The characters and general plotlines of this story belong to J.K. Rowling, and I make no profit off of them. This is unfortunate as I'm rather broke.

Chapter Four: An Introduction to Marauding

James and I creep through the dark common room, lit only by smoldering embers in one of the fireplaces. The Fat Lady swings open sleepily for us, and with only a disgruntled "Really, you two ought to be in bed," we're off. We end up rambling along down a fourth floor corridor, disturbing the occasional dozing portrait, but overall trying to be sneaky and quiet, wand tips lit to illuminate the way ahead.

"Oi, James, look, I bet I can get this thing out." I've stopped next to a suit of armor with an axe clamped in its metal hands.

"D'you think we could find another one? I haven't seen any more armed ones yet, but if we could find another, we could have an axe fight."

"An axe fight? Sounds fun. Wow, this is really stuck—hey!" Suddenly, the axe lurches sideways with a creaking, disused sort of noise.

"Sirius, look!" James is pointing at a large, gilt-framed mirror, which is jutting about an inch off its mounting on the wall, revealing a dark gap.

"Did that just happen?"

"Yeah, when you moved the axe. You think it's a lever?"

"Let's see." I jerk the axe back into its original place, and the mirror falls back to the wall. "Right, I'll open it again."

Since the axe only pushes the mirror slightly ajar, the two of us drag the mirror further out—there are hinges, which are unlocked by moving the axe—revealing a cavernous, heavily cobwebbed chamber, about as large as the average classroom. A dark, winding passageway, almost a tunnel, extends from one corner.

We're about to step over the bit of wall still left under where the mirror was, when we hear a very ominous noise.

A cat purring, a short distance around the corridor's bend. Then a human voice, "Come on, my sweet. We still have this whole floor to patrol."

James looks as horrified as I feel.

"Filtch." He mouths.

"Get this thing shut and run." I mouth back.

We ease the mirror back as slowly as we dare. As it settles into its socket, the axe clicks backward. We turn and run like we never have before. There's a shout from Filtch and a cat's yowl, but we're racing back through the hallways, waking portraits all along the way. We finally screech to a halt outside the Fat Lady's painting, clutching stitches in our sides and yelling the password.

"Alright, alright, patience is a virtue, you know. You wouldn't be in such a hurry if you weren't out after curfew. What did I tell you when you left? I suppose you ran into the caretaker, didn't you? Now what did I tell—"

"Look, would you mind shutting up and letting us in?" I ask.

"How rude of you." The Fat Lady complains as she swings outward. "Mark my words, you'll be in trouble when they catch you."

"If they catch us. They won't."

We're up to the dormitory, where Remus and Peter are still asleep, missing all the fun, before we talk about the mirror-door. We decide to check where the tunnel leads the weekend after this one, during the first Hogsmeade trip, when everyone third year and above will be out of the castle and it'll be unlikely anyone will disturb us.

At breakfast the next morning, we regale Peter and Remus with a stirring and only slightly exaggerated tale of our adventure. Peter in particular is awestruck, gazing at us like we're heroes for sneaking out. There's a great deal of speculation on where the passage leads, with suggestions ranging in dangerousness from "probably some boring classroom somewhere" to "the lair of a manticore, in the middle of the Forbidden Forest." As we're all shouting Remus down on that one, a large screech owl I don't recognize drops a letter in front of my porridge bowl. Even though it's an ordinary envelope, we all look at it suspiciously, remembering yesterday's Howler. I open it rather gingerly, wondering if my aunt Druella, Narcissa, Andromeda, and Bellatrix's mother, has somehow managed to figure out how to send curses by owl post.

Dear Sirius, the letter begins. "Dear" is always a good sign. At this point, anything that doesn't begin with "I am so ashamed of you" is a good sign.

Dear Sirius,

The news of your Sorting has just reached me from your mother, who, needless to say, was not pleased. She mentioned having sent you a Howler, which will probably have arrived by the time you receive this. Congratulations on diverging from the typical family path. I sometimes wish I had had the courage to forge my own way at Hogwarts. Clearly, as a new Gryffindor, your courage is in no way lacking. I suppose I wrote this to let you know that not everyone in our family is outraged. Personally, I think it is about time the Blacks experienced a little variety.

