without being seen, but he had a feeling that the stranger they were talking to was aware of his presence all the same, by the way his piercing blue eyes kept flickering in his direction, twinkling with amusement.

He was the strangest wizard Remus had ever seen. He was a tall, thin and distinguished man, with an air of wisdom and amiability around him. He had silver hair and a silver beard longer than any Remus had ever seen, long enough that he could've tucked it into his belt if he had wanted to. Perhaps the most curious thing about his appearance, even more so than his bright purple robes, were the half-moon spectacles that were perched atop of his long, crooked nose; Remus had a feeling that it had been broken on more than one occasion.

Although Remus was sure he had never met the wizard before, he had a feeling that he had seen him somewhere. His parents seemed to know perfectly who the man was and they had been pleasantly surprised to find him standing in the front porch of their home. They had showed him into their small sitting room and asked Remus to wait in his room, while they discussed some important matters.

Curiosity had gotten the best of young Remus, which is why he was currently sitting on the stairs, instead of being in his room like he had been asked. He knew they were talking about him, by the way his name carried from his mum's lips to his ears. But about what he did not know because they spoke in low, excited voices and Remus did not dare to go any closer.

He wondered, for a moment, if it had something with his condition.

Ever since that fateful night, five years back, he had spent more times than he could count in and out of St Mungo's, being prodded and poked and forced to drink nasty potions that left him feeling sick afterwards, but nothing worked. There simply was no cure for Lycanthropy.

But his parents had still not lost hope. They had taken to bringing wizards and witches into their homes, each stranger than the next, all falsely claiming that they could cure his condition. Even though he still wished with all his heart on every shooting star to be normal and do normal things boys his age did, Remus had long given up and learned to accept his fate and sometimes he wished his parents would, too.

But they wouldn't, couldn't give up and Remus couldn't help but feel guilty sometimes.

After all, it was his fault his parents were constantly worried, not only because of his condition, but also because of their financial problems, despite the fact that his father worked for the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and earned enough for them to live comfortably. It seemed that every last Knut his parents had been saving for when Remus would be old enough to attend Hogwarts was spent in trying to find a cure for his Lycanthropy instead.

Remus let out a small, sad sigh. The thing he wanted the most was the opportunity to be able to attend Hogwarts, like most boys his age. He wanted to go to the school and make friends and learn magic and just be normal.

Sadly, because of his Lycanthropy, that would never be the case.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind from his sad reality and concentrated instead on the stranger downstairs. He was sure he had seen him somewhere before, but where?

A book, perhaps? No, it hadn't been a book, it had been something smaller.

He bit his lip, fishing out of his pocket a Chocolate Frog. Ever since he had been bitten, Remus had taken an instant like to chocolate and found that it helped to calm his nerves.

He opened it and bit quickly, before the enchanted piece of chocolate could do more than twitch a chocolaty leg. He took the card that came along with it hoping it would be his missing Cliodna card, but was Circe, much to his disappointment; he had about six of her in the small box under his bed…Remus sat up suddenly, remembering exactly where he had seen that strange man downstairs.

He stood up quickly and ran to his room, before throwing himself on the floor and reaching under his bed for the small box. No sooner had Remus removed the lid when his mum's voice carried into his room from the foot of the stairs.

"Remus, honey, can you come down here for a moment?"

"Coming, mum," Remus called back reluctantly, closing the box, before placing it back under his bed. He stood up and brushed his clothes for any dust, before heading down the stairs, his stomach doing nervous summersaults, now trying to remember the name of the strange man in his sitting room. He knew now where he had seen him before and he felt as if he should know exactly who he was.

"This is my son, Remus," his father said as soon as Remus had come into view and he looked up, meeting the stranger's gaze for the first time. The man smiled kindly and Remus opened his eyes wide in surprise as he realised whom the man was. "Remus, this is—"

"You're Albus Dumbledore," he blurted out, interrupting his dad.

"Why, so I am," Dumbledore said pleasantly, smiling down at him.

Remus felt the tip of his ears grow warm, like they always did when he was nervous or embarrassed and he looked down. "I recognised you from your Chocolate Frog card," he mumbled sheepishly.

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore replied, sounding oddly proud. "One of my greatest accomplishments as of yet, if I do say so myself."

"We'll leave you two alone," his mother said and Remus couldn't help but notice that she sounded excited and happy and a bit relieved; it was an odd change from the worried tone he was so used to hearing. She smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder encouragingly as she exited the sitting room and his father did the same, patting him on the back, before exiting after his mother.

"Now, young Mr Lupin, if you would please take a seat, we can get down to business,'' Dumbledore said, slightly startling Remus.

