Hello. This is my first Harry Potter fanfiction. This so far is only a little one-shot I wrote because I got a strong mental image of the Marauders. I tried to project that image into writing. If I succeeded, it relfects something powerful. If you folks enjoy it, I can use this as a prolouge and write a real story involving our favorite four boys, and a possible red-headed Gryffindor. If so, please review with some ideas. Year, plots, prompts, things you'd like to see happen. This is not in story format. And since I believe my note will soon surpass the size of my story, I shall leave you to read.
The four boys stood, silhouetted against the brilliantly bright light of the Great Hall. The two black-haired boys were back to back, arms crossed and wands out, every detail of their faces profiled like a portrait. You could see the glasses frames perched precariously on the tip of the boy on the right's nose. One could even spot the twitching at his lips, the grin on the inside trying to force itself into being in the open. The second one held himself with a defined arrogance, his broad shoulders back and his head up, surging with pride. His glossy hair fell in waves around his face, his jaw firm and set. He too had a smile playing along his lips. The other two boys were on either side of the other boys. The boy on the far left was short; his face was turned adoringly to the boy on his right. His hands flittered nervously by his side, looking as though he was intimidated by the people in his company. The last boy had a bag slung comfortably over his shoulder, and a book in his hand. His hair, short and light in colour, was lit up, glowing like a candle. His stance reflected one of those who had faced hard times.
Meet the Marauders.