James Potter and the Four Marauders
Chapter 1
James swept his hand through his already-messy charcoal hair, pushed his glasses up his nose, and looked around the crowded station appraisingly. Finally, he was off to Hogwarts. His trunk, however, didn't seem to be so excited to be leaving. No amount of his father's heaving or tugging would remove it from the back of the car.
"Amelia, will you come and look at this? It must be jinxed or something. We're going to be late, and I can't… Seem… To… Get it!" With a final heave, Oliver Potter yanked the trunk out of the car, proceeding to spill the contents all over the pavement. With a sigh, his wife Amelia waved her wand and James' clothes, books, quills, parchment, and brand new color-changing ink flew back into his trunk, all folding and compartmentalizing themselves neatly. "Thanks, darling. What would I do without you?"
"Not much, Oliver. You're about as clumsy as a drunk gnome."
James was not amused. He had five minutes to catch the most important train of his life and, without putting an end to this dawdling, he was going to miss it. "Not to interrupt what I'm sure would have been a fascinating conversation or anything, but I'm going to miss my train if we don't leave soon…" James trailed off as both of his parents jumped, looked around, checked their watches – which had suns, stars, and moons instead of numbers and hands – and set off at a near-run, dragging James' trunk, owl, and boarding pass along with them. Grinning, James jogged after them, passing staring Muggles left and right, and not pausing to appear inconspicuous.
It was 11:58 when they reached the barrier to platform 9 3/4, and James could barely speak for worry, which was a first for him. The three of them took the barrier at a run, and stood, panting hard, on the platform. A crimson steam engine stood before them, belching smoke over the excitable crowd. Owls were screeching, rats were squeaking, cats were meowing. James could barely suppress a laugh at this sight. From what he could see, this was his kind of place. His father handed Merlin – his tawny owl, bought as an early birthday present – and his trunk to a black-capped porter striding along the platform, and James watched as his trunk, along with his protesting owl, was loaded onto the Hogwarts Express, waiting for him to pick them up and take them into a compartment.
"James? James! Come over here for a second. You haven't said goodbye yet, and I need to give you a goodbye kiss."
"Mum! I'm going to miss my train!" James could feel his cheeks reddening as he saw a boy, this one sporting his new Hogwarts robes and looking down his nose at him. James could imagine the boy sniggering at him from out of the window. He decided to ignore they boy for the moment as his mum came over, kissed him, and bent down to give him a pep talk of sorts. He had given her and his father all of their goodbye kisses back at his house, to avoid early embarrassing starts. It seemed that his mother, however, had forgotten this unspoken agreement. James wished he could have told her not to kiss him, but there was a look on her face that stopped his verbal protest in its tracks.
"James, I'm so proud of you. Say hello to Professor Slughorn for us. We'll write to you every week, and don't forget to make new friends and keep your robes clean. You can have a friend over for Christmas if you'd like. Oh, Jamesie, I'll miss you so much!" Amelia Potter's eyes started tearing up. The last thing James wanted was to let the pale boy see his mother cry. He gave her one last hug, just as the train started to move. He wrenched the door open, swung himself inside, and set off down the train to find himself a compartment and a band of followers.
He located his trunk, and started to look into the different compartments, trying to find a first-year group. All of a sudden, the train lurched around a bend in the track, sending James, his trunk, and what remained of his dignity into a compartment door. He peeled himself off, ignoring the sniggers of the older occupants, and dragged himself all the way down the train. Finally, he came to the last compartment. There was only one person in it, a small girl with a tear-streaked face and flaming red hair cascading down her back in bright waves of color. He gave up on finding a truly empty compartment and plunked himself down across from her. "Don't cry. It's not that bad. Did you break up with your boyfriend or something? What's your name? Mine's Potter. James Oliver Potter, to be precise."
The girl glared at him so angrily that he sat there, stunned. He could already tell that this girl, whoever she was, was his type. He tried again, this time sticking with the basics. "I'm James Potter. Who are you?"
The girl sniffed, wiped her eyes, and stared at him for a while before answering. "Lily. Lily Evans."