Good luck at Hogwarts.

Alphard

I'm smiling as I finish the letter. Alphard is my mother's much older brother. He's not married, has no children, has worked in goblin relations for decades, and is rather a loner. Apparently, he's also the only member of my family, possibly except Andromeda, who doesn't currently want to kill me.

"Who was that?" James asks curiously, opening up a package I assume was sent him from home.

"My uncle." I say. "He's actually pleased I got in Gryffindor. He's my mother's brother, not that you'd know it from the letter she sent."

"Yeah. It did seem a bit…crazy." Remus says.

"My grandparents gave 100 percent of their rationality to Alphard. By the time my mother came along, there was nothing left."

"Hey, look, my mum and dad sent some candy. You guys want anything? Sirius, mate, I know you don't like licorice. Sorry. Maybe they'll send some chocolate next time." As James passes licorice wands around, I start back into my breakfast.

The rest of the next two weeks passes quickly enough, although we're all looking forward to exploring the secret passageway. Most classes are exciting and interesting. We have Astronomy on the top of the tallest tower at midnight on Thursdays—or is it Fridays? History of Magic is the world's most boring class, exactly as rumored. James speculates that ghostly Professor Binns somehow managed to bore himself to death, a rare feat. I'm particularly good at Charms and Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, where we're learning about animals such as kelpies and Red Caps, is fascinating. Remus knows much more than the rest of us about these dark creatures, and has his hand up almost constantly. I want to know how to duel people, but I have no such luck.

Evans and Snape quickly become Slughorn's favorite potions students. Almost every time we have a practical lesson, he's exclaiming about their "creative, flawlessly executed" mixtures, particularly Snape's. After the twitchy ears incident, there's a definite sense of enmity between Snape and the four of us, particularly James and me. Every time Slughorn praises one of Snape's ingredient experiments, he smirks across the classroom at us. A feud is starting to develop between him and the two of us. For our part, we lose no chance to make fun of him. Wands are drawn as well, and we learn why Snape has a reputation for knowing lots of curses. The two of us together are more than capable of holding our own against him, though.

The Thursday night before our planned tunnel exploration, Remus excuses himself from the table at dessert, saying he feels sick and wants to go to the hospital wing. He's been looking a bit pale all day, and only picking at his roast beef and Yorkshire pudding tonight. We offer to go up to hospital with him, but he says he's fine on his own.

"D'you think he's okay?" Peter asks nervously, watching Remus quietly leave the Great Hall.

"Yeah, he'll be fine," James says, helping himself to apple pie.

Remus doesn't come back to the Gryffindor common room, though, even though we stay up late waiting for him, not to mention playing a massive round of Exploding Snap with Frank Longbottom and a couple other third-years.

We expect he'll come back in while we're getting a few hours of sleep before Astronomy, but when we wake ourselves up just before midnight, he's still not in his bed. He's not in the class either, and we don't see him at all until he comes in rather late to breakfast the next day.

"I spent the night in the hospital wing." He says quickly, noticing our questioning glances. "Nothing major, Madam Collins just wanted to keep an eye on me. Said I looked a bit peaky. Did I miss anything in Astronomy?"

"Nah, we just looked at some cloud patterns on Venus. Apparently they were unusual or something, just looked like a lot of blurry dots to me." I say.

"First flying lessons this afternoon!" James announces excitedly. "Not that I need to learn, but I haven't flown since I left home."

Although I don't really play or follow Quidditch—James actually plays, and the other two have favorite teams—I do like to fly. Soaring around in the air like a bird is exhilarating, although sometimes I'd like something more substantial than a broom underneath me, particularly if I'm doing trick flying.

When we go out on the lawn after our last class of the day, Defense, a flock of first-years are congregated around lines of brooms. All the school brooms are battered and rather dilapidated. They've seen way better days. James and I push our way to two of the best-looking.

James makes a disgusted noise as he stares down at his broom, which has several of its tail twigs sticking out at odd angles.

"I had a better broom than this when I was six," he says.

I did too, now that he mentions it.

"I fly a Silver Arrow Nightstrike at home. Zero to sixty in ten seconds. This thing wouldn't even go sixty in a hurricane."

