CHAPTER ONE

Needles in the Camel's Eye

All mysteries are just more
Needles in the camel's eye.

-Brian Eno, "Needles in the Camel's Eye"

THE BURROW, EAST ANGLIA --- 1996

Sixteen years.

Sixteen years and the world had changed so completely that the life I had led back then seemed like someone else's life. Someone else's story. Anyone's but mine.

James Potter and Lily Evans. We had all fallen in love with them, the poster children of our day, the golden couple of the seventies. We had fallen in love with James and Lily, but not the real James and Lily. We were taken in by the idea of their love more than anything, this---image, this image of them. Which no one could have possibly lived up to. James Potter, Lily Evans---they were fictions. The stuff dreams were made of, too real and too beautiful to be true.

But somewhere along the way, we seemed to get lost in the lie. They seemed to get lost in the lie.

For the time being, I was lodging with the Weasleys in the Burrow. Hogwarts had been let out for the summer holidays, and Harry, Hermione, and Ron were spending their time together, enjoying their months of relative freedom with relish, filling the Burrow with laughter, the sounds of youth.

I sat at the breakfast table, having declined Molly's offer of bangers and mash and drinking instead a cup of a coffee and partaking of her excellent toast. Errol, their ancient owl, had delivered the Prophet, which I leafed through half-heartedly, knowing full well that any mention of Voldemort or Dark activities would be buried and hidden in the back columns. A matter of national security, those in the Ministry said. Best keep the masses uninformed unless it is absolutely necessary, wot? Don't want to start a panic now, do we?

With a sigh, I folded up the Daily Prophet and handed it to Arthur sitting across the table from me.

"'Fanks, Remus," he said, his mouth full of toast. "Papers say anything new today?"

"Not that I saw, Arthur," I answered, glancing out the window. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were de-gnoming the garden and the raucous sounds of enjoyment filtered in through the kitchen window. Flashing across my mind unbidden was another image, of two boys and one redheaded girl, laughing and tripping over flashy footwear as they stumbled their way through the streets of London---

"---those berks they have up in the Ministry these days," Arthur was muttering. "Useless, the lot of them. Can't see what's past their own noses, that's what. Oh well, best straighten up, Severus is coming over again later today---"

"He what?" I asked, snapping back to attention. Arthur cocked his head, eyeing me.

"Didn't you know, Remus? Dumbledore's asked him to prepare a Pensieve for you, for your...um, research---"

I grimaced. "No, I wasn't aware of it, Arthur."

"Well, Severus figured it was the easiest way to 'experience between the lines,' or something like that. Anyway, he'll be around after lunch." Arthur rose from his chair. "Well, I'm off. I'll see you around dinner, eh Remus?"

I nodded and went back to sipping my tea. I looked out through the window where the black, brown, and red heads of Harry, Hermione, and Ron could be seen conversing in the Weasleys' yard. All trace of joy and happiness were gone from their faces as they discussed whatever it was only children could speak of in times of crises.

Childhood, adults always said, is the happiest time of life.

But looking at Harry, I knew he would disagree.

And so do I.

For as long as I could remember, I knew better.

The screams of werewolf, faggot, pansy, fairy, bleeding woofter, abomination, pouffe and monster echoed in my ears, voices from outer space, voices from a time out of mind. It was not as I had lived it in act and circumstance, but as my imagination had created it for me, as it has been in my brain and in my passions.

I thought of James, of Lily. Of Sirius. And Peter. I thought of our escapades, those madcap days when we were seventeen, and then the decadent downward spiral of the years afterwards. Although we were each separate, unique people, it seemed that in some mysterious way, their lives had been my own. We had lived vicariously through each other, and now, as the years had passed, one by one, I can no longer remember which adventures were mine and which belonged to James, to Sirius, to Peter.

But before it was my story, before it was the Marauders' story, before it was the Potters' story, it had been James's and Sirius's.

It was only now, looking back, that I see how they patched through and entered my life...in waves.

They lived in the terror of not being misunderstood.

"It was always 'get what we want, and do what we will,' wasn't it?" I asked their ghosts softly.

"Talking to yourself, are we now, Remus?"

I turned around to see Severus standing by the doorway, swathed in yards of black. He had his arms crossed and was watching me with an indecipherable look on his face, looking for all the world like a large, overgrown bat. I wondered how long he had stood there, watching me

"I didn't hear you come in, Severus," I said, rising from my seat. "We weren't expecting you until noon."

