NOTICE: This will be a novel length fanfiction for the Marauders Age that will hit important dates from the time Lily and James are born to when they die. I will probably spend more time during Lily and James's sixth and seventh year of Hogwarts as well as after their graduation. I have worked very hard, researching J.K. Rowling's canon and literary style, but I have also introducing my own ideas. I hope not to abandon this fic before it is done. (I have read too many fanfictions only to be disappointed by their abrupt end).

DISCLAIMER: I am not J.K. Rowling nor will I ever be J.K. Rowling. She owns the characters, I do not.

Reviews make me happy. When I am happy, I write. So if you like it, tell me! :)

Goal is to have a chapter a week. I work full time and have a part-time business so forgive me! I am looking for BETA readers. If you are interested, let me know. I am not British, so my wording may be slightly off.

Enjoy!


OCTOBER 11, 1969

THIRD MINISTRY OFFICIAL DISAPPEARS; TURMOIL ERUPTS

An insider for the Daily Prophet has confirmed the disappearance of Martha Pritchet, a member of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. Ms. Pritchet's disappearance now brings the total to three. The Ministry of Magic refuses to admit that she is in fact missing. "I spoke to Martha last week, maybe. Oh I can't remember, just go away," said Ms. Eugenia Jenkins, the Minister of Magic. While some suspect that Ms. Pritchet may have disappeared for a long vacation (last year she was giving probation at work as she forgot to let anyone know that she would be taking a long vacation in Albania), many believe foul play is involved. "Martha may not have all her marbles but she would have least packed her bags for a long vacation, don't you think?" said one Ministry official, who asked the Daily Prophet to not release his name as he may have let this information slip because of one too many glasses of Firewhiskey. Nevertheless, the Ministry of Magic….

"So this is it, Albus?" asked Euphemia, as she started out the window at her son, James, riding his broom stick on the small Quidditch pitch his father, Fleamont, had built him. "So this is what we've been expecting?" She struggle to keep the tears in her eyes from falling down her face as she spoke.

"I can't say for sure, Euphemia, but I have my suspicions," sighed Albus Dumbledore, who sat motionless in a cushy armchair in the Potters' sitting room, much like he did almost nine years ago. This day was much like that fateful day in June – gloomy and dull. But it was the chill in the air that made the difference, and as Dumbledore listen to the wind howling, he suspected that the cold chill in the air was not only due to the weather.

"Every week more news comes of more deaths, more disappearance, more torturing," said Dumbledore, starting at Euphemia. "Voldemort and his Death Eaters are gaining more followers every day. I am afraid it is what we all have been dreading. War is knocking on our doors."

"And the Ministry is just turning its head," said Fleamont in an exasperated tone. "What can we do, Albus?" he asked. Dumbledore noticed that the black hair Fleamont had once possessed was almost nonexistent.

Dumbledore sighed a heavy sigh. "We wait."

Euphemia turned dramatically around. "Wait?" she said, her voice turning the one syllable word into two in a dramatic fashion. The tears that she had been holding back flooded from her eyes and down her face. "How can we just wait? If what Cassandra Trelawney said was true then…"

"Now, now Euphemia. Calm down," her husband said with a start. "If Albus says to wait, then we wait."

By this time, Euphemia had turned again to the window to watch James land and dismount his broomstick and move toward the front door of the house. She began to furiously wipe the tears from her face. "We must protect James, at all cost. He is just a boy after all. How can we do that when the one who calls himself the Dark Lord is out there, doing all those terrible things? How can we prepare James…"

Euphemia stopped what she was saying when she heard the front door opened, and nine-year-old James wandered into the room where the three were talking.

"Hello, James," said Dumbledore, making sure his eyes sparkled under his moon-shaped glasses so not to alarm the child. "I am amazed you can stay on your broom in such a strong wind. Looks like you could be one of the youngest Quidditch players that Hogwarts has ever seen when you start school."

At the comment, James beamed and ran a hand through his wind swept hair. "Oh, I am betting on it," he said, confidently. "Did you see me when I was practicing the Finbourgh Flick, seriously, it was the best ever. I probably did it better than any of the professional Quidditch—"

Euphemia moved toward her son, her hand ready to move James out of the room. "Now, James. I don't think Dumbledore traveled all this way just to hear about your amazing Quidditch skills. Why don't you run along, now, and find Kipper. Ask her to make you a snack. I am sure you are hungry after all that flacking…"

"Flick, mom, the Finbourgh Flick," said James, rolling his eyes. Dumbledore turned his head and chuckled at the sight.

"Right, now hurry along," said Euphemia as she practically pushed James down the hall to the kitchen.

"What are you guys talking about?" asked James as he tried to dodge his mother's pushy hands. "I know Professor Dumbledore only comes when he's got bad news…"

"Now that is not true," said Euphemia. "Trust me." James turned and stared at his mother. He was finally able to get a clear picture of her face and from the looks of it, she had been crying. He was about to ask why she was upset when she squeaked, "Kipper, James is hungry. Please take him to the kitchen and make him anything he wants!" In a matter of seconds, Kipper was at Euphemia's knees and bowing deeply.

"Master James is hungry. Yes, Master James, please follow Kipper to the kitchen so she may make you something to eat," said Kipper, as she grab James by the hand and practically dragged him to the kitchen. James was a bit hungry, but he was more so extremely curious. Dumbledoor visited the Potters often, and many times, the conversations were "hush hush." He sat down at the round wooden table, looking at his mother as she poked her head in the kitchen, smiled at him with a smile that did not meet her eyes and then left. Kipper quickly moved from the pantry to the stove, gathering ingredients for James's snack. But James had other ideas.