The Nightstrike is a really good broom, one of the best there is. Expensive, too.

There's a derisive snort from Snape, standing across from us. He turns and mutters something to the Slytherin girl standing next to him, who laughs. It sounds a lot like "spoiled rich kids" to me.

"What's the matter, Snivellus, jealous you couldn't buy one? Bet you ride some piece-of-crap broom like these at home too." I say loudly. Several people nearby laugh at Snape's expense, and he flushes blotchily.

"You think you're—"

But the flying instructor interrupts Snape's angry retort with a shriek of her whistle. After a few minutes of lecture, we're told to call our brooms up. James's leaps into his hand immediately, but mine, unlike the Comet racing broom I have at home, rises somewhat jerkily.

"Stupid broom," I mutter.

Snape's broom just rolls around on the ground a lot, though. He has to call it four times before it finally comes up. By that time, a good half-dozen people, me and James included, are laughing.

We mount our brooms, and the instructor walks around correcting seats and grips. James has perfect form, she announces appreciatively, but I need to re-arrange my thumbs slightly.

On the count of five, we all rise. James lets out an involuntary whoop, happy to be in the air once again. He is a brilliant, instinctual flyer, I can already tell.

"How was I supposed to know she'd be mad?" I ask, laughing, as we leave the flying lesson, over the course of which I've managed to receive my first detention. Apparently gripping with your knees while hanging upside down off your broom and waving your arms is not encouraged. Particularly if it is in the context of pretending to fall off.

"'This sort of behavior is immature and irresponsible, not to mention potentially dangerous'" James mimics Madam Hooch's voice.

"Well, it was fun." I shrug.

My detention, to be served tonight, isn't anything odious, just lines, although that's boring. The phrase I'll be writing is "I will act my age."

Being punished by a teacher is a little odd for me, since the tutors I've had at home wouldn't have dared to give me any sort of punishment themselves. I probably deserve it, though.

There's a funny story going around at dinner, which Alice Musson tells us excitedly about. Apparently, Rosmerta Peakes, who's a Hufflepuff sixth year, heard in a letter from her parents, who run the pub in Hogsmeade, that last night very strange noises were heard from an old abandoned house on the outskirts of the village.

"Shrieking and yelling," Alice says, her round face shining with the pleasure of telling a good story. "Like spirits. It's probably been haunted by a really nasty ghost."

"Yeah, I bet it's something vicious!" James says excitedly. "It might be a ghoul, though, not a ghost. What do you think, Resident Expert on Dark Creatures?"

"Dunno. Might be either," Remus says, looking down at his plateful of stuffed cabbage in embarrassment. He's probably a little self-conscious about how good he is at Defense against the Dark Arts.

By 11 o'clock on Saturday morning, the castle is almost empty. Everyone except the very youngest students is in Hogsmeade.

The four of us, dodging Alice and Mary's request for a game of Snap, leave the common room and creep over to the fourth floor corridor where the mirror is.

"So you jerk the axe like this—Sirius discovered it sort of accidentally—and see, the mirror comes out a bit. You have to pry it open the rest of the way, though."

The four of us quickly manage to get the mirror open wide enough to step through.

"Gross, look at all the cobwebs," Peter wrinkles his nose.

"That's a good thing; it means we're the only ones who've been here in a long time." Remus tells us. We clamber through the gap, checking to make sure the mirror will open from the inside. There's a spring catch you can use to release the hinges, and then push the mirror the rest of the way.

We light our wand tips again to make sure we can see at least a foot in front of our faces, and then close the mirror.

"Let's get rid of this junk," James says, pointing his wand at the cobwebs. "Scourgify!"

A substantial amount of the cobwebs vanish.

"How'd you know that one?" I ask, trying it out myself.

"Basic household cleaning spell. My mum has me help out with chores a lot."

"Oh. We have a house-elf, so no one knows how to clean things at all in my family."

"What are house-elves like? I've never met one." Remus asks curiously as we enter the tunnel.

"Well ours is quite nasty, but usually they're not too bad. Kreacher hates me though."

"Why?"

"He worships my mother, and you heard how she feels about me—"

The end of my sentence is cut off as the floor of the tunnel drops away. All four of us are yelling as we sweep away on what appears to be some kind of steep slide.