"I hadn't planned on coming so soon either, but something unexpected turned up," Severus said, crossing the room to set a small flask and a basin on the table. "These are the ingredients. A detailed parchment with instructions should arrive here later by owl post. I didn't have time to write them up before I left." He glanced at me curiously.

I stared at the ingredients, knowing that I was to pour my memories of our glory days into that small bowl. But could the whole sum of my experiences be simply contained in one small basin? And could I stand to watch the entire history of my life swim like fish in a Pensieve?

I looked up to see Severus watching me.

"What do you want, Severus?" I asked, calmly picking up my tea to hide my discomfort and apprehension regarding my task ahead.

He looked down at me, peering over the end of his overlarge and hooked nose. "Nothing, Remus," he sneered. "I'm just wondering what effect this little memory-jog might have for you." An ugly grin stretched over his face. "Now that you're the only one left."

My hand tightened its grip on the porcelain handle of my teacup.

"Frankly, I'm not surprised at how they went," he continued, grinning all the broader at my growing anger. "You and your friends always did suffer from a sort of...insufferable hubris."

"Nothing makes one so vain than to be told one is a sinner, Severus," I quoted, trying futilely to control the trembling of my fingers.

The Potions master raised his eyebrow. "Pride always went before a fall, Remus," he returned, "and you and your little gang of friends proved that old adage perfectly. They got what was coming to them in the end, didn't they, Remus? Potter, Black, Pettigrew---"

"Peter is no longer one of us," I rejoined angrily. "And you would take care to remember that, Severus. Because once a traitor, always a traitor."

The line of his jaw stiffened and the two of us glared at each other, willing the other to back down first.

"Perhaps he would never have betrayed Potter and little wife," he said, his voice low and scathing, "had you and your sorry lot included him your fun and games." The tenor of his voice changed then, becoming insinuating, malicious. "Whatever that intolerable Potter and his mate Black were...involved in." Severus grinned, looking like a serpent before the kill. "But then, you know all about that particular longing, don't you, Remus?"

Vaguely, in the back of my mind, I heard the sound of breaking china as Molly's teacup slipped from my numb hands. But the sound did nothing to break the tension between Severus and I, nothing to drown out the roaring in my ears.

"I've already forgotten, Snivellus," I growled.

"So you say, Remus, so you say." There was a predatory gleam in his eye. "But for as long as I could recall, I've known better. I've known you better."

Another pregnant silence passed between us before Severus turned with a dramatic flourish of his black robes and swept from the room.

I stared at the spot where his cloak had swept the kitchen threshold, seeing and unseeing, wild images of the past racing through my head, a montage of colours and smells and sounds, of emotions and passions to heavy for myself to handle alone.

I glanced at the little flask and silver basin. Someone wet dropped into the basin, surprising me. Another drop wet my hand and when I lifted my fingers to touch my face, I found that I was crying.

James. Sirius. Peter.

We believed that we had been singled out for a great purpose. We believed that one day, the whole stinking world would be ours.

The whole stinking world.

HOGWARTS, SCOTLAND --- 1972

"And Gryffindor leads against Hufflepuff, seventy-zero, with Potter in possession of the Quaffle. Potter passes to Black, who ducks Diggory--- nice barrel-roll there, Sirius---who passes back to Potter, Potter swoops around the Keeper, he shoots---HE SCORES! Eighty-naught, Gryffindor!"

A raucous cheer greeted Danny Gudgeon's pronouncement as a plethora of Quidditch fans gathered about the stadium to witness the second to last match of the season: Hufflepuff vs. Gryffindor. It was forty-five minutes into the game and neither team had spotted the Snitch. Remus watched as James and Sirius flew circles across the field, congratulating each other with elaborate salutes and triumphant cries on their joint goal.

Remus smiled slightly to himself. He had little interest in Quidditch; he much preferred the quiet and contemplation of the library where he could hide himself away, away from the disapproving eyes of society. But he mostly did whatever James and Sirius asked of him, especially Sirius.

He glanced to his right, where the fourth member of their gang, the Marauders as they called themselves, was waving a Gryffindor flag as enthusiastically as his fat arms would allow him and shouting James's name over and over in a manic shout. Peter Pettigrew followed Quidditch religious, fervently supporting the Birmingham Boilers, which was also James's team.

"Bully for you, James! Whoo hoo!" Peter crowed, cupping his chubby hands around his mouth to cheer their leader on. The black-haired boy glanced at the stands where his two friends were sitting and grinned at them, ruffling his hair in the late April breeze.

Remus chuckled as Peter thrashed about in the throes of adoration. He watched as James scored five more goals in quick succession, bringing the score to 130-0.