He gave a small nod as he took the seat across from him, placing his hands in his lap and keeping his eyes trained on the floor. He had no idea what Albus Dumbledore, whom he knew now was current Headmaster at Hogwarts School, would want with him, but he had a feeling he'd know soon.

"Now, I take it you know who I am?" Dumbledore asked and Remus nodded.

"You're Professor Dumbledore, Hogwarts' current Headmaster."

"Indeed I am. Now, what do you know about Hogwarts, Remus?"

Remus sighed, finally raising his eyes to meet Dumbledore's. "It's a school of magic, where wizards and witches my age learn about the magical arts and are trained how to control their magic," he said, trying to keep the longing out of his voice, but failing.

"And how would you like to attend Hogwarts, Remus?" Dumbledore asked, placing the tips of his long, slender fingers together as he peered down at him through his half-moon spectacles.

Remus hesitated for a moment, looking out of the window to his left. The moon was almost non-existent, just a small, half-crescent hanging like a fingernail in the still-bright sky. It seemed to Remus like it was mocking him, in its smirk-like state. He turned to look back at Dumbledore, who was looking at him curiously.

"I would very much like it, sir," he said, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. He looked from Dumbledore to the door into which his parents had disappeared, not knowing how much he should tell Dumbledore or how much he already knew. "But the thing is, Professor—I don't know if my parents mentioned it—but I'm ill. I have a—a disease and I would be unable to keep up with the schoolwork. I would go if I could, honestly, but I'm afraid I can't."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, looking at Remus intently. He looked out the window, like Remus had done a few minutes before and said, "Our sentimental friend, the moon. Friend to many and foe to some." He looked back at him and Remus felt as if Dumbledore were looking deep into his soul.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, his heartbeat increasing as he fidgeted nervously. Did Dumbledore know of his condition?

"Do not mind me," Dumbledore said. "I am an old man and sometimes say things of no importance. Now, your mother tells me you have accomplished some extraordinary wandless magic, is that so?"

The abrupt change of subject caught Remus off-guard for a moment and he stared at Dumbledore curiously as he nodded, wondering how much his parents had told him. He had indeed performed wandless magic before, but he had never thought much of it before now.

"I have," he said slowly.

"Would you care to show me?"

Remus shrugged and held out his palm, frowning slightly as he concentrated, before bright, blue flames erupted onto it. With a wave of his hand, he made them disappear and he looked up to see Dumbledore looking at him curiously again.

"I've done other things," he said uncertainly, "like making things move, but it's a bit trickier and takes much more concentration."

"Indeed it does," Dumbledore replied, before breaking into a smile. "I must say, that was quite impressive, Remus. Not many wizards can perform that kind of magic. You have potential, yes, and talent…why, with the right kind of training, you could become a great wizard some day! How does that sound to you?"

"I suppose it would be nice, Professor. Mum's planning to teach me at home. She's even promised to get me my very own wand," Remus said, trying to sound cheerful about his situation.

"Wouldn't you prefer to attend a school, with other young wizards and witches like yourself? Say, Hogwarts, for instance?" Dumbledore asked, slightly leaning forward as he said this.

Remus sighed. "I would, Professor. But you don't understand—my illness, it's contagious, see. I'm afraid that if you knew of my condition, you wouldn't be here."

"But what if I told you I already know about it?" Dumbledore asked with a small smile, leaning back in his seat.

Remus stared. "You know about my condition?" he repeated slowly, wondering if he had heard the Professor right.

"Indeed I do and I see no reason why you could not attend. You're a talented young wizard and Hogwarts is just the place for you."

"But, Professor, if you already know what I am, then you'll know why I cannot go. I'm a—a werewolf. I can't be around people, let alone sleep in the same room as them during the full moon! If people knew what I am—I don't think I'll fit in your school at all."

"Ah, but my dear Mr Lupin, you're only a werewolf once a month and a boy for the remaining twenty-nine days. And people needn't know of your condition and I would advise against telling anyone, for their safety as well as yours. Only the teachers will know and I can assure you they'll be most discreet, so I see no reason for you not to live a normal life while at Hogwarts. As for your transformations, I've taken the necessary precautions, like finding a secure location where you can go once a month and you'll be at the care of our Matron, who is very good at her job." Dumbledore smiled, peering down his long, crooked nose at Remus, waiting for his reply.

It was too much for Remus to take in and he stayed silent for a moment, his head spinning with excitement.

"You mean I can attend Hogwarts? And make friends? And learn magic? And live in a castle?" he asked, a grin spreading across his face.

Dumbledore chuckled. "And many more things. As long as you promise to behave responsibly regarding your Lycanthropy, I don't see why you cannot attend Hogwarts."

Remus nodded eagerly. "I promise, Professor."

"Then, I believe we have a deal."

"What is that, mum?" the small, blond boy asked as he entered the tiny kitchen.

