Disclaimer: This is from J.K. Rowling, somewhat differed but on the whole, characters setting you know the drill. The title is from Fearless, David Usher. If anything else is wrong or recognizable, well, isn't that's neat.

This World

i know that your fearless i bought it what brought you to your knees

your rage is visible so nearly intelligence sets you free

my mind is clearly undoing the ability to see.

There were three.

It occurred to him that there could be more, but there, right in front of him, that was three. Remus stepped back and narrowed the frame.

"Are you sure that's far enough, Lupin? Have you got everyone in?" McGonagall called.

"Uh-huh," Remus said, spitting the words out over his tongue. This business was harder than it looked. He set it to ten seconds and dove in front of James, Sirius and Peter. The shutter clicked, the film rolled. McGonagall went to collect the camera.

"Did you do it?" James asked.

"Of course I did. Do you think I would so rashly abuse my privileges? We are now the entire Class of '76," Remus said in a husky voice.

Sirius was jumping up and down on his toes. "Okay, guys, let's move. Padfoot's bored."

"Of course he is," James drawled. "Sirius –" He pointed to make sure Sirius knew who he was talking to. "You – go – lake – jump in."

"Remus." Peter was tugging on his sleeve. Remus turned.

"What?"

"Did you get me in?"

"In what?"

"The picture, am I in it? Is it all four of us?"

"No, I got the hot brunette next to you. What are you on?"

Sirius was back from the lake. "Acid. And Firewhiskey. What hot brunette?"

"Don't give him that stuff, Black," James said irritably. "He gets weird."

"That was my bet. Any takers?" Sirius pulled out a quill and rolled up his sleeve.

"If it's gonna be acid it might as well be tequila," Remus said. "Start Muggle, stick Muggle, that's my motto."

"Too many syllables. Pick something shorter," Sirius said, scratching the words across his wrist. "Prongs?"

"Knowing Peter, it's probably Butterbeer."

"That's not even illegal, loosen up."

"Change it to rum." Remus peered over Sirius' shoulder. "Is that aesthetic enough for you?"

"I suppose. Okay, Pete."

Peter was sitting on the ground picking grass. "What?"

"Are you deaf? What are you on?"

"You know, between you and Remus it's a wonder my self esteem isn't completely shot," Peter said. James nudged Remus.

"He's hedging," he whispered.

Sirius slapped his forehead. "Am I going insane, or is this child a cunt to the enth? Peter, we are betting on you. Someone is going to make money. This is very important, because at least one of us is broke. Are you sober?"

"Of course I'm sober, what do you take me for?" Peter squawked.

"He's doing his voice. His lying voice." James chewed thoughtfully on a scone.

"Do you think so?"

"Sure. Sirius, smack him."

Sirius smacked him.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Don't lie, Wormtail, you're no good."

"I'm not lying."

James made a vague hand gesture in Peter's direction. "Did you catch it that time? His voice cracks in a strange way."

Remus thought about it. "Yeah, I guess it does."

"Will you guys help me?" Peter was practically panting under Sirius' glare. James opened his hands, palms up. "I'm the broke one here, Wormtail, I can't afford to lose."

Remus was dubious. "Really? Are you broke? I thought you said you'd pay me by tomorrow."

"Sure, I'll have it by then."

"If you're lying," Remus said, "I will hurt you. I will seriously harm you."

"I know you will, Moony, calm down. I'll get it back to you."

"Where'd you get that scone?" Sirius said, looking around. "Let's go get some scones."

"Aren't you going to finish interrogating our victim?"

Sirius grabbed Remus and James by the collars and dragged them down. Crouching in front of them, he said, "Here's the plan."

"I take your money."

"Peter, what have you drunk today?"

"Uh – orange juice. Butterbeer."

"I take your money," James said again.

"I spiked it," Sirius said. "With Firewhiskey. And made him drink it."

"That's cheating," Remus said.

"That's forethought. Listen to my plan. Prongs, you get more scones."

James pulled a bag out of his pocket and counted. "Is seventeen sufficient?"

"Perfect, thanks. Moony – you know your part in this."

"Where am I going to get all the spoons?"