James, Remus mused, was elegance walking hand-in-hand with a lie. Girls went wild over him, his cocksure flying skills, his smooth, practiced maneuvers. However, Remus knew that despite his arrogant style, his friend was not the self-assured man he played himself to be; rather, underneath the star, he was still James Potter, a boy from a small town called Godric's Hollow, just outside of suburban Birmingham.

Once he had teased James about it and James had become indignant.

"Remus," he said, "A man's life is his image!" Sirius had laughed at the scandalised expression on James's face and taunted him in the way only Sirius could, saying he was acting "quite camp" and that the girls were bound to be disappointed that James played for the other team.

Another cheer from the crowd roused Remus from his reverie. Glancing at the scoreboard, Remus realised that he had missed the past three goals. Even if Hufflepuff were to catch the Snitch now, Gryffindor was bound to win.

"Look, over there!" someone shouted.

All four thousand heads of the student body turned and craned their necks to witness an amazing aerial display between Ted Tonks, the Hufflepuff Seeker, and Alistair Gupta, the Gryffindor Seeker.

There were flashes of scarlet and red as the two boys battled for possession of the Snitch and suddenly, there was a roar from the Hufflepuff end as Ted Tonks emerged with the golden Snitch clutched in his hand.

There was a murmur that rippled through the students, acknowledging the outcome of the game and Gryffindor's victory.

"Knew bloody well that we didn't stand a chance---"

"Not with that James Potter, we didn't---"

"---Look at him and Sirius Black, strutting like they owned the field- --"

Remus rose from his seat to join Peter as they filed down the bleachers to meet the other half of their foursome on the field, passing a gaggle of giggling Gryffindor girls gushing over Sirius on the way.

"---I'm telling you, old McGonagall should have made me Seeker, not that Paki---" Remus overhead James saying to Sirius as he approached them.

"That's naff," Sirius interjected.

"Oi, you don't think I could do it?" James retaliated.

Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but Remus answered for him. "What he meant, James, was you calling Alistair a Paki," he said, coming down to the pitch. Sirius grinned at Remus fleetingly.

James immediately looked a bit contrite, but shrugged it off when Peter burst in with his excited chatter.

"Well, I think you'd make a fabulous Seeker, James," he said, breathless from this hike down from the bleachers. "You were fantastic today. How many goals did you score? Six? Seven?"

"Eight," James said proudly. "Half. Beat you by three today, Sirius, mate." He grinned roguishly and ruffled his hair again. Then he scowled. "I'm the only bloody reason we won. Well, me and you, Sirius," he acknowledged before Sirius could say anything. "Now honestly, if they'd just let me be Seeker, we could widen our points margin and we'll be a guaranteed shoe-in for the Cup this year, mates."

"That's naff," Sirius said again, laughing. "You couldn't catch the Snitch with those four eyes if the Snitch bit you in the arse, Prongs."

"Then, oh-great-and-wise Padfoot, what do you call this little beauty?" From the depths of his scarlet Quidditch cloak, James produced a glittering Snitch, still struggling and flapping in his grasp.

Peter gaped. "Where'd you get that, James? That's the game Snitch, it is."

"Knicked it off of Tonks when he wasn't looking," James crowed. He stuffed the Snitch back into his pocket. "I'm thinking of giving this one to Lily Evans, wotcher think, boys?"

"Nah," Sirius said, dismissively, his grin belying his negative words. "She'll probably shove it up your nose and tell you to piss off, you woofter." Sirius smiled maniacally. He struck a feminine pose and affected a girlish lisp. "Look at me, I'm the great James Potter, wearer of glitter eye makeup and mascara. Look at me, all decked out in my new threads. Like the new suit, boys? Bought it in Hogsmeade for six pounds--- "

James pummeled Sirius in the shoulder. "The glitter eye makeup is you, you pansy rocker." James sniffed and lifted his head. "Me, I'm a mod. And just you wait, Padfoot. Style will always win out in the end."

"So you say," Sirius grinned. "But what is it the French say, le vice anglais? That's Prongs for you, matey."

"Bugger off, you," James said amiably, smiling slightly.

"I only bugger you in the showers, baby," Sirius whispered conspiratorially. Remus laughed while Peter looked aghast.

"Get on, you two," Remus said. "You lot stink. Wormtail and I will save you some eats in the Great Hall at supper."

"Smashing," Sirius beamed. He clapped a hand with painted fingernails on Remus's shoulder. "Give us ten minutes, aye?"

