Harry glanced back as he silently hurried through the corridor, the newly discovered piece of parchment clutched tightly in his hand. He didn't think Filch would miss it—after all, it was just a bit of spare parchment, right? But Harry didn't think so. He thought there was more to it.

"Frog spawn," he whispered to the portrait of the Fat Lady as he pulled off his invisibility cloak. She started and then frowned down at him.

"It's long past your curfew," she admonished grumpily, yet still she swung open to let him through.

It was true—curfew had been two hours ago, and now the common room was quite empty. Harry let out a breath and sank into a plush chair by the dwindling fire and laid the parchment on the table in front of him. He examined it for a moment before taking out his wand.

"Reveal your secrets," he muttered hopefully, tapping his wand to the parchment. Hermione had successfully used this on a suspicious book she had found last year and he didn't know any other spells that might work. His eyes widened as inky tendrils stretched across the page.

Mr. Prongs would like to know who exactly is trying to reveal our secrets. Harry stared blankly for a moment with his mouth hanging open before deciding to answer.

"Harry Potter," he replied, feeling rather stupid that he was talking to a piece of parchment. He watched eagerly as the ink twisted again.

Mr. Prongs would like to thoroughly congratulate young Mr. Potter on discovering the work of the Marauders. He hopes he finds this map as useful as his father did and will use it in a way that would make his father proud.

If he had been curious before, it was nothing to how he now felt. He read the parchment several times, hardly daring to believe that he at last had a connection to his father.

"I wouldn't know. My father is dead, you see." He didn't dare raise his voice above a whisper, fearing it would crack. The parchment took a much longer time to reply this time. Finally, the ink rearranged itself again.

Mr. Prongs wishes Harry to know that while his father may be gone, he is still watching over him and is very proud. Mr. Prongs hopes Harry knows that his father loves him very much.

Harry remained silent as he waited for the lump in his throat to clear. After a few minutes, his curiosity took over.

"Did—did you know my father?" he asked, almost inaudibly.

Mr. Prongs was indeed very well acquainted with James Potter. As Harry read this, a new message in more loose handwriting appeared underneath it.

Mr. Padfoot would like to add that he also knew James Potter and that he was a great prat. Harry's brow furrowed as his attention was drawn to yet another message in neat writing under the first two.

Mr. Moony concurs, but wants to assure Harry that James was only a prat when he was trying to impress Lily.

Harry's eyebrows shot up at this, although he supposed it was reasonable for someone—or something—who knew James to have also known Lily.

"You knew both of my parents?" he asked in awe.

Mr. Wormtail assures young Harry that James and Lily were among the finest people one could ever know.

Harry chewed his lip as he thought. Part of him thirsted for anything and everything he could possible find out about his parents; another part of him was hesitant, afraid of the pain and loss he would feel.

"What can you tell me about them?"

Harry awoke the next morning feeling considerably lighter, glancing over at Ron, who was snoring loudly in the bed next to his. He wondered briefly whether or not he should tell Ron and Hermione about his newly discovered connection to his parents. Grabbing the parchment that he had stashed under his pillow, he jumped out of bed and shook Ron awake.

"Ron, come on—there's something I need to show you and Hermione!" Harry whispered impatiently. Ron grunted and rolled over, bleary eyes squinting at Harry.

"Blimey Harry, it's a Saturday! Can't I have a lie in?" Ron asked, but already he was clambering out of bed and reaching for his robes.

Once both boys were dressed, Harry bolted down to the common room in search of Hermione, Ron trudging slowly behind him.

"This had better be good," Ron muttered grumpily.

Harry grinned to himself; 'good' was an extreme understatement. He thought back to the previous night, of which he had spent a several hours conversing with the Marauders about his parents and their various adventures at Hogwarts. He still had a hard time believing some of the stories he had been told, but he couldn't wait to share them with Ron and Hermione.

They found Hermione sitting by the fire reading her Runes textbook intently. She looked up as they approached, immediately becoming wary at the devilish excitement she saw on Harry's face. Harry just laughed and sat across from her next to Ron, who seemed to still be waking up.

"What's that and why do I get the feeling that you're up to no good?" Hermione asked as Harry pulled out the parchment.

"I didn't do anything wrong, honestly," Harry said, but with a disbelieving look from Hermione he continued, "…unless you count stealing from Filch, but why would he miss a piece of parchment?"

"Harry! How could you steal from Filch? You could get in serious trouble! Why on earth would a piece of parchment be worth stealing anyways?" Hermione scolded, looking at him reproachfully. Ron, however, looked mildly impressed but kept his mouth shut.

"When have I cared about getting into trouble? Anyways, it's not just any piece of parchment—look!"

He pulled out his wand and tapped it on the parchment, repeating the words that had activated it last night. Despite herself, Hermione was watching him with growing curiosity. When the Marauders' writing appeared, both Ron and Hermione just stared at the parchment in shock.