This is a lot different from the other stuff I've written so far—actually, from anything I've written so far. It is—if my education on Fanfiction serves me—a "series of drabbles". I don't know if anything exactly like this [rough plot has been done before (I hope it hasn't, but the odds are, amongst hundreds of thousands of HP stories, it has). Anywho, this will encompass moments shared by the Marauders and Lily (Sorting, graduation), or the same general experience that each of them would be able to tell about individually (first kiss, death). …But never mind me—read on, read on!

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1: Sorting

Dimidium facti qui coepit habet.

—Horace (Latin, What's well begun is half done.)

They stood in a long line, their backs pressed against the cold stone wall, their small faces tight with anxiety and fear. Terror had struck them deaf, unable to hear the Sorting Hat's clever verses, or McGonagall's short, kindly speech; apprehension had rendered them dumb, and they no longer chatted easily with their neighbors.

First an Abbot, then an Anderson and Benton, were sorted; then McGonagall, thin and stately and cold, called out, with the tiniest thread of distaste, "Black, Sirius!"

A dark-haired boy with huge grey eyes staring out from a finely molded face stepped quickly towards the short wooden stool, so horribly centered before the watching faces of the hundreds of Hogwarts students. His hands shook slightly as he placed the faded Hat upon his head. He didn't fear the Hat, but rather its decision—he knew, from his cold toes to his uneasy stomach to the tips of his shaggy black locks, that he wasn't a Slytherin, knew even at the age of eleven that he was different from all his family…

Near the middle of the line, a skinny boy with extremely messy hair crossed his fingers.

Different, hmm? murmured a slightly snide voice inside his head. Sirius snarled back at the Hat with a long childhood's memories of witnessing abuse rained on House-Elves, of rescuing small animals from his cousins' cruel clutches, of secretly hating his nasty, spiteful mother.

This is a Black? said the Hat, sounding amused. You hate Slytherins. You're all wizards, mind, no matter your brief and petty loyalties…It isn't the House that you should hate, boy, but rather the people who tarnish its name.

Don't you dare put me in Slytherin, growled Sirius silently, with all the righteous arrogance of a coddled pureblood.

A good mind, but too great a thirst for adventure—Ravenclaw? Hufflepuff—an ingrained willingness to obey—but that will give way, too soon, too soon. There was no sound, not even in Sirius's head, but he had the impression of laughter. Cunning, ruthlessness, anger—those are Slytherin traits, my boy.

Sirius sat very still, his young jaw clenched, his small fists clenched on the edges of the stool.

There was laughter again, unformed, unsounded, but undoubtedly recognizable.

I live for moments like these, the Hat said. You know who you are—who you'll always be— "GRYFFINDOR!"

The hall erupted in cheers—he was Gryffindor's first new student. McGonagall's swift glance was puzzled but welcoming. James Potter, standing straight and tall in line, bellowed his approval.

And Sirius himself, smirking a little as though he had always known that he, pureblood, descendant of the infamous Blacks, had never doubted this moment, this destiny; and he settled himself contentedly on a bench and grinned as the Gryffindors, so suddenly his fellows, rained their praises upon him.

There was a Brinden, Calsim, Clearwater, Crockdear, and a Cunnart; a Dart, Derrick, Drole, and Duncan; then the E's, Earnings, Ebbitt, and then, at last, Evans.

A slim girl with a small pale face and long, thick, dark-red hair walked shakily towards the stool warmed by the many children's fear. She sat, holding her skinny legs together and tucking them in close to her, even as she set the Sorting Hat upon her head.

Ah, said the Hat, and Lily jumped as she heard it speaking in her head, glancing around quickly to see if indeed it had been somebody else; then she remembered Severus's words, and calmed a little. A great mind—a very great mind. There is fear and uncertainty, but you face it bravely; you are alone, but you don't consider failure.

Lily sat very still, trying to think of nothing at all and failing miserably. Memories, thoughts, even little useless facts flashed through her mind over and over, and she knew each one was seen and considered and examined by the Hat on her head.