"Better make that twenty, Moony," James said, grabbing Sirius by the seat of his trousers as he passed by with a flirtatious wink. "See you boys at dinner."

Remus chuckled and shook his head. "Come on, Peter, let's go in."

Peter goggled after James and Sirius, who had their arms laced about each shoulders, singing at the top of their lungs, "Well you're the grand wild, have you noticed? When you walk in all the fairy boys are pale and nervous---"

Remus chuckled again and walked towards the old castle in the distance.

We had set out the change the world, we did. We were so confident about ourselves, so arrogant, so certain about our greatness.

In the end, we only ended up changing ourselves.

"But what's so wrong about that?" I asked myself softy, sitting alone in Molly's kitchen with the Pensieve in my lap. "What's so wrong about that?"

Nothing, I thought, if you don't look at the world.

"Hullo, Evans," James said, sitting himself down next to a very pretty redhead with a sleek, stylish haircut. She surveyed James coolly and pursed her lips primly.

"Hullo yourself, Potter." Lily Evans folded a copy of the Muggle periodical Melody Maker and turned to face James. Remus glanced at the headline: BRIAN SLADE TOPS UK CHARTS WITH HIT SINGLE 'HOT ONE' FOR 18 MONTHS.

"Did you come to the match today?" James grinned.

Lily lifted a scarlet eyebrow, taking in James with his impeccably tailored Hogwarts blazer and attractively tight trousers. An amused quirk twitched her lips, but she hid her interest with affected ennui. "Yes, I did," she answered evenly, turning back to Melody Maker, where she was absentmindedly tracing hearts over the photo of Brian Slade.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" James asked eagerly. Remus and Sirius exchanged glances, amused at Lily's ability to turn James from an arrogant Quidditch star to a gibbering idiot.

"It was tolerable," she said. There was the hint of a smile in Lily's voice.

"Here," James said, depositing the feebly fluttering Snitch in on the table in front of Lily. She looked at James with a suspiciously questioning expression on her face. She was amused, Remus thought, but wisely didn't betray it to James.

"What's this?" she asked, sounding disinterested.

"It's the game Snitch," James said, hurt that Lily didn't appreciate his gift. "Thought you might like it."

"Hmmm," Lily said, taking the little golden ball in her fingers. Heartened, James drew himself together.

"Well, don't say James Potter never did nothing for you, Evans," he said. He flashed her a cocky grin and ruffled his hair.

"Thanks," Lily answered coolly, pocketing the Snitch. "Well, I'll see you boys later," she said, rising from her seat. Remus and Peter nodded their heads, but Sirius cocked an eyebrow and blew her a trampy kiss across the table. She grinned briefly before walking away with the utmost poise towards the Slytherin table.

"What does she see in that git?" James muttered as he gazed after her, entranced and disgusted as she sat herself down next to Severus Snape.

"They're not together, Prongs," Remus reminded James.

James snorted. "Doesn't matter. All that matters is that she spends more time with ickle Snivellus than she does with me. What's he got that I don't?"

"Charm?" Sirius asked.

All four of them choked into their plates, gagged by laughter.

"That's bloody rich," James said. He furrowed his brow and hunched his shoulders. "Look at me, I'm Severus Snape," he said in a squeaky, whiny voice. "I haven't seen the light of day in seventeen years. Mummy tells me not to go out in to the sun unless I burst into flames---"

Peter and Sirius howled with mirth, but Remus was not amused.

"Leave him alone, James," he said. "Have you ever thought that maybe if you were a little nicer to him Lily might like you more?"

James rolled his eyes. "What did you do, take a Conscience Potion today, Moony?" His voice lowered thoughtfully. "But she's Muggleborn. Snape hates Muggleborns."

"Well, every story needs a contrary opinion," Remus said, grinning. "And with Snape, I'm sure you're guaranteed excesses of both."

"Get on with you," Sirius crowed, nudging Remus hard. "Always quoting your books." Sirius ran silver fingernails through his long, dark hair. He glanced over at Peter. "What are you up to, Wormtail, burying your ratty little nose in some Muggle publication?"

Peter was leafing through the Melody Maker that Lily had left behind. "What rubbish," he said, "Look, the photos don't even move."

"Muggle papers are like that," James said confidently. He looked through the spreads. "Cor, look, Padfoot, Brian Slade's coming to London in July to play at the Lyceum Theatre. D'you think your Mum would fancy having a guest over this summer?"

Sirius snorted. "As if it weren't bad enough that I was sorted into Gryffindor and living with blood traitors, having to deal with a son decked out in glitter might just kill her. Then again," Sirius grinned impudently, "That might be just the thing to get her goat going."

