I had written something like this before, years ago. If you've read Sapphire Eyes, one of the author notes at the beginning mentions it. I finished maybe two? chapters before scrapping it. Well, after sitting on it for years, and perfecting the characterizations, I am going to give it another college try. Terrible choice of a joke This is set in 1978, when the marauders are all 18, in their first semester at Cambridge University. I sincerely hope you enjoy this! Please don't forget to review!

Big thanks to my ever lovely beta reader Salia!

RavenclawLupin11 proudly presents:

Cambridge Comrades

Chapter One

Lily Joy Evans

It was nearing the end of the summer of 1978; the balmy, high-humidity days seemed to stretch out for longer than 24 hours. The sunlight grew shorter. The nights grew colder. Flowers began to wilt in their gardens. Regardless of all of that, the beginning of a new school year always piqued Lily's interest. She never could stop the endless, giddy excitement from bubbling up in her chest as the month of August drew to a close. Even her parents could remember her fondly getting her bag packed and ready to go on the eve of the new school year. Books were her main pleasure. Textbooks, reference books, novels...it didn't matter, Lily loved them all. She could scour the shelves of a library for several hours and not get bored. So it was no surprise to anyone that Lily loved school, and her first semester at Cambridge would be no different.

She donned on her best print dress and black tights, curled her bright auburn hair, applied a simple rose pink lipstick and slid into her black pumps. Draping her school bag over her shoulder, she walked from her parents' house two blocks off of Trinity Lane and walked towards the campus for her first lesson. Not only did Lily enjoy school, she thoroughly enjoyed nature as well. Reading in the oak tree out in her back garden was a wonderful respite from any and all responsibilities she had accumulated throughout her years in secondary school. In band, she played the sax, she did dance lessons at the center three times a week and she had her debate club meetings every Thursday night. Plus, Lily had gotten a job at the soda fountain the year before as a waitress, and that had put a damper on any other after school activities, including her dating and social life.

Lily was hoping to change that aspect in these upcoming four years. Her journalism major would take up a lot of her time, and she knew it wouldn't accommodate much leeway for dating, but she was willing to try. Lily was also very particular about whom she decided to date. She didn't have a type, but she knew who she didn't like, and she would try to steer clear of as many of those types as possible. Her parents never did like that she had had little time for dating. They had preened when Petunia had brought home her suitors. Lily, being Lily, however, would have rather had perfect marks than hickies. Lily and Petunia were opposites in a lot of things. Pet was more interested in etiquette classes, preferring to wear skirts and dresses to trousers. Petunia would never be found climbing a tree or reading a novel. Her time was better spent perfecting her recipes or sewing a new dress. Lily could not be bothered with any of that trivial rubbish. Yes, she thought, wryly. This will be a great new year. And the perfect opportunity to show Petunia I will make a good wife.

James Alexander Potter

James sighed and rolled from his poor excuse of a bed. He was not used to these kinds of living conditions; it would take some getting used to. His mother Euphemia prided herself on being the doting mother, and he would miss her cooking and even her mother-henning; not that he would ever admit to that. Whatever caused him to enroll at Cambridge would forever stump him. Whatever had caused him to major in political science would stump him even further. James wasn't much of a science guy, but his dad was in politics. Fleamont, or as his friends knew him, Monty, had just accepted a position in parliament. London was as far away from home as Cambridge was, and James was sure that his mother was having quite the crisis. He sighed again and dressed.

Having grown out of most of his clothes during the summer holidays, James had splurged on a 'new' wardrobe (it was the same clothing as before, but in the right sizes). James pulled on a casual shirt, trousers and a belt. His old loafers would have to do for now; a stark contrast to the crisp lines of his new clothes. He looked in the shared mirror and chuckled to himself, shaking his head. If his mother could see him leaving his room with his hair a mess right now, she'd have a coronary. Try as anyone might, his hair just wouldn't lay down. His dad tried to pin it on the football caps that he had worn since age six. 'They've mussed his hair for good, Euphemia. There's nothing to be done' Monty had often said, then would ruffle James' hair even more. James couldn't blame either of them for their doting ways. They had him at an older age, and he was their only child. Monty hadn't married until he was 35; Euphemia was 32. James was the product of their ten year anniversary. He was always called "your highness" to his grade school friends, jokingly, of course, because of how his parents had treated him.