Naturally, agreed the small voice in her mind with a shadow of wry good humor. You're not as hard a choice as you could be. Beware, Lily Evans. A little more hurt, a little more disaster, and this decision would have gone awry…

Lily didn't like the sound of that, but was distracted by the bellow above her— "GRYFFINDOR!"

She stood quickly—too quickly; she swayed a little, sat back down hard, and at last managed, blinking stupidly, to regain her bearings. She handed the Hat to the boy waiting to take it, and wasn't sorry to see it go as she made her way to the table on her far left. The boy from the train, who had mocked Severus so cruelly, moved down the bench for her, grinning. Confused, it took her a moment to recognize him; then she scowled darkly and seated herself as far as possible from him, firmly turning her back to watch the rest of the Sorting.

The names ran together. Nobody paid attention to them anymore, not to the names, at least; they watched the Hat, wondering what he was saying in secret, bellowing their triumph and welcome as it named another new student to their House.

People did notice Lupin, Remus, though. He was very small—both short and skinny—and his masses of uncut blonde hair only served to make his thin head and shoulders appear smaller, and he looked so utterly terrified of everyone around him that the reaction was instantaneous. The Slytherins jeered, and the Hufflepuffs frowned gently, and the Ravenclaws reasonably deduced his addition to the badger clan. The Gryffindors noted with surprise and pleasure that, despite his scurrying stride, he slowed a few feet before the stool and squared his shoulder proudly, lifting his head in noble rebelliousness against his fear.

"Hufflepuff," Sirius whispered confidingly to Lily, who ignored him.

Remus himself was glad of the others' reactions towards him. They hissed at him because he was a coward, not a monster; they offered pity because he was frightened, not bitten; they grinned at him because he showed courage, not in defiance to the fact that he could tear them to pieces once a month. He smiled a little as he sat down. Perhaps the Headmaster had been right, after all…

He is, every now and then, said a voice inside his head. He'd been ready for it, but it still shocked him. It was a voice like his thoughts, but he knew, and was deeply discomfited by the knowledge, that they were not his thoughts. A werewolf, hmm?

Remus frowned. I'm a person, he retorted coldly, and his conviction was solid.

You are a wizard, agreed the Hat. But what type of wizard?

Remus found himself becoming oddly annoyed with this thing atop his head. How could it judge him? He was shocked by its response: Isn't that just the thing you hate all your fellows for? For seeing you as an animal rather than a wizard?

Remus's frown deepened—it was true, and he was chastened. Everybody would always judge everybody else, he realized suddenly, beneath the gazes of innumerable students and the weight of the next seven years of his life. Did anybody ever have a right?

They always have a right, was the Hat's unfathomable response. And you are a "GRYFFINDOR!"

Remus, dazed but pleased, was all too relieved to remove the Hat, and the solemnity of the previous moment was already passing rapidly away as he walked, quickly but calmly, to his new table. Sirius grinned broadly, and this time his attempt was answered by a shy smile in return; and Remus Lupin, Gryffindor, sat beside his new friend.

They chatted, a little guardedly quietly and with much interruption from the Sorting; two girls joined the Gryffindor ranks before another boy did. Sirius had given him a cursory glance when he had first trotted up to the stool but, immediately deigning him incapable of being Sorted into his House, had turned away; he glanced back only after a few minutes, when he realized he still hadn't been given a House.

This boy was "Pettigrew, Peter", a short, chunky little boy with close-cropped colorless hair, sharp features, and suspiciously beady dark eyes.

What have we here? murmured the slow, quiet, eerie voice of the Hat within his head.

Peter Pettigrew, the boy answered stolidly, though his fingers, twisting and knotting crazily in his lap, belied his nervousness. I am—

The Hat cut him off impatiently. I know who you are, it said, far beyond your foolish name. I know what you are. Do you?

I'm a wizard, Peter replied. Why was he always being bullied? Even by this Hat? Even now that he had finally entered Hogwarts? That's all I need, he added, though he knew it wasn't true…

If being a wizard was the only thing a wizard every needed, he wouldn't be fidgeting on a stool being Sorted, would he? the Hat informed him testily. I'm a Sorting Hat—you think Sorting is all I need?