Sirius shook his head. "That's Plan Fergus. This is Plan…um…B."

James said, "Original," and passed around the scones.

"Moony, find that brunette."

"I was talking about Snape. It's called a bitter irony," Remus said. "Or do you mean the one on the right?"

"No, not that one," Sirius said hastily. "Find a different one."

"Should I lock her up when I catch her?"

Sirius missed the sarcasm. "I don't care. You think of something, you're the Prefect. Innovation and all that. Peter, go do something."

"What?"

"Go, homework, something, I don't care. Go with Moony."

Peter got up. "I think –"

Sirius snapped his fingers together, signalling quiet. "What is this voice inside my head saying, do you think?"

"Go fuck yourself?" James suggested.

"No, listen," Sirius said, cupping a hand around his ear. "Could it be – why yes, it is! It's telling Peter to go fuck himself!"

"What would it have been if I hadn't given you the idea?" James asked. Sirius shrugged.

"I'm not the Prefect. Go, Moony. Go, Wormtail. Prongs, we have words to exchange."

Remus and Peter disappeared, and Sirius flopped onto his back. It was their seventh year; in another few months they would be on the train to London, never to return insofar as the retention of their wits lasted. They were about to take their NEWTs, so all the other seventh years and Peter were studying. The four of them had been best friends, all but Peter the best in every class, the unreachable Popular since they had decided at the end of their second year that they should do something interesting for a change. Six years later they were still the (somewhat) exclusive Marauders, and had the property to themselves: almost everyone was inside preparing for exams.

Now that Remus and Peter were gone Sirius could relax. He was somewhat tense by nature, but less so with James. He collapsed sideways to get a good look at James' face. "Any news from your lady friend?"

James didn't show any sign that he'd heard Sirius at all, except to say, "Sure."

"Well?"

James drew a letter from his pocket, opened it, straightened the parchment and cleared his throat. "Dear Mr Potter," he read. Sirius whistled.

"Mr Potter, look at you," he said. James fixed his mouth into a smile.

"We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at our Academy of Quidditch and the Dark Arts -"

"The what?"

"Will you let me finish? A place for you – I read that already. You've thrown me off."

"What academy is this?"

"Are you deaf?"

"Heroin and french vanilla ice cream," Sirius said. "I confess."

"What the hell has french vanilla ice cream got to do with it?"

"It makes me kind of crazy. Tell me about this academy."

"They teach you Dark Arts, and then you play Quidditch."

Sirius splayed a palm across his chest. "Me personally? How lovely. If there was such a thing I'd have come across it, so shut up and tell me what you're doing with your life. I'm not in the mood to be hoodwinked this afternoon."

"At once?"

"Shut up when you're done. I thought you were going for Auror."

"Yeah."

"So, are you in?"

"I'm in."

"Am I in?"

"Did you apply?"

"Did I what?"

James stretched out against a nearby tree and closed his eyes. "Let me tell you something about the world, Padfoot, and how it runs. Everything doesn't drop into your lap as soon as you wish for it."

"It doesn't?"

"No. It doesn't."

"Prove it."

James exhaled, loudly. "Okay, wish for something."

"All right." Sirius shifted so that he was on his back again, folding his hands behind his head. "What next?"

"What'd you wish for?"

"If I tell you it won't happen."

"That's only wishing wells and birthday cakes. When you're proving things you have to be open or you'll never get anything done."

"Yeah, but you're the one who thought – well hello there," Sirius said.

"Heddo, Sidius."

James opened his eyes. There was a very tall, very blonde sixth year by the name of Greta perched on Sirius' stomach, giggling as he pretended to gasp for air. She pushed him, somehow managing to wind her fingers through his hair at the same time, and Sirius glanced over at James.

"My wish is granted, more or less. What next?"

James pressed his fingers to his eyes. "Okay. Black. Let me tell you something about the work world."

"It's run the same as the world? That's great, I'll swing by the Ministry in August and see what they've got open."

"You're going to die alone."

"I don't know about that," Sirius said. "Greta, will you let me die alone?"

"Off coorse not," she said. "Zat vut be awful."

"Mm," Sirius said. "Has anyone ever told you that the letters in your name spell Great?"