"Make sure your wands don't break!" James shouts, so we hold tight to them.

Riding this stone slide would actually be fun if we had any idea where we were headed. A few minutes later, we round a bend, and we all scream. We're heading directly for a blank wall. I'm going to die. That's all that crosses my mind as we speed toward the end. Just when we're about to smash into the wall, it suddenly disappears, and we're all launched out into the open air like cannonballs. I get a brief glimpse of wildflower-adorned hills, houses spread out below, before we fly directly into a couple snogging, knocking them over and scattering all of us sprawled on the ground. James's glasses are dangling from his right ear. He pulls them up to their ordinary position, wincing.

"Ouch." The boy I've fallen on top of groans. "That bloody hurt."

I recognize him from Hogwarts. He's in Gryffindor like us, and I realize he's the fair-haired boy who was so shocked by my mother's Howler.

I glance over to the left at whoever he's been snogging here. The girl lies on the ground, in a patch of Queen Anne's Lace, her long dark hair all over her face. She struggles to a seated position, spitting hair out of her mouth.

"Sirius?" Her large, light brown eyes—very familiar eyes—widen in shock.

"Andromeda?"

"Wait, that's your cousin, right?" James and the older boy say at the same time. Andromeda and I both nod. She's looking at me very worriedly. She opens her mouth as if she's going to speak, but then doesn't. Finally, she takes a deep breath.

"Sirius, will you please not tell anyone? Either my parents or yours. And definitely not Narcissa. If she knows, the whole family knows. Please don't tell."

She sounds almost pleading, which is odd because I'm used to her being bossy.

"Why would they care about you having a boyfriend? Narcissa's got one, doesn't she? They're not mad at her."

"Yes, but…Ted is Muggle-born."

"Oh. Yeah. That might present some difficulty."

Somehow I doubt my aunt and uncle would be exactly jumping for joy over this new development. They're just as pureblood-obsessed as my own parents. If my mother was so angry over my being Sorted into Gryffindor, news of Andromeda dating a Muggle-born would put the whole family over the edge.

"Bellatrix will have a stroke." I say, grinning at the thought.

"Well, if all goes well, Bellatrix won't find out about us any time soon."

"You know, someday they'll have to know." Andromeda's boyfriend—Ted—sounds a little disgruntled. "We can't hide it forever. It's hard, when nobody except you even knows I like you. Keeping it a secret like this."

"You heard my aunt's Howler—my whole family's like that. They can't find out yet—we need to hide it for now."

"Dromeda, I've been with you since fifth year. I want someone to know."

"Well, all four of us know, obviously." I say. "If that helps at all."

"Thanks, I guess." Ted says.

"You won't tell, right? Any of you?" Andromeda asks.

"Trust me; I know what it's like to have the whole family angry at me. I'm not telling anyone."

"We don't even know your family—don't look at us." James jokes.

"Really, though, we'll keep your secret." Remus says earnestly.

"Thanks." Ted and Andromeda both smile.

"If we don't tell anyone you're together, you can't tell anyone, specifically Professor McGonagall, that we're in Hogsmeade illegally."

"We're in HOGSMEADE!" James yelps.

"Well, you two did go to Hogsmeade, right? I'm not jumping to conclusions?"

"Yeah, we're right outside the village," Ted says. "How'd you get here anyway?"

"Secret passage." I say mysteriously. "We didn't know where it went, though."

"Cool." Ted says. "Erm…if you could clear off, go to Honeydukes or something. Dromeda and I would like to get back to what we doing before you flew into us."

"We don't really get much time to see each other at school." Andromeda says apologetically.

We head downhill in the direction of the village, leaving Andromeda and Ted snogging again.

"I can't believe we got to Hogsmeade!" James says excitedly. "We won't have to wait for third year like everybody else. You do realize we could take that slide whenever we want, not just when the school trips are?"

There is a good deal of ecstatic commentary on the subject of sneaking out to Hogsmeade. We finally decide that, this trip at least, we are going to check out Honeydukes as Ted suggested. Since none of us brought any money, we can't buy anything, but it'll be nice to look.

A string of little bells hanging on a red ribbon tinkles merrily as we push the sweetshop door open.