Peter admitted that he had never thought about that. What else would you need? he asked curiously. His fingers had stilled; Peter loved answers, especially ones that no one else knew.

I'm doing the examining here, wizard the Hat notified him. There was a long silence—of sorts—in which Peter could not sense the presence of the Hat in his head, which frightened him more than when the Hat was there. What if he had angered it and he was doomed to sit here for minutes, hours, days, until finally the Headmaster swooped down on him and snapped his wand and told him to be gone, that he was no wizard, that—

Don't be foolish, the Hat said tetchily. I have never failed to Sort a witch or wizard into their true house. You're a brave boy—of a sort. A strange sort. But it'll do…

And the rip opened wide. "GRYFFINDOR!" the Sorting Hat bellowed for all the Hall to hear, and Peter, half-dazed by the abrupt finality of its proclamation, stood only very slowly. His small plump hands cautiously touched the Hat's brim, lingering in removing it from is head. In the last moment before they lost contact, Peter heard, very faintly, I need secrets. I need minds. I need…

But then the Hat was off, and Peter handed it to the skinny dark-haired boy waiting impatiently to take it. He glanced around, momentarily confused, then made his way slowly over to the Gryffindor table and sat down. A blonde first-year said his name was Remus, then made a shy motion in the direction of the boy on his either side, and told him that that was "Sirius—uh, Sirius Black." Peter smiled a little.

Sirius, meanwhile, was utterly silent, and he hardly noticed when the Hat declared the pudgy boy to be a Gryffindor. His whole being was concentrated on McGonagall; he grabbed up a fistful of robes and clenched them tight, his small face formed into a practiced expression, hard and closed, in order to not betray his hopes. James Potter…had he ever wished as much as he did then for the company of another human being? James, in the short hours they had known each other, had become a friend, more wholly and truly than any of his cousins or brother or rich, haughty neighbors…

"Potter, James!" McGonagall cried—it seemed like years after the last Sorting, though it had been only seconds. A tall, lanky, almost laughably skinny boy with immensely messy jet-black hair and hazel eyes strode forward to accept the Hat. He swaggered; Sirius, watching him, grinned, a grin that broadened as James turned his head slightly to flash him a fearless smile of his own.

A Potter! was the Hat's first response, and James could hear the delight in his voice. An arrogant Potter—yet aren't they all?

My father isn't arrogant! cried James, his swift temper breaking through immediately.

A loyal Potter—yet aren't they all?

The boy's chin thrust out stubbornly. All his thoughts were concentrated on forming no solid response, which, naturally, was an all too lucid reply for the Hat. I could keep you sitting here, said the Hat, as a first lesson, of a sort. But why bother?

James smirked. He knew why there was no bother— SLYTHERIN!

He jumped half a foot at the thunderous voice. The students watching all laughed as the boy's pale face was drained to an even whiter bleach, as his eyes grew huge and fearful, as comprehension, and an unconcealed relief, settled into his features and he slumped suddenly on the stool.

A prank, the Hat said, snidely and obviously, and your first lesson. Then, "GRYFFINDOR!"

No emotion, at the age of eleven, had ever held James Potter for longer than a few moments, a trait that served him well as he leapt triumphantly from the stool, his grin broad and unconquerable. He tossed the Hat to the next boy—that would be its lesson—and flashed a smile at the reprimanding frown of McGonagall. With a cheery, bouncing stride he passed along the Gryffindor table and through the welcoming noise until he'd reached Sirius Black, who moved easily to make room for him.

"'Lo!" he said merrily, and his irresistible happiness encompassed Peter and Remus, too. They smiled back, far less shyly than they would've an hour ago. "I'm starved!"

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Alrighty. So that's that.

As I mentioned, this series (at least so far, when I'm full of energy and enthusiasm) will include anything that the Marauders and Lily shared, during and after their years at Hogwarts. Next up: First Prank. If anybody has suggestions or requests, drop me a review, and I'll at least consider writing it up. I've been brainstorming, and I have about fifteen themes so far…

REVIEW, all!! (Please.) (But really…)