Just Kids

A Marauders Fic

Summary

Their lives will shape the fate of the world, magic and muggle. They will help drive back the darkness, their names will be known to everyone, they will be loved and hated in turn. Not quite yet though, right now…they're just kids.

Disclaimer

You are gullible if you believe the following:

That the word gullible has been taken out of the dictionary.

&

That I am our beloved JKR. I'm not, I don't own the rights to the Harry Potter books or any of the characters in them. I am not making any money out of this so please don't sue. Since I don't have much money you wouldn't get much out of me anyway.

Author's Note

I never intended to write a MWPP fic, my original plan was to write about what happens after our favourite characters leave Hogwarts. I had a plot and every thing, then OotP came out and chucked all my paperwork down the drain, well not all of it, most of it. So then I thought, this is going to happen every time a new book comes out, stuff that, I'll write a Marauders fanfic till she gets all her books written and published.

So here I am writing this. If all goes as planned this will be the first in a long line of fanfics, but I have to get through this first, wish me luck. My updating may be somewhat sporadic (I write a lot but I can't type for toffee) but please bear with me, I will try.

Well, on with the story.

The First Step Into The Unknown

The Hogwarts Express chugged slowly into Platform 9 ¾. The station's only occupant, a rather chubby little boy with a pointed nose and watery eyes, stared at the huge red steam engine in awe. He was sitting on a trunk surrounded by quite a few miscellaneous items, among them a rat squeaking in a cage and a bag full of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans splitting at the seams. Several rather embarrassing items of clothing were sticking out of the battered trunk's various nooks and crannies. Spare quills, a comb and a large bottle of a slightly off-green, frothy mixture labelled "Cough Medicine Home Brewed", were sticking out of a large lumpy bag at his feet. Definite signs of a frantic mother's last desperate attempt to make sure that her little baby was sufficiently prepared for the perils of boarding school.

Peter jumped as his mother bustled over, having just come through the barrier that separated the magical station from the Muggle one. Mrs Pettigrew was a small woman with the same sharp nose as her son. Her eyes were also rather watery, but this was from suppressed tears. She gave him a big hug, then started doing all the things mothers do to their children before a big event, smoothing hair, straightening collars, talking all the while.

"Now I've talked to that nice lady with the sweet trolley and she has promised to keep an eye on you for me. She is to see that you get enough to eat, I don't want you to come back home and be all skin and bone. You are to eat good solid meals, get a full eight hours' sleep every night; I know how exciting Hogwarts is but I don't want you gallivanting around at all hours of the night. Try not to get in with the wrong crowd, do your homework, and study hard. If you need to talk face to face I've packed some Floo Powder, otherwise just owl me. Remember, I will be very proud of you whatever house you get into." She hugged him, tears in her eyes, then pulled away, saying "Have a lovely time, dear and remember to change your socks every day!"

The last bit was shouted over her shoulder as she hurried towards the barrier, which was now partly blocked by people coming the other way. Just before she was lost in the crowd she turned and blew a farewell kiss, then she turned away.

"Bye" said Peter quietly to her retreating back. He wished she could have stayed longer, he had been hoping to wave to her from the train. He looked down at his trunk and sighed, how on earth was he going to get on to the train?

***

Twisting and turning through the jostling mass of people was a small, black haired, bespectacled boy, an owl cage in one hand, a brown book bag in the other and two breathless parents behind him, struggling to keep up. James was very excited, to say the least. He was finally going to Hogwarts, the best school for witchcraft and wizardry in the whole, entire world! He had heard so much about it that he felt he could find his way around blindfolded. This apparently was impossible; everyone he had spoken to had told him that knowing your way around the whole school was unachievable: due to its sheer size, its many magical staircases, passageways and hidden doors that wove themselves into a tangled web of stone and wood until no one, not even Dumbledore, could always be sure of the way to go. The fact that everything which wasn't nailed down moved didn't help matters.

Despite these doom-laden warnings, James was quite confident that he would find and memorise every room, gargoyle and password by the end of the year. This was just one of the many dreams that he intended to fulfil at Hogwarts. The others included winning the Quidditch House Cup at least three times, getting into Gryffindor and last, but definitely not least, playing more pranks, jokes and tricks than any student in the history of the school.

Lawrence and Emma Potter screeched to a halt, just in time to avoid crashing into their son, who had stopped his mad dodging about to stare at the train in awe.

"Quite a sight," said James' father quietly, "like a ruby dragon wreathed in smoke."

"Just waiting to pounce on you and gobble you up!" laughed James' mum, sweeping him up into a bone-crushing hug.

"Emma," her partner said seriously, "this is a pivotal moment in James' life, one that is the beginning of his career as a wizard."

"Yes dear, and you're spoiling it" said Emma in mock seriousness, releasing her choke hold on her son, who promptly fell down on the floor and pretended to die, then got up when he realised no one was watching.

His parents were too wrapped up in their mock argument and the rest of the station was too busy saying goodbye to each other with various levels of weeping and wailing. He was glad his parents weren't the clingy type, they were taking his impending departure with their usual attitude. When your emotions threaten to overwhelm you bicker. Unlike a tawny-haired boy's parents, who were both hugging their extremely scared-looking kid, they had some self-respect.

"Oh lighten up!"

The Potters often had these conversations. Lawrence was a writer/inventor/researcher and as such had his head in the clouds half the time. Emma had made it her life's work to bring him back down to earth. Their personalities were poles apart, but some how their marriage worked and it had resulted in James and his brother Edward, eight years older. They both had the brilliance of their father and their mother's sense of humour.

This love of a joke had resulted in Emma packing a small box at the bottom of her son's trunk containing the main tools of a prankster's trade: a bag of dungbombs; a number of tightly-stoppered bottles, the contents of which, correctly used, would produce a variety of highly amusing affects; also a small magically-powered mouse and a very thick book entitled "A Marauder's Guide to Mischief" by Renegade Rabblesby. This year was going to be good!

"James". A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his reverie. He turned round to meet his father's clear blue eyes staring at him from behind black-rimmed glasses.

"Yes?" He just knew his dad was going to say something very serious and philosophical. Something that Potters had said to their sons since the dawn of time.

"My father said this to me when I left for Hogwarts and now I am going to tell you". "I was right", thought James and resigned himself to a lecture. Lawrence lent closer and whispered "Have fun, but don't get caught".

Mr Potter pushed a soft, badly-wrapped package into his sons hands. James' face split into a huge grin, he knew what was under the brown paper, a cloak that he had been longing to get his hands on ever since he could understand what it was and what could be done with it. He placed it carefully in his bag, then dropped both bag and cage, then threw his arms around his dad's neck.

"Thanks", he whispered.

"No problem", Laurie murmured, hugging his son tightly.

"Hey! Aren't I included in this hugging spree?" James dropped to the floor and was promptly smothered by his mother's exuberant hug.

"We'll miss you!"

"No, we won't," his father snorted. "House will be a lot quieter with him away."

"Laurie!" she was starting to sound slightly choked up "James doesn't need us pushing him away..."

"Oh mum!" James pulled away. "Don't go all weepy on me, I'll be back for Christmas!"

"Who's crying?" Emma gave him a slightly soggy smile.

"Now, who's spoiling the moment?" asked her husband dryly. "Off you go, James, before your mother floods the station."

James gave one last round of hugs, then climbed on to the train, the whistle gave a shriek and started its laborious progress out of the station. James lent out the window and waved an energetic goodbye to his rapidly receding parents.