"Oh, wow." Peter breathes. I feel like echoing him. The shop is crammed with towering shelves and little tables; every possible surface is laden with candy. Honeydukes is very popular with kids, evidently. Hogwarts students are everywhere, rummaging through a barrel of Every Flavor Beans or standing in line, clutching boxed Sugar Quills.

Half an hour later, having examined what seems like every possible type of sweet, both enchanted and non-magical, we leave the shop, pockets crammed with free-sample coconut creams. James wants to go check out the supposedly haunted shack on the other side of town, but Remus points out quickly that Frank Longbottom and a few other Gryffindor third-years were planning to do just that, and they'd recognize us. Since we don't want to be discovered in Hogsmeade illicitly, we end up wandering the village, stopping in various shops, munching on our coconut candy as we go. Finally, when students start trickling up the street toward school, we drag ourselves away from examining the wide array of different-potency Dungbombs at Dervish and Bangs joke shop, and hike back up to the hillside where we first met Andromeda and Ted. They're gone now, and the hill we came out appears no different than the others.

"What if we can't get back?" Peter asks nervously.

"Don't worry, it'll open up." I reply, confidently examining the grassy face of the hill. Five minutes later, though, we haven't managed to open the passage.

"Stupid thing, if we're stuck here—" James punches the hillside angrily, and a slab of earth slides away, revealing a gaping hole, and the slide, stretching upward.

"Looks like you have to knock," Remus says, smiling.

We clamber back into the passage, the wall sliding shut behind us.

"How're we supposed to get up this slide, though?" Peter wonders. I'm thinking the same thing.

"We could try climbing, I guess. But it looks too steep." Remus places his weight on the stone slide, balanced on his hands and knees. As he begins to shuffle upwards, the slide starts to shift, and he falls off, skidding backwards and landing at my feet. As I help him back up, the slide completes its transformation into a flight of stairs.

"Well, I suppose it changes when you try to go up." James says, starting on the stairs.

We're all pretty much exhausted by the time the staircase evens out into the tunnel, and the tunnel widens into the room behind the mirror. The stairs are steep, and it's a pretty long climb back from Hogsmeade. James opens the mirror just a crack and peers out.

"All clear, I think—wait, no, there are a couple Ravenclaws coming…okay, they're gone now, let's get out of here."

When we re-enter the common room, most of the older students are already back, and it's very crowded. We almost sneak in unnoticed, but Mary Macdonald and Lily Evans catch sight of us.

"Where were you all?" Evans asks, hands on her hips. "You haven't been here all day. I swear, if you've gone and hexed somebody…"

"Calm down, Evans," James says. "We didn't do anything. Coconut cream?" He offers her a rather smashed-looking one from his pocket.

"How did you get this?"

"That's for us to know and you to wonder about," James smiles at her confused, suspicious expression.

I catch sight of Frank Longbottom over near the fireplace, talking to Alice and a second-year girl whose name I don't know.

"Oi, Frank! Did you hear the ghost in Hogsmeade?"

"No! Not a peep. Guess it was just the one time," he calls back.

Remus is smiling slightly. "I don't think so. Maybe it only happens at night."

"Yeah, I guess." Frank still looks a little disappointed.

The four of us end up deciding taking the mirror passage to Hogsmeade is too time-consuming for during the week, so we relegate trips to the weekends. The weekend directly after we first used the passage is off-limits, though, because the first Quidditch match of the year, Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, is then, and James is through the roof about it, talking Quidditch a mile a minute all the way down to the pitch.

"I think I'll try out for Chaser next year, even though I'd love to be Seeker. Ingram's only in fifth year, though, so that spot won't be open. Tonks and Shacklebolt are both seventh years, so there'll be an opening for Chaser and another for Beater. I won't go for Beater; I haven't got the build for that. So I'll be after Tonks's spot."

"That's, you know, Ted Tonks, right?" I'm trying to ask if he's Andromeda's boyfriend without actually going out and saying anything about Andromeda.

"Yeah, that one." James screws up his face with emphasis, making sure I know his meaning.

"Don't make that face too often, mate," I say. "Wouldn't want to get stuck looking like a constipated banshee."

