The story of the Marauders told from the very beginning. Starting on each of their 11th Birthdays. How will each member of the group react when they receive their Hogwarts acceptance letter? And how soon will they become the fast friends and Marauders we all know and love? Beware, potential Dungbomb pranks in the near future.


"The best birthdays of all are those that haven't arrived yet."
- Author Unknown


Sirius Black was bored. He had been roused from his sleep for the third time on this particular morning by a strong feeling of mounting anticipation. His bedroom was unsurprisingly still dark, the thick velvet curtains blocking out any hint of light from dim glow of the street lamps outside. The sun would not be up for another hour at least; the cold November morning's had a habit of clinging on to the last shred of darkness until it was absolutely necessary to let go.

Sirius glanced up at the antique clock on his wall for what must have been the hundredth time. The minute hand still rested infuriatingly near the twelve. 6 o'clock. He sighed, more out of irritation than longing now. If he was honest, he wasn't even that excited for his actual birthday, which would once again be filled with formal visits from Aunts, Uncles and countless cousins he barely knew or simply despised. He would once again have to listen to them prattle on about blood supremacy, Dumbledore being unfit to run Hogwarts, (too many 'Mudbloods apparently) and who was next to be married off to another high status pureblood family, among many other dour subjects.

No, Sirius was excited for the chance to be free of his parent's strict, prejudiced stance on society. This birthday would finally bring his letter and opportunity to escape. He stood up gingerly, pacing to and fro from his bed to the door with his hands behind his back. He had memorised all the spots on the warped wood flooring that would allow him to cross without permitting a highly audible creak. The groaning and protestations from the old victorian terrace was far too reminiscent of the family's house elf as he grumbled and wheezed around the building, and Sirius was glad to avoid it. Dodging the loosest and loudest floorboard in his bedroom and rocking backwards and forwards lightly on the balls of his feet, he rested his hand on the tarnished doorknob.

Logically, Sirius knew the post owl would not be here until 8 o'clock at the earliest and getting caught wandering the house before then could potentially get him in a lot of trouble. He could practically smell the parchment though; keeping this thought firmly in his mind he squeezed the handle hard and frowned, his lengthy black hair falling over his eyes. With all the self control he could muster -which in Sirius' case really wasn't all that much, he released the doorknob slowly and turned away. After padding carefully back across the room, he threw himself ungracefully onto his bed and closed his eyes, imagining the feel of the letter in his hand, letting the overwhelming sense of freedom fill him up. Smiling wryly to himself, Sirius tried fitfully to return to sleep once more and allow the waiting game to finally be over.


Remus Lupin opened his eyes slowly, struggling to grow accustomed to the bright morning sunlight seeping through the drapes on his bedroom window. He was tired. The next full moon was now only two days away, March 12th was marked on his calendar with a small black dot. A small reminder of the dreaded event he had coming up and would continue to occur every 29 and a half days for the rest of his life. He exhaled, not surprised that he was beginning to feel the similar aches and pains, although thankfully the worst had not yet arrived. He smiled faintly to himself, glad that at least on this particular occasion the moon cycle didn't fully interfere with his birthday.

He was dragged away from his thoughts by the sound of his Mother exclaiming tenderly "Oh, Remus dear, you're awake! Happy Birthday! I was going to let you sleep in a little longer but your father was adamant that you shouldn't waste any more of your birthday laid up in here."

Brushing his hair out of his eyes with her thumb, she spoke softly, "Come downstairs in a minute, I've got your favourite breakfast all ready." She smiled at him kindly, before turning away and disappearing through the door.

Remus sat up, stretching out the knots and kinks in his back. Swinging his legs gently off the bed, he collected his dressing gown and padded across the landing, beginning his slow decent of the stairs. He secretly hoped his parents hadn't gone to too much trouble this year. He was more aware of his family's financial struggles than he let on. Knowing full well that they didn't have much money to spare and he would be wracked with guilt if he had to accept a present that he knew was beyond their means.

Another pang of despair hit him as he reached the bottom step, this birthday should be a special birthday for someone like him –a wizard, but now being 'someone like him' had a completely different meaning; a meaning that didn't bode well with the rest of the Wizarding World. He briefly surveying the warm kitchen that contained his dear Mother and Father, and presented them with a little smile, filled with the insecurities that lurked within him. Remus glanced past them at the Post Owl perched on the windowsill, and knew that none of small batch of letters it had just deposited would contain the message he so desperately wished for.


James Potter awoke hurriedly on the morning of March 27th, so hurriedly in fact that he all but stopped himself from rolling off his bed and landing on the floor with a splendid crash. Scrambling up off the wooden floor he hastily reached for his glasses, balanced precariously on top of a pile consisting of far too many Chocolate Frog cards, a Dung Bomb, an open box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans –which may or may not have also contained a few owl treats, last week's copy of Quidditch Weekly, and a few items that looked like they shouldn't even belong on the bedside table of an eleven year old boy.

Racing down the stairs, and somewhat gracefully managing to trip over the rug in the hallway, James smiled gleefully to himself. He didn't think he could cope if had had to wait one day longer. The muffled voices of Mr and Mrs Potter worked their way downstairs and James realised his rather noisy antics had woken up his parents. He was vaguely aware that his parents rather preferred to wake up slightly later on a weekend, but considering the special circumstances of the day he didn't spare that another thought. It was his birthday, but more importantly it was his 11th birthday!

Trying not to lose it completely and start running round the kitchen singing "Happy Birthday to me!" at the top of his lungs, he thrust all his pent up anticipation at the large window above the sink, and pushed it open with all his might. Squinting hard through his round spectacles at the horizon, and more significantly the tell-tale glimpse of this morning's Post Owl, James was distantly aware of his parent's voices drawing closer and the unmistakable sound of his Father's throaty chuckle.


Peter Pettigrew rolled over in his sleep, snoring peacefully and remaining, at this moment blissfully unaware that today was a very important day indeed. Shifting around under his duvet once more, he let out a quite frankly monstrous snore for someone so small, and shocked himself awake. He blinked rapidly several times before his watery blue eyes flicked up to the calendar on the wall, following along the rows of crossed off boxes before stopping on the date circled in red pen. Throwing off the covers, he scampered downstairs, filled with excitement for presents and family and cake.

The thought of cake lingered in his mind for a lengthy amount of time before being pushed roughly aside and replaced with the knowledge that today wasn't just his birthday. After his Mother and older brothers, Peter would be the first to admit that he wasn't particularly adept at the kind of uncontrolled magic one would usually see in wizarding children. It wasn't until he was eight years old that Peter had actually done something remotely impressive, something that made his Mother no longer doubt he was a squib.

That particular incident had involved a door slamming in his Mother's face and the conjuring of a denied pudding from the fridge downstairs, into his lap upstairs. Although his Mother had been immensely proud of him in that moment, they didn't really talk about it very much as he had got into quite a lot of trouble afterwards. Now, as he let himself into the kitchen, he clung onto that memory and tried not to squeak in fear when he came face to face with the Post Owl.


Thank you for reading. Reviews would be splendid. Full chapter on Sirius Black's birthday next.