His mum spun around, her eyes twinkling in excitement as she clutched a letter in her hand. She said nothing, just held out the letter for Peter to take. He took it curiously and turned it in his hand, almost dropping it when he saw whom it was from. It was almost too good to be true—he, Peter Pettigrew, had actually received his Hogwarts letter. For a moment, he wondered if it was another cruel trick those boys from his village were always playing on him.

He did not have a single friend in his village—they all made ridiculed him because his mum was his best friend and he had no magic, according to them.

He looked at his mum, eyes wide in pleasant surprise.

"I'm going to Hogwarts?"

"Yes, son, you're going to Hogwarts," Mrs Pettrigrew confirmed, beaming proudly at him.

Peter grinned, clutching the letter to his chest. He was going to Hogwarts! He couldn't believe his luck as he stared down at the letter in his hand, his eyes shining with happiness.

His happiness, however, was short lived.

"Well, will you look at that," a cold voice called from the kitchen's doorway. "My son's not a Squib after all." His father slumped into the kitchen, his cold, black eyes staring at him. Peter dropped his gaze, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. "Maybe now, you'll finally stop embarrassing me," Mr Pettigrew said, laughing scornfully and Peter blinked back tears, willing himself not to cry. He wouldn't give his father that satisfaction.

"I think that'll be enough, Anthony," Mrs Pettigrew said quietly, before turning to her son and smiling at him, but Peter could tell it was forced. "Peter, honey, why don't you go play outside?"

"So typical of you, Phillipa," sneered Anthony, looking at Peter with contempt as the stubby, blue-eyed boy exited the kitchen, staring intently at the floor. "Always defending your useless son."

Everyone had always thought Peter was a useless Squib: the boys in his village, his cousins, his uncles, even his father. But this, this letter proved otherwise. He was magical. He was special, like his mum had always told him.

Peter would show them; he would show them he was just as magical as they were and just as deserving of attending Hogwarts.

"Is it here, mum?" James Potter called as he rushed down the stairs, like he had done every day for the past month. "Is it finally here?"

"Is what here, darling?" Mrs Potter said innocently and James could tell she was smiling. "And I hope you're not running down the stairs, Jamie, or I'll have no other choice but to hold this letter for another day."

James grinned as he jumped the last few steps, before rushing outside onto the back porch, where his mother was already having tea, almost knocking Libby, his favourite house-elf, over.

"Sorry about that, Libbs!" he called over his shoulder as he crossed the great, glass doors. He had been waiting for his Hogwarts letter to arrive for almost three weeks and now it was finally here. "Where is it, mum?" he asked excitedly.

Mrs Potter tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Well I don't know, son. I cannot think straight without my good morning kiss, you know."

James laughed, throwing his arms around his mum and kissing her cheek. "Can I have it, mum? Please, please, please?"

"Of course, dear," Mrs Potter smiled, handing James his letter.

"About time!" he yelled, thrusting the letter up in the air eagerly, like a trophy. "Can we go to Diagon Alley now, mum? Can we? Please?" he said, jumping up and down and looking at his mum pleadingly.

"Well, I don't see why not," Mrs Potter laughed. "Although, you'll have to calm down, Jamie. Wouldn't want to scare the poor people there, now would we?"

"Let him have his fun, Dorea, dear," Mr Potter said as he approached his son, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's not every day a young man receives his Hogwarts letter," he said proudly.

"I'd prefer it that fun was a bit calmer and much quieter," his mum said teasingly as James jumped excitedly on the balls of his feet.

"After we get my robe and wand—"

"And books, don't forget your books, Jamie," his mum interrupted.

"Yeah, those. After we get all that, can I get a broom, Dad? Can I? Please?"

Mr Potter hesitated, running a hand through his greying hair

"Oh, no. First-years are not allowed their own brooms, right Charlus?" Dorea said, giving him a pointed-look.

"Your mother is right, son. But I don't see why we can't get you an owl."

"But we can get one next year, right?"

"I don't see why not," Charlus said and James cheered.

Dorea shook her head. "You spoil him too much, Charlus."

"I suppose this is coming from the very same person who thinks it necessary to have all his things custom-made," Charlus said, his voice amused.

Dorea laughed. "He's our only son, dear. Can you blame a mother for trying to pamper her only son?" she asked, ruffling James' hair, making it even more unitdy, if that was even possible.

"Can we go to Diagon Alley now, mum?" James asked excitedly.

His parents exchanged helpless looks.

"I suppose we can," Dorea said finally.

A/N: So, there you have it. My first fanfic and I'm a bit unsure of how it'll turn out. I think it's fairly decent for a first-timer, but of course, my opinion hardly matters, right? So, review, flame, or whatever. Thanks!

-E