James and Sirius guffawed heartily while Remus shook his head.

"Brian Slade?" Peter asked thoughtfully. "Is that the one they call Maxwell Demon?"

"Yeah," James said. "Muggle singer."

"But, he's a blinking fruit, isn't he? A bloody pouffe?" Peter asked.

"No, he's not," James said forcefully. "He's married to his wife and living in North London."

"But he wears makeup and glitter and---"

"So does Sirius," Remus said, uncomfortable with Peter's disapproval.

"Yeah, but Sirius isn't gay, is he?"

"No, mate," Sirius grinned. "Besides, what does it matter anyway, Wormtail? I mean, everyone knows that most people are bisexual."

"So you're saying you're bisexual?" Peter asked, looking confused and looking to James for clarification. But James's face was curiously closed.

Sirius grinned. "Yeah, I like boys, I like girls," he said, putting on a queer air, "There's no difference is there...Mr. Wormtail?" Sirius waggled his eyebrows outrageously at Peter while James and Remus burst out laughing.

Peter joined in their laughter as well, laughing shakily, uneasily.

"Ooh, varda the Mistress Bona," Sirius said suddenly, affecting a Cockney accent. James, Remus, and Peter turned their heads in the direction Sirius was facing to see Snape walking across the Great Hall back to the common rooms, wearing Lily's black scarf about his neck, pinned with a glittering emerald brooch they could see from afar.

"Varda the omie palome," James joined in, pouting and making an effeminate gesture.

"A tart, my dears, a tart in gildy clobber," Sirius added, pointing to his neck where the brooch glittered conspicuously on Snape's neck. James and Sirius snickered. Snape, overhearing their remarks, threw murderous glances their way. He looked at Remus, and then averted his head quickly, making his way shamefacedly towards the Slytherin common room.

Remus turned back to his friends, who were still making fun of Snape.

"'I knew I should create a sensation,' gasped the Rocket," Sirius said between guffaws.

"And he went out!" James finished, laughing so hard he upset the pudding onto the floor.

Remus looked at Peter, who was looking at Sirius with a quite new expression of distaste on his rat-like face.

THE BURROW, EAST ANGLIA – 1996

You've done it all; you've broken every code.

You've spoilt the game, no matter what you say.

I watched as the silvery liquid of the Pensieve swirled with images of James and Sirius and Peter. I touched the surface lightly with my wand, admiring its glow, thinking that it was the closest to the moon I was ever going to get. I looked out the window, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione were no longer there.

The door burst open and the kids ran in, out of breath and laughing from their gardening adventure.

"---upstairs to check on Ginny," I heard Ron say.

"All right, Ron," Harry said. Presently, I heard the patter of footsteps above me as Harry and Hermione made their way towards the kitchen.

There was a slight silence before I heard Hermione speak.

"Harry, you know, what Dumbledore said last night---"

There was another slight pause.

"Well, I just wanted to say that, um, well, I'm here for you, Harry," Hermione continued. "Always."

Another pause before Harry answered quietly.

"I know, Hermione, I know."

I sighed and rose from my chair, beginning to clear away the remnants of the broken teacup as well as the Pensieve.

Harry and Hermione walked into the kitchen, their eyes locked on each other's, but neither of them saying a word. They stood that way for another moment before Hermione bit her lip and turned her head. She spotted me in the corner, sweeping up the fragments into Molly's dustbin.

"Oh, Professor!" she exclaimed. She flushed slightly. "We didn't know you were in here."

"I won't be for long," I smiled. "Fancy a bite of breakfast, either of you?"

Harry smiled at me, the grin lighting his whole face the way it used to do with James. "Breakfast would be great. Thanks, Professor Lupin."

"No problem, Harry. Hermione?"

"Toast would be fine, Professor, thank you."

I fixed them both their breakfasts before retiring to my room upstairs, which had been Bill's before he took up a more permanent post as a spy in France, presumably to be closer to Fleur.

I sat on his bed and poked the Pensieve again, hearing the ghostly echoes of their laughter rise from the basin to mingle with the low sounds of conversation from the kitchen below.

Transparent images of James, Lily, Sirius, Severus, and Peter danced around each other, melting seamlessly from one memory to another. With a sigh, I picked up the Pensieve and opened a cupboard, placing it there, out of sight, out of mind for another day.

If affairs are proceeding as we're expecting, soon enough, the weak spots will show.

I looked up into the daytime sky.

"And softly, 'he said, 'I will mangle your mind,'" I whispered.

I shut the cupboard.