James trekked down to the serving hall and picked up an apple and a water bottle, eating the fruit on his stroll towards his first college class. He found himself taking in the campus. The buildings were all white marble, tall and cold-looking; he made a mental note to pack a jumper for tomorrow. James was big on being prompt but it was ridiculously early, even for his standards; he heard the nearby clock strike 7:45am. Usually he'd have gone for a jog this morning to try to keep in shape but, with an 8am class, James didn't think he'd have the time to shower beforehand without having to wake up at the arsecrack of dawn. He sighed in resignation for the third time in a half hour and walked into a very old marble building. This is not what I expected hell to be like, he thought to himself as the heavy oak door slammed behind him.

Sirius Orion Black

Psych wasn't all that bad, really, when Sirius thought about it. He had taken the secondary course last semester and had instantly knew that's what he wanted to major in. Maybe it was because he grew up in a batshit crazy family, who ran a batshit crazy household. Or maybe it was because his cousin was in jail for murder. Maybe it was because he desperately needed a psychologist himself. Whatever the reason, Sirius knew what he was doing with his life.

His aforementioned batshit crazy family were not very agreeing to his choice, of course. They had all expected him to major in Law then take over the family firm post-graduation. Black & Malfoy Assoc. had been in their families for centuries, as his father Orion had so often reminded him. Regulus was more the lawyer type, though. His little brother could talk a squirrel out of hiding its nuts in the autumn. Yes, Sirius thought. Regulus should be the lawyer. Sirius and Regulus' parents weren't the greatest. By age five, and the start of primary, Sirius had believed that corporal punishment was normal. It wasn't until his friend Peter had told him that it wasn't did he begin to be wary around his parents. Sirius tried his best to be well behaved, but honestly, making his mother Walburga angry was easier than blinking. And it was fun as hell, too. Getting out of that dark, dank, moldy house had been his passion for as long as he could remember and when he turned majority, he was out.

His flat wasn't far from campus, so he walked there most mornings. Having put on his tan floral oxford and complementary leather jacket that he wore to make the ladies swoon, his walk hadn't produced any people fancying a chat. Sirius preferred the silence to noise. He was usually a solitary creature, choosing to stand along the wall and observe. Peter had told him that Sirius has the best observation skills and could often predict what people would say or do next; almost like a sixth sense. So it was no wonder to most of his school mates that Sirius had chosen to become a psychologist. Crushing his cigarette under his motorcycle boot, he walked towards his first college lesson.

Remus John Lupin

Shy, that's what most of the people Remus had ever met had used to describe him. Painfully shy, in his own opinion. It really was no wonder. He had grown up bouncing from foster home to foster home, never really belonging anywhere. Remus had drawn inward into himself, choosing books instead of people; sparking an imagination bigger than Dr Seuss. (He had wanted to be an English teacher since he could remember.) Today was his first test of bravery, in his opinion. He would have to be around several students just walking to class, and sit next to them every day. Remus was a little nauseous just thinking about it. Not that he would ever had admitted to that. Having to pretend he wasn't scared out of his mind was something he was quite used to. Being a tall, lanky, and royally clumsy kid hadn't helped him out any. In fact, Remus blamed that on his inability to get adopted. No one wanted a gangly child.

Everyone will know. They'll know I'm poor and only here because of a scholarship. I'm already a laughingstock, he thought. He tilted his head back to stop the tears from flowing. This was his first time in his memory that he wasn't in a group home with other children whose parents either didn't want them or had died without a will. His parents were in the latter category. Lyall and Hope Lupin had died in a traffic accident when Remus was a little more than two years old. He had no memory or recollection of them at all; only photographs could tell him that he resembles more of his mother. The Howell's hadn't approved of their only daughter's marriage to a traveling salesman and had cut Hope off. Apparently the only son of this union wasn't good enough for them either. Lyall's parents were both gone before Remus had been born.

So here he was, this poor, shy, quiet bloke walking towards a building far taller than any he had ever seen before, heading into a class full of eager students, and he couldn't remember feeling more afraid of his life. Even though he had "served time" in the Bethnal Greene common house, a place where few children came out of without scars; mental or physical. Remus hadn't been one of them. His emotional trauma would create baggage that no one would ever want to take on. But still, the prospect of facing the matron of Bethnal Greene right now seemed less daunting to him than a college classroom. Facing the door, Remus swallowed hard, squared his shoulders and walked into his first lesson, his heartbeat erratic against his chest.

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