Slipping past Kipper, James moved through the kitchen door and crept down the hall, careful to miss the creaky floor boards he knew so well. He pressed his back to the wall that led to the sitting room, and as he grew nearer, he heard their voices again.

"…In a couple of years he will be in Hogwarts, and I will provide all the protection he needs," said the voice of Dumbledore. "He will be safe there. So for now, we can only hope that war will not come during these troubling times."

James could hear his mother sniffle, a sign that she had been crying again.

"Should we talk to him?" asked Fleamont, at which Euphemia gasped an audible "No…."

"Let the boy be a boy," said Albus. "He will know soon enough." Dumbledore turned his head to the entrance of the sitting room. "Well, I best be off. Long travels you see. Hummmm…is that pumpkin pasties I smell?"

James's eyes widened. He hurried alongside the wall the way he came as he watched the shadows of Dumbledore and his parents grow larger as they moved from the sitting room to the hall. With a quick jump, he slid back though the kitchen door and peaked through the crack just as his parents and Dumbledore came into view. Kippers was still at the stove, oblivious to James' disappearance.

"Would you like one for the road Albus?" asked Euphemia. "I am sure that Kippers has finished–"

"No thank you, Euphemia. I am sure young James has already eaten them all," said Dumbledore glancing to the kitchen. James could have sworn the old wizard looked straight at him as he stood behind the door looking through the crack.

"Well, feel free to stop by–" the sound of his parents' voices faded as they walked Dumbledore to the front door.

James removed himself from the crack and sat back down at the round wooden table with his chin in his hands. James' thoughts were still circling a few moments later when Kippers laid a few Pumpkin Pasties in front of him. It wasn't until the smell hit his nose that he quit thinking about what he overheard and dug into his plate.

Miles away, nine-year-old Lily and ten-year-old Petunia Evans sat on metal swings in the playground of their neighborhood of Cokesworth. The girls had been giggling about Petunia's crush on Henry Doesher, which made Lily shriek with laugher.

"Tuney, I can't believe that you like him. His pants are always too short," Lily giggled and scrunched her nose up in protest.

"That is why he wears colorful socks," said Petunia, and they both started giggling again. "Come on, let's swing."

The girls' swings moved higher and higher in the sky as they challenged each other for height. A smile crossed Lily's face as she looked at her sister, and her hands loosened their grips on the metal chains holding the swing.

"Lily, don't do it!" shrieked Petunia.

But Lily's hands had already left the chain as the swing moved to its highest point in the sky. She flew in the air, moving across the sky with ease, and landed gracefully on her feet. Any bystander would have seen that this movement would not have been typical. Not normal.

"Mummy told you not to!" Petunia screamed, as she stopped her swing as fast as she could, got up and ran over to where Lily had landed. "Mummy said you weren't allowed, Lily!"

But Lily was transfixed on an odd leaf she noticed when she landed. The leaf was a beautiful orange color that had changed with the season of fall. "Tuney, watch this," breathed Lily with excitement.

Petunia moved closer to where Lily was seated and watch as she picked up the leaf in her left hand and covered it with her right. Lily closed her eyes, and after a few moments she opened them and her hands. The leaf had transformed into an orange flower, and it was moving. Petunia gasped, "Stop it!"

"Oh, stop being such a baby," said Lily, but she folded her hand around the moving flower, threw it on the ground and stomped on it.

"It's not normal," said Petunia, looking at her feet. Although Lily knew Petunia was angry at her, Lily could see that her curiosity was bubbling. "How do you do it?" Petunia asked.

A noise in the bushes beside them made both girls jump. Petunia moved behind Lily as they both stared at the spot where they heard the noise. Petunia gasped and moved behind Lily as a small, thin, greasy-haired boy stepped out from the behind the green bush. Lily noticed he was nervously wiping his hands on his faded black pants. Lily glanced over the boy, seeing how old and dirty his clothes looked.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" the boy said, his voice cracking with nerves. He continued to rub his sweaty hands on his pants.

"What's obvious?" asked Lily, crossing her arms to her chest. The boy's face flushed as Lily stared back at him. She could feel Petunia shaking behind her.

The boy's voice quivered again, but this time, the tone was lowered. "You're. . . you're a witch," he whispered.

Lily moved her hands to her hips and shouted at the strange boy. "That's not very nice!" She wanted to leave but her feet stayed rooted in the spot in front of the boy. Although he scared her, Lily wasn't going to let him know.

"You are," said the boy to Lily again; this time it was even more hushed. "You are a witch. But there's nothing wrong with that. My mum's one, and I'm a wizard."

Lily's eyes rounded and behind her, she heard Petunia snort a laugh and step out from her hiding place behind her sister. "A what? Wizard?" Petunia giggled.

The girls continued to stare at the boy, not knowing what to say until something dawned on Petunia. "Oh wait. I know who you are. You're that Snape boy! You live down Spinner's End by the river," she said, and then she leaned into Lily's ear to whisper something, but it was evident that she wanted Snape to hear it as well. "It is not a very nice neighborhood…"

Lily quickly tried to change to subject. "So Snape is it? What is your real name? And why have you been spying on us?"

"My name…my name is Severus. And I haven't been spying," said the boy named Severus. "Besides, I wouldn't spy on you, anyway," he added spitefully, pointed a long boney finger to Petunia. "You're just a stupid Muggle."

Both the girls exchanged glances. Even though neither of them knew what a Muggle was, they knew by the tone in Severus's voice that he didn't mean it in a nice way.

"Lily, let's go. We are done talking to this…freak of a boy!" Petunia said, as she turned and ran toward the playground's fence gate. Lily stood rooted in her spot for a moment, surveying the boy named Severus with his greasy hair and faded, old clothes. And then, she crossed her hands to her chest, glared at him, turned on her heels and ran after Petunia.