"Hey—" James swats at me. I defend myself by kicking him in the shins. He grabs me around the shoulders, trying for a headlock. We fall to the ground, laughing and wrestling. With a shout of excitement, Remus and Peter jump on top of us. Eventually, the heap of bodies disentangles itself, and we make our way across the grounds once more.

All the Gryffindor first-years end up sitting at the very back of our section of the stands with Hagrid the gamekeeper. I'm mashed between Peter and James. Hagrid looms at the end of the row, a bulky shape in a moleskin overcoat. It's not the best day for a match, foggy and gray. But the sense of excitement that infuses the crowd is infectious. I've only been to a few Quidditch matches before—my family isn't really into the mingling-with-the-masses sort of thing. But the game is exciting from what I've heard from the other boys. Evans is sitting on James's other side. It's her first match ever, since she's Muggle-born.

"I played forward on a football team at home, though. Is it similar?"

"What's football?" James asks.

"Oh, never mind."

"What are Muggles like?" I ask curiously.

"Just like anyone, except no magic."

"How do you get things done?" Peter is incredulous.

"We manage." Evans says dryly. "Oh, look, people are going out on the field. Is it starting?"

James cranes his neck, straining to see both teams. The two captains stride onto the field. Shacklebolt from Gryffindor, a stocky, dark-skinned Beater, and one of the Hufflepuff Chasers, a girl named Dabney, shake hands. Madam Hooch's whistle blows shrilly. Fourteen players, seven in red, seven in yellow, rise into the air, hovering on their brooms. The game begins.

It's a close match—both the teams are quite good, although neither is brilliant. Ted Tonks manages to score a goal right off, but for quite a long time afterwards the score remains unchanged. Then Dabney gets two goals in quick succession for Hufflepuff, and play speeds up. She gets very close to a third goal, but drops the ball dodging a Bludger. Another Gryffindor Chaser catches it, and we score again, a tricky shot that could have gone either way. The rest of the game is fast-paced, with the score remaining relatively even. It's clear that whichever team manages to get the Snitch will win. Finally, when the points are 110-90 to Hufflepuff, James lets out a little squeal and grabs my arm.

"What?"

"The Snitch! Over there, by the Slytherin bleachers." There it is, when I look closely, a little fleck of gold about fifty feet up. I could never have spotted it if James hadn't pointed it out. Both the Seekers have noticed it too, and they streak towards the gold spot. Neck and neck, the two of them draw closer…

James jumps to his feet, punching the air. "Yes!"

Ingram circles away from the stands, soaring upward, the Golden Snitch clutched in her hand. The Gryffindor stands erupt with cheering.

There's an afterparty in the common room, which is loud and boisterous. Apparently the Gryffindor team has been mediocre at best for the last few years, and this win is a cause for raucous celebration. Ted Tonks alone out of the Gryffindor Quidditch team is absent, probably off celebrating with Andromeda somewhere. Several people who have stockpiled sweets from Honeydukes distribute them, and some seventh-year turns up halfway through the party with a platter of spice cake "from the kitchens."

"We have to find out how to get there!" James screams in my ear.

I'm about to respond when some dingbat sets off a crate of maximum-strength Dungbombs, and in the ensuing frenzy of coughing, retching and stampeding, anything anyone says is lost. When the common room has been vacated, and everyone has either run through the portrait hole or, like us, up to the dorms, the four of us collapse onto our beds to talk over every minute detail of the match.

The next months pass with only minor mishaps, including one rather memorable one involving a Trip Jinx, an accidental victim, Professor McGonagall, and mass detention. Hogwarts classes aren't really that challenging for either me or James, which means there is plenty of time for such engaging intellectual pursuits as Exploding Snap and magically tying knots in Severus Snape's hair from behind.

The four of us, or the Marauders, as we've started to call ourselves, find several new secret rooms and passageways, including another one that also leads to Hogsmeade. Lily Evans is very preoccupied with trying to find out where we get our Butterbeer from. James tells her we have contacts with an international band of dangerous Butterbeer smugglers.

The entrance to the Hogwarts kitchens is behind a painting of a fruit bowl on the ground floor. The Hogwarts house-elves are all cheery and cooperative, which is disconcerting to anyone who grew up with Kreacher. They're also only too happy to give us extra food, which is nice of them.

Remus disappears from school for two whole days around the middle of October, and again about a month later. He's not in the hospital wing either time when we check. Madam Collins tells us he's gone home to visit his mum, who's been taken suddenly ill. When he gets back, he reassures us that she's perfectly fine, but just gets sick often, and likes to have him around. It makes sense that she's sickly, because Remus himself is rather thin and pale. The first time he returns, he's got two rather nasty-looking gashes on his face.

"What happened?" Peter asks.

"My neighbors have a really mean cat," he mumbles.

"Big cat, huh?" I remark, looking at the size of the scratches.

"Possibly part tiger," he replies, mock-seriously.

"You need to stay away from that cat, mate," James tells him the second time he comes back, all scratched up again.

The Hogsmeade residents, Rosmerta Peakes's parents included, are very anxious over the abandoned shack, which randomly emits shrieks and moans at night now. The theory is that a tribe of violent, restive ghosts have taken up residence there, but no one wants to go close enough to find out. The four of us sneak out to Hogsmeade using the tunnel one evening, but it doesn't make a sound.

For my twelfth birthday, on November 22, James, Remus, and Peter wake up at four in the morning to assemble a complicated booby trap around my bed. It involves, among other things, a levitating broomstick, a wooden board, borrowed from Hagrid, acting as a seesaw, a platter of chocolate éclairs begged off the kitchen elves, and a giant sling made out of Peter's bedspread.

"Well, other than this lovely surprise, do I get any other birthday presents?" I ask, wiping smashed éclair off my face with a sheet.

"We bought you this nice, law-abiding, respectable Fanged Frisbee in Hogsmeade," James says, grinning as he offers a feebly twitching parcel to me.

"And we can eat the rest of the éclairs," Remus smiles triumphantly.

"There are a few other packages at the foot of the bed, but we don't know who they're from," James and Peter toss the other gifts up onto my bed.

"Probably my family. Proceed with caution." I say, unwrapping my totally-banned-from-the-Hogwarts-campus Fanged Frisbee.

The largest present turns out to be an expensive-looking, moving model of the solar system, encased in a glass sphere, from my uncle Alphard. Regulus has sent me a set of Gobstones, which is just as well, because I've managed to lose about half of my existing set over the last couple years. My parents seem to be still feeling threatened over my Sorting—their present turns out to be a hardcover copy of "Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy."

In past years, I've always gotten larger and fancier presents from my parents, such as my new racing broom for my last birthday, but skimping on me is only to be expected, considering their current attitude towards their little Gryffindor.

"This," I announce contemptuously, throwing the book under my bed, "is the sort of rubbish really snotty purebloods like my parents read to feel good about themselves."

After I unwrap Andromeda's present, a large bar of Honeydukes toffee chocolate, the only one left is a rather small, round, knobby one, from her parents.

"This is a really weird shape—wonder what it is?"

When I peel off the last few shreds of wrapping paper, Peter shrieks, James jumps up from where he's sitting, and Remus starts laughing. My aunt and uncle's present is a shrunken head.

"Really thoughtful present, that," Remus chokes. "Sweet of them."

There turns out to be a good use for it, though. We bewitch the head to follow Snape around the castle, floating creepily in front of his face and darting away whenever anyone tries to beat at it. "Nature's Nobility," however, meets a fiery end in the Gryffindor common room fireplace.

A/N: I know Tonks was in Hufflepuff, but I decided to put Ted in Gryffindor for the purpose of my plot. Also, having Ted be in Gryffindor and Andromeda be in Slytherin makes it even more of a Romeo and Juliet situation.

Also, I know J.K. Rowling intended James to have been a Chaser, not a Seeker, but I plan to have him play Chaser for a few years and then switch positions. I feel like certain things we see in SWM (doodling Snitches on his scrap paper, stealing one to play with it and generally show off his talent) indicate he was a Seeker at some point. Again, personal text interpretation/author preference.

My placement of Sirius's birthday (November 22) makes him a Sagittarius on the cusp of Scorpio. If you believe in astrology, this would make him loyal, passionate, brave, affectionate, hot-headed and rather reckless. Sounds